Page 20 of Last First Kiss
Alejandra shrugs, still grinning. “Please. You walk around with that little mysterious vibe and your sad boi eyes—people eat that up.”
“I donothave sad boi eyes,” I protest.
“You so do,” she says, booping my nose. “It’s part of your whole brand. Tragic but lovable.”
I try to look stern, but the smile on my lips gives me away. “You’re just jealous no one’s textingyou‘hey stranger’ at 2 a.m.”
Alejandra snorts. “Oh, absolutely. Do you know when the last time I got laid was?”
“Three months ago,” I answer immediately.
I should probably feel embarrassed knowing that right away, but I don’t.
Alejandra’s eyes narrow, but she’s fighting a grin. “Okay, wow. Creepy that you know that.”
I smirk. “You told me. Right after it happened. You even gave me a full recap I didn’t ask for.” It had been so vivid that I’d almost begged the Earth to swallow me whole. The only thing that had gotten me through it was Alejandra talking about how awkward the whole thing had been.
“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Alejandra jokes as she reaches for my coffee mug. I swat her hand gently, but she grabs the mug anyway and takes a sip as she settles onto the kitchen island stool.
“What are you doing today?” I ask, trying to steer the conversation away from Alejandra’s sex life, a part of her world I know way too much about and wish I didn’t.
“Nothing much. I might edit some pictures, go through Diana’s wedding schedule, and decide which of my assistants will help me photograph the wedding so I don’t have to be in photographer mode the whole time.”
Diana’s photographer bailed last week. Since Diana and her fiancée, Alexandria—though we all call her Alex for short—moved back to Washington from Florida a few months ago, the original photographer couldn’t make the out-of-state gig work anymore, leaving Diana scrambling.Alejandra hadn’t hesitated to offer herself, even though she was the maid of honor. Somehow, she’d managed to convince her sister to let her photograph the wedding and make someone else the maid of honor.
“That’s a good idea. But please don’t take Clarissa. I know she’s the best, but I’d rather not have her flirting with me in front of your family all night,” I say.
“Oh, so you’d rather she flirts with you in private?” Alejandra jokes as she raises an eyebrow at me.
“You know I don’t.” I shudder.
Clarissa is one of Alejandra’s assistants at the studio. I went out with her once, but I ended things the second I learned that she worked with Alejandra. She’s never stopped trying to rekindle whatever she thinks we had, though. Which is wild, considering we never even kissed. But somehow, by the end of our two-hour date at a hole-in-the-wall bar in Seattle, she was convinced I was the love of her life.
Once my coffee is done brewing, I add a splash of creamer—because I don’t hate myself like Alejandra, who only drinks her coffee black—and finally take a sip, starting to feel human again.
“Are you working on the couch today?” Alejandra asks.
“No, I have a bunch of meetings today. But I’ll come out when I’m done, and we can order some food?”
“Perfect, have fun.”
“Thanks.” I lean in and kiss her cheek before disappearing into my room.
The rest of my morning is pretty hectic. I have three back-to-back meetings, a mountain of emails to reply to, and a few proposals to finish up, but by lunchtime, I’m all done and can step away from my computer for the day. A verywelcome change compared to how the rest of the week has been.
Alejandra is on the couch watchingBob’s Burgers, laughing like it’s her first time seeing it and not at least her fifth time watching this same episode within the past month.
I’m about to sit on the couch and ask her to massage my head when there’s a soft knock at the front door.
“Will you get that?” Alejandra shouts as she runs to the bathroom. “I got us lunch—it’s already been paid for!”
I head toward our front door, expecting our usual delivery guy, but when I open it, it’s not him. It’s Lala standing at our door with a big smile on her face.
My eyes widen, and for a moment, I forget what words are. I open my mouth, then close it. Open it again—nothing. My throat is dry, my mind scrambling for a word,anyword, but I come up with nothing.
I stare at her for what I can only imagine is an eternity, because Lala is furrowing her brows, looking very concerned.
“Are you okay, mamita?” Lala says sweetly, reaching for my face and pressing the back of her hand to my forehead.
