Page 29 of Forget Me

9

MATEO

I wavedat Carlo on my tía’s front porch as I stepped out of my Jeep. He raised a steaming mug at me, one of the cheery red ones from her kitchen.

Good. I’d share last night’s news with him in person.

“Hola, Carlo,” I said as I stepped up onto the porch.

While we shot the shit, he lit up a cigarette and offered me another from his pack. It was easy to refuse. I wouldn’t smell like smoke when I visited Mimi at the office this evening to tell her Carlo’s band was on board.

Last night when I’d walked into her meeting, I’d caught her looking at my lips. This gala date would bring us closer. My awkwardness around her was starting to melt away. I could finally sweep her off her feet like I’d wanted to do since I’d first met her.

I could kiss those lips again.

But we weren’t there yet. Everything between us was as fragile as the fancy figurines in my tía’s china cabinet.

Especially since I had a sinking feeling I’d pissed her off at her meeting last night. Since she never ate enough, I’d wanted to feed her. But I’d overreached, and the situation had gone off the rails. I hadn’t intended to suggest they change the food, the decorations, and the entertainment. And I definitely hadn’t meant to end up as part of the committee. But the hard glitter in Larissa’s eyes told me if I backed out now, things would only get worse for Mimi.

This was my chance to impress her, to prove I wasn’t the fuck-up she thought I was. To make up for the disaster I’d made of her presentation. To rebuild the connection she’d forgotten.

When Carlo stubbed out his cigarette, I asked, “So what are you doing for Valentine’s Day?”

He flashed me a shit-eating grin and batted his eyelashes at me. “Are you asking me out?”

I snorted and gestured at his grizzled hair and beer gut. “You are so not my type.”

He put his hand over his heart. “You wound me.”

“Fuck off. So. Your band—”

“We have a gig that night. We’re opening for Banda Reina del Lirio at The Fillmore.”

“No, no, no. Cancel it. I have a gig for you.”

“Cancel it?” His heavy-lidded eyes went wide. “We booked this gig last year.”

“Look, I’ll pay whatever penalty. But I need you to do this for me. Play the Jones Foundation event. It’s a benefit for neurodivergent kids. Don’t you have a nephew with dyslexia?”

He rolled his eyes. “Fuck, Mateo. Way to hit me where it hurts. I’ll have to talk to the guys.”

“Really? After I got you this cushy job? Where tía brings you her special hot chocolate?” I smelled the cinnamon, even over the lingering smoke from his cigarette.

“Fine.” He heaved a sigh. “I’ll get the guys to go along. It pays well, yes?”

“About that.” I winced. “You’re going to have to make it look like a good deal. I’ll make up the difference. Promise.” It was a good thing Cooper put me up in his guesthouse rent-free. This favor to Mimi was going to cost me.

“¡Dios mío! You’re killing me, bro. But”—he held out his palms—“I’ll do it. And now we’re even. Got it?”

“Claro. Now get out of here. You’re off duty. Everything quiet last night?”

“As the grave, man. Not that I don’t appreciate the job, but don’t you think the neighborhood guard and the security system will keep him out?” Carlo tipped his chin at the camera pointed at the front door.

“From what I hear, Rosa’s ex is one persistent cabrón. Showed up at Cooper’s office last summer.”

“Ah. Better not show his ugly mug while I’m on duty.” He cracked his knuckles ominously. “No one messes with our Rosa.”

I nodded. “Go home. And take your butt with you. Wouldn’t want Cooper to see it.” With my luck, Miguelito would think it was mine, and he’d never let it go.

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