Page 36 of Unrequited (Unrequited 1)

Maeve

Okay, I’ll say it: Santi’s dad was scary. I tried not to judge people by their appearances—I’d met some hard-ass looking folks in both my lines of work who turned out to be completely decent—but prison tattoos always made me leery. Add him being as tall and wide as Santi and as dashing as Diego with a voice like thunder, and you got an intimidating package.

But he’d made me comfortable, murmuring how he didn’t have any hard feelings toward me for taking Diego’s place. Telling me all about hisabuelafrom Mexico. Mentioning his body shop, the one Santi had helped him buy. Asking me about my people back in Georgia.

By the time we sat down for dinner, I’d decided I’d be coming back to this house to hang out with Eli and Alicia, somehow, someway. So I didn’t really like one of their sons. That was just a trivial detail.

“Tell me about the set list,” Eli asked slash demanded.

We were squished around their small, round dining table. I’d ended up between Murray and Santi, my shoulders brushing both of theirs.

Mo answered, telling him how we planned to arrange the order of the songs for the tour.

“We added in a cover for Maeve to sing on. We’ll see how it goes,” Mo said, like it had been an idea we’d all agreed upon easily. In reality, Santi had fought us tooth and nail.

Sucked for him Unrequited was a democracy and the vote had been three to one.

Eli nodded. “Too bad you’re not playing any shows on U.S. soil. I’m curious to see Ms. O’Day in action.”

“You should come to rehearsal next week,” I suggested.

“I’ll think on it. See if I can get away from the shop,” he said.

“Where’s your sister?” Alicia asked Mo.

“Don’t know. She’s a slippery little sneak these days,” Mo said. “Maeve? Do you know?”

“She texted that she felt like hot garbage. I’d be concerned, but I’m mad she didn’t give me the ride she promised and I happen to know she’s nursin’ a monster hangover.”

She’d rolled in about the time I had woken up, tugging a prepster-looking guy through the door with her. He left when my pies were done, and she’d stayed locked in her room until I had needed to get to rehearsal.

I hadn’t asked, and she hadn’t offered any details.

“Who was she drinking with?” Murray asked.

I shrugged, refusing to put Yael on blast. “You’ll have to ask her.”

“You better not,” Mo chuckled. “She’ll have your ass if you get all up in her business.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Murray said.

Dinner went on with more talk about the tour, the boys slinging insults—this was Mo and Murray; Santi mostly grunted—eating the most delicious stew and tortillas I’d ever had, and feeling content, if not a little edgy, with all the contact my arm kept having with Santi’s.

Alicia served up my pie, which was reduced to crumbs in a shockingly short amount of time. Mo and Murray were fairly slim guys, and Santi, while pretty huge, had not an ounce of fat on him, but they could all pack it away. Alicia and I were lucky we got a couple scraps with the way the four men at the table ate. Mo nearly stabbed Eli’s hand over the last piece of pecan pie.

“I’m announcing right now I have no plans of bakin’ for y’all while we’re on the road. Live it up now,” I said.

“It’s probably for the best,” Murray said. “Mo’s leather pants are tight as hell. You keep feeding him like this, he won’t be able to fit into them anymore.”

Mo gave a solemn nod. “He states facts.”

I’d always wondered what that would be like, to be able to make casual jokes about gaining weight, like it was no big deal. I got that men’s issues with their bodies were different than women’s, but I found it fascinating, nevertheless.

“What’s the travelling situation going to be like for the tour?” Alicia asked.

“Mostly flying. We’ll do a couple buses for closer cities,” Mo answered.

“Oooh, Maeve, you’re going to be stuck on the bus with the boys?” She scrunched her face like the notion left a sour taste in her mouth.

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