Page 27 of Recklessly You
I sigh. I look at Dominic, searching for any sign that Liam has mentioned something to him about me. But there is none. I’m still blown away and confused about the erotic kiss he gave me at the stroke of midnight. Confusion and regret seemed to be written all over his face. What had he been thinking? Should I take a chance and call him, risk being rejected like an idiot?
I grab a water bottle from the fridge and twist the cap.
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m going to miss you guys.”
Mila’s eyes water, and I immediately regret saying it. Yes, I will miss her, of course I will, but I am also using it as a cover-up.
“No, no, bestie, don’t cry. I’m going to miss you guys, but I’m happy for you. I’ll be fine.”
She runs to hug me. Now I feel like shit.
“Oh, Sophie, I brought you here to California, and now I’m leaving you alone. I’m a horrible friend.” She sniffles on my shoulder.
I rub her back. “I’ll be fine, Mila, I promise. You’re my only best friend and not a horrible friend. You’re my B,” I say honestly. She’s my only true friend. We’re like peanut butter and jelly—we stick together.
“She’ll be fine, baby. She has Grandpa.com to keep her busy. She probably needs her privacy.” Dominic wraps his arms around Mila’s waist.
I roll my eyes but grin. Dominic has grown on me. More than once, I wanted to strangle him to death, but he’s proved himself. The love he has for Mila is unconditional and special in many ways. I long for the love they have. Maybe someday. But now all I want is casual.
“What the fuck, asshole,” Santiago shouts from upstairs to Dominic. “Are you going to help us carry the dresser down the stairs? Mark’s noodle arms aren’t helping.”
“Noodle arms? Really, asshole? You’re the one with a noodle dick,” Mark shouts at Santiago.
I laugh at the brothers talking shit to each other.
Dominic growls. “I’ll be right up, asshole. What the fuck is your problem, Santiago? You’ve been all pissy since the night you argued with little Rosie.” Dominic runs up the stairs as Santiago grumbles curse words.
CHAPTER 9
LIAM
“Knock, knock.” I pound on my grandma’s door. It always takes her a while to answer. She usually has the TV on so damn loud. The door swings open. Her eyes brighten at the sight of me, like they always do.
“Abuelita, how are you doing?” I kiss her cheek, and she blesses me like she’s done since the accident.
I step into my grandmother’s living room and inhale the familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee and the faint aroma of baked bread. She un-pauses her telenovela and flashes a warm smile as she greets me in her native tongue.
“Bien. Cómo estás, hijo?” she says as she practically sprints back to her rocking chair.
She grabs her concha—sweet bread—from the coffee table and takes a bite. Her tired eyes focus on her Spanish soap opera. I chuckle, place the bag of leftovers on her table, walk toward her, and move to the loveseat across from her. She glances at me with tender eyes as I settle in.
“Doing good, Abuelita. How a—”
She lifts her finger to her lips to shush me and raises the volume.
Sprawling my legs wide, I lean back and watch the drama unfold in her daily telenovela. A woman stands with her back toward a man. She’s clearly pissed at him. He declares his love to her, apologizing for how he treated her and gets on his knees, telling her how sorry he is for not seeing sooner how much he loves her. He was blind and did not see the true meaning of love. The woman turns and kneels next to him, and they hold one another. I roll my eyes, but my grandmother places the palm of her hand on her heart and shakes her head. I chuckle at the dumbass drama unfolding. Love is for chumps. Suddenly, I’m being whacked on the head by a cushion pillow. My grandma is a hopeless romantic and lives for her telenovelas.
“Liam, hijo, why haven’t you fallen in love? Are you saving yourself for a special someone?” She wags her eyebrows playfully.
What is with everyone in my family wanting me to fall in love? Love is beautiful, Liam, yada, yada, yada. What the fuck? Who wants a woman all up on your nuts telling you what the fuck to do when they do the complete opposite?
“No, Abuelita,” I say firmly, shaking my head and shuddering at the thought. “I don’t plan to fall in love.” Never. “All this is drama, Abuelita. It’s fake what you watch. Love is betrayal, loss, heartbreak, and unattainable expectations.”
She gets up from her chair, her shoulders hunched as she makes her way to the kitchen. She sighs as she fills a cup with steaming coffee, the aroma wafting through the air. I lean in the kitchen doorway, watching as she opens a kitchen drawer and pulls out a photo, gazing at it for a few seconds before returning it to the drawer.
“Liam, you are so wrong, my love. Your grandpapá was the man of my dreams. He is the definition of love for me. There’s not a day that goes by I don’t think of him. I miss him every day. Your mamá will tell you the same. She loves your papá. He treated her like the queen that she is.”
She takes a long sip, then dips a chunk of her concha into her coffee. My abuelita is my father’s mother. I know how much my father loved my mother and how much my grandpapá loved my grandmamá, but love will not exist for me. I have my reasons.
