Page 5 of Guava Flavored Lies

CHAPTER2

Now

Lauren pulledon her sunglasses to shield her eyes from the midday sun. Even in April, the Miami afternoon was unbearable. She’d never understand why they held Pride on the beach rather than somewhere indoors.

Better yet, they should move it to January. They’d all be just as gay when the weather was cool.

Barely an hour into the weekend-long festival, Lauren was in desperate need of caffeine. She picked up her long, wavy hair and tossed it into a messy bun as she checked that her espresso machine was set up correctly. Fitting a Cuban bakery under a tent with nothing but three tables and a power strip was a feat.

“Lou, where do you want this?” Domingo asked over the thumping dance music emanating from the stage on the other side of the park. His muscular arms flexed as he carried the metal trays toward the Pastry King booth.

“Thanks, Dom. Right here is great.” She pointed to the chafing dishes already hot and ready to go. “Stay a minute and I’ll make you a café con leche.”

“Girl, hot milk is not it right now,” he joked as he wiped the sweat beading on his bald head. Even in nothing but tiny, rainbow-striped spandex shorts, Dom looked as hot as she felt.

Lauren laughed, leaving the milk in the enormous cooler under one of the tables. “Well, I have to thank you for lugging the rest of that from the van for me. A shot of espresso for the road?”

Dom painted a smile on his bearded face. “Who can turn that down?” he replied with a wink as he leaned over the table where Lauren had laid out the sweet treats capable of resisting the heat.

While Lauren started on his drink, he chuckled behind her. She glanced over her shoulder at what had amused him before her mood soured.

“Is she seriously setting up across from you?” he asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Apparently,” Lauren’s reply seeped through her clenched jaws.

Ten feet away, Sylvie Campos was overseeing two men as they hung a banner across her white tent. King of Pastries Bakery. The Original Since 1970.

“What a joke,” Lauren muttered, rolling her eyes at the false claim.

Unfortunately for her, she was going to see the sign many more times before the season was over. Pride was just the first stop. From now until the end of May, they’d both be at a myriad of events until it was too hot and they took a break until the winter.

“There are like a million other food vendor spots,” he said as he surveyed the sprawling sea of white tents.

Lauren poured a double shot of steaming hot espresso into a tiny insulated cup. “Yup, but I always end up within spitting distance of her. It’s a generational curse,” she explained as she handed over the coffee and started arranging the empanadas Dom brought for her. “She’s been copying me since first grade. Do you know she even came out right when I did?”

“Is nothing sacred?” Dom joked as he blew on the hot espresso before sipping it.

With a drag performance of Bad Romance as a soundtrack, Lauren watched Sylvie as she worked. She was still as petite as she was in high school, but a few years ago she’d started lightening her shoulder-length brown hair by adding blonde highlights. In a few years, she’d probably end up as fake as her Cuban Barbie mother.

Turning away from the stall across the aisle, Lauren tried to focus on her work instead of letting Sylvie get to her. “She’s seriously obsessed. Our senior year she even changed her car just to have a slightly higher trim level than me. Like who the hell does that?”

“You are not bitching about Campos, are you?” Melissa, her auburn hair in two braids she’d tied off with rainbow ribbons, appeared with a case of water. “High school ended fifteen freaking years ago!”

Resisting the urge to get defensive, Lauren tried to relax the tension coiled in her body. “She’s the one who’s stalking me. I was just telling Dom the extent of her insanity since he wasn’t there to witness it like you were.”

Melissa squatted to jam the plastic bottles in the ice chest. “I’m just saying, Lou. You need to work on letting that shit go. If she wants to compete, let her do it by herself. Don’t let her leech your energy. Don’t let her get under your skin like she always does.”

Lauren clenched her teeth. “I don’t let her rile me up.”

Dom laughed. “Girl, I may not have gone to Our Lady of Perpetual Torment with you all, but I was there at the 2011 white party.” He gulped down the rest of the potent coffee. “I saw you dump red wine on her in a glorious moment of telenovela realness. If that’s not getting under your skin, I’d hate to see what is.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Lauren shook her head. She never expected to be thirty-two-years-old and still defending herself against false accusations. Mostly false. “That was an accident.”

“So it was just a coincidence that not minutes before she’d been dancing with Christy Sala?” Melissa pressed as she closed the cooler but kept a water bottle for herself.

With a shrug, Lauren tried not to smile. She hadn’t completely intended to spill her drink on Sylvie, but she didn’t regret having tripped as she walked by her. The horrified expression on her face had been priceless. Well worth the anal retentive demand letter she received later seeking repayment for the dress. The satisfaction was worth a couple hundred dollars.

“Okay, whatever. I’m different now, okay? That was over ten years ago. I’ve grown up and she hasn’t.”

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