Page 38 of Jessica, Not Her Real Name
Unseeing but feeling, she pushed his shirt down off his shoulders and traced the muscles of his chest with her hands. She could feel the thick ridge of his hard-on through his jeans.
She gave an experimental rock of her hips. He broke off the kiss with a sharp intake of breath. His fingers dug into the skin of her thighs, hard enough that she could feel the blunt edges of his fingernails. When he kissed her again, he nipped her bottom lip with his teeth.
She pressed down on him again, gentler this time, enjoying the way it made him gasp and the way it made his heart beat faster under her palm.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “Julia, I want you so bad.”
She froze. It dawned on her where this was leading. To him unbuttoning his jeans, pushing aside the fabric of her underwear and…
Her face must have shown her fear, because he reached up a hand to cup her cheek with his palm. “Hey,” he said, dragging a thumb across her cheekbone. “It’s okay. I’m not going to do anything you don’t want.”
She swallowed, then nodded. Then shook her head. Then, because her indecision was bordering on comical, she smiled. He smiled too and placed a hand on the back of her head, pressing her forehead to his.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He retreated, gazing into her eyes. He brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Baby, the first time I have you, it’s not gonna be in my car.” A smile tugged at his lips, not quite enough to bring forth the dimple. “She gets very jealous.”
Smiling too, she pushed at his chest with both hands. She was trying to appear aloof and cool, but inside she was burning up.
The first time I have you. The way he said it, like it was a foregone conclusion, this having. A matter of when, not if. It was like he’d set a timer for a bomb to explode between them, and she had no idea when it might go off. And she knew that for every second until it went off, she’d be thinking of nothing else.
He was watching her, that little smile on his face, like he knew exactly the effect he had on her. At least now she knew she had the same effect on him. Physically, anyway.
She slid off his lap and climbed back over the center console. The gear stick jabbed her in the ass on the way, making her think that maybe the car really did have jealousy issues.
She settled back in her seat and stared straight ahead. They were both quiet. The only sounds were their breathing and the little thuds of bugs dive-bombing the glass.
She sat there, waiting for the alarm bells to ring. Warning her to get out of this car right now and walk away while she still could. End this before it went any further.
But the only fear she felt in that moment was the fear that he would drive away from her. Put her in his rearview and not look back.
We shouldn’t do this.
She looked across at him, his expression soft in the dim light.
Too late.
* * *
Martín Tostá shut the restaurant door and locked it, flipping the sign in the window to Closed.
His gaze went to the table where Sebastián and Julia had been sitting earlier, before Daniel had swaggered in and she’d followed him out. He’d seen how she’d stared up at him with cartoon hearts for eyes.
He shook his head. Stupid girl.
Martín had come to Chicago from Guadalajara two decades ago to escape gang warfare in his hometown. He’d seen violence—real violence—up close. His sister had been killed right in front of him. His business burned to the ground. It had cost him everything to come to America and start again. To make something of himself. To build a good life, in a city he was proud to call home.
So, to see young men like Daniel Castaño strut around these streets with a pistol shoved down the back of his pants, with tattoos all over his face, made him sick to his stomach. Guys like him played at violence. It was all a game to them, something they did for the attention and the cred and the power. They flooded the streets with their drugs so they could buy more gold chains to hang around their necks and more fancy cars to roar up and down the streets of La Villita in. They were corrosive, and they were eating away at this city from within.
But this time, Martín would not watch it happen and do nothing. He didn’t want to flee again and abandon another place to the gangs.
He buried his hand into the pocket of his apron and took out the crumpled card the DEA woman had given him. Then he picked up his cellphone, punched in her number, and hit CALL.
TWELVE
“First position.”Julia stood straight and tall, arms curved in front of her, legs in a perfect ninety-degree turnout. She outstretched her arms, shifted her legs further apart. “Second position.”
Daniel was sitting on the sofa in the corner of her home studio, facing the wall-mounted barre. He’d adopted a classic alpha male pose, legs spread, one arm draped over the back of the sofa, taking up as much room as possible. Tequila sat at his feet, wearing her silly grin.
