Page 32 of Watch Me

“My father was a philandering bastard, if you’re curious why they split up. I remember my mother sobbing whenever my father didn’t come home. They became my tears, too. He acted as if his affairs were both common and acceptable. Maybe that was okay in his generation. Maybe it was even accepted in his native Argentina. But it was never okay with me.”

Alejandro is sharing something so shockingly private with me. Why?

“You run a sex club. And you believe in commitment?”

“Yes. If you speak vows, you should mean those words with your whole heart. Don't you agree?”

“I do.” Is he trying to tell me he’d be faithful? Why does he think his loyalty matters to me?

If I’m honest, his insistence thrills my treacherous soft side. Having a man like Alejandro in my life would be wonderful…but distracting. Indulging isn’t an option. Our search for this blackmailing bastard and my need to win the California Dance Star consume my every thought and waking moment. My commitment is to winning. Romance would only interfere.

“Take my friendship with Del,” he goes on. “Del and I met in college. We quickly became friends—both outcasts to some degree, being foreign-exchange students here in Los Angeles. We discovered we shared a lot of similar interests and passions.

“So after graduation, we decided to put our degrees to work on something mutually satisfying. Del used his marketing degree and social media skills to promote the club. I used my finance degree to secure the funding, run the back end, and reinvest our profits. We operate in the black, and each year is more profitable than the last. But two years ago, I had the opportunity to sell out my half for triple the amount.” He shrugs. “Long ago, I promised Del I would stay in until we were both ready for a change. I declined the opportunity.”

“That cost you a lot of money, no doubt.”

“Losing the friendship would have cost me more.”

“You can afford to say that; you have your father's money.”

“Not so much anymore. I put a fat chunk of it in a trust for my mother. She thinks I set it up with my money. But the bastard owed her more than he could ever repay. I thought this was fitting.”

I stare at Alejandro as if seeing him for the first time. In a way, I am. It’s hard not to like him when he's protecting his mother and defending his friendships.

A moment later, we stop in front of a local ice cream shop, quaint and somewhat old-fashioned. In a few hours, after dinner, this place will be crawling with families. But now, it’s nearly empty.

“Ice cream?”

“I assume you like it.”

“I haven’t eaten dinner yet. I was planning to nuke something frozen before you stopped by.”

He climbs out of the car and helps me out. “Who needs dinner when there’s ice cream?”

“Someone who needs protein and nutrients. Ice cream isn’t a dinner food.”

Alejandro slips an arm around me, and I try not to melt against the solid, musky heat of his body. Why does he have to be so damn sexy?

“I won’t tell your mother if you won’t,” he teases.

“My mother died when I was six,” I choke out. I shouldn’t have opened my mouth; the truth only makes me more vulnerable to him. But withholding that fact after he confessed so much of his past seems petty.

“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

I shake my head. “I hardly remember her. I have this…impression of her laugh. I don’t even know if it’s true or something I made up to make myself feel better.”

He squeezes me against his side as we approach the counter. “So your father raised you?”

“Along with my brothers. They’re all athletes.”

“Which is why you are so driven to win.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“Second place is nothing more than first loser. It’s our family motto.”

“That explains so much about you.” He turns to the teenager behind the counter. “A scoop of chocolate peanut butter and…raspberry amaretto. Shanna?”

“None for me. I have to fit into my costume?—”

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