The Spanish Love Deception

“That bad of a day?” That tiny pinch of humor was gone.

Sensing the start of another shudder, I burrowed myself in the heated fabric of the seat. “More like a bad week.”

Aaron hummed in response. It was a deep sound, a little like a rumble.

“This might not surprise you, but I have been close to murdering a few people this week,” I confessed, taking the truce I had imposed as a green light for venting to him. “And you are not even at the top of the list.”

A very light and very subdued snort came from him. Truce and all, I guessed I was allowed to admit that I liked it. It made my lips bend in a smile.

“I …” He trailed off, considering something. “I don’t know how to take that either. Should I be offended or grateful?”

“You can be both, Blackford. Plus, there’s time until the day is over. You can still claim your rightful place as the number one person who awakens my most murderous side.”

We stopped at a light. Aaron’s head turned slowly, and I was caught off guard by how light his expression was. His ocean eyes were clear and his face more relaxed than I’d ever seen it. We stared at each other for two or three long seconds. Another shiver curled at the nape of my neck.

I blamed the wet clothes.

Without missing a beat and as if he had eyes on the side of his head, he turned to the road as the light changed to green. “I’ll need directions from this point on.”

Puzzled by the implications of his request, my head spun in the other direction. I took in the layout of the wide avenue we were driving through. “Oh,” I murmured. “We are in Brooklyn.”

I had been so … distracted that I had forgotten about telling Aaron where I lived. Although he wasn’t too off track. Or at all.

“You live in this part of the city, right? North Central Brooklyn?”

“Yeah,” I blurted. “Bed-Stuy.” I confirmed with a nod of my head. “I just … how did you know?”

“You complain.”

What? I blinked at his explanation.

He continued, “This way okay, or should I turn?”

Clearing my throat, I stumbled over my words. “Yes, stay on Humboldt Street, and I’ll let you know when to turn.”

“Okay.”

I gripped my seat belt, feeling a little too warm all of a sudden. “So, I complain?” I mumbled.

“About the commute,” Aaron answered calmly. I opened my mouth, but he continued, “You have mentioned that it takes you forty-five minutes to get to the part of Brooklyn you live in.” He paused thoughtfully. “You rant about it almost every day.”

My lips clipped shut. I did complain but not to him. I pretty much vented to everybody else. Yeah, half the time, Aaron was somewhere around, but I never thought he was interested in what I had to say if it didn’t concern work. Or if it concerned me.

He shocked me by asking, “Who’s made the top besides me then? The list with the people you might have wanted to murder this week.”

“Huh …” I trailed off, surprised that he was interested enough to ask.

“I want to know my competition,” he said, sending my head swiveling in his direction. “It’s only fair.”

Was that a joke? Oh my God, it was, wasn’t it?

Studying his profile, I felt myself smiling warily. “Let me see.” I could play this game. “All right, so Jeff”—I counted with my fingers—“my cousin Charo”—a second finger—“and Gerald. Yes, definitely him too.” I let my hands drop to my lap. “Hey, look at that; you didn’t even make the top three, Blackford. Congratulations.”

Frankly, I was genuinely surprised myself.

I watched how his brows furrowed.

“What’s the problem with your cousin?”