The Spanish Love Deception

“You are parked in my street. In front of my building. I thought maybe you needed to use the bathroom. And I hoped it wouldn’t be number two, honestly.”

I watched his chest inflate with a deep breath and then release all the air out.

“No, I don’t need to use the bathroom.”

His gaze studied me, as if he couldn’t figure out why I was there, inside his car. And in the meantime, I wondered exactly the same thing.

My fingers finally made work of the seat belt, snapping it free as I felt his eyes boring holes into my side.

“So, what’s your answer?”

My whole body froze. “My answer?”

“To my offer. Have you thought about it? And please”—dammit, that word again—“stop pretending you don’t remember. I know you do.”

My heart tripped, tumbling down for a horrifying second. “I’m not pretending,” I murmured, doing exactly what he had asked me not to.

But in my defense, I needed to win some time to figure this out. How to … deal with the situation. And more importantly, to figure out why.

Why was he offering? Why was he insisting? Why was he going through the hassle? Why did he think he could be the one to help me? Why did he sound like he meant it? Why …

Just why?

Expecting a sarcastic comment, or a roll of his blue eyes at me playing dumb, or even him to retract his words because I was being difficult on purpose and he never had patience for that, I braced myself. But of all the things I expected him to go with, he went with the only one I wasn’t ready for.

A defeated sigh left his lips.

I blinked.

“Your sister’s wedding. I’ll be your date,” Aaron said. As if he’d be willing to repeat himself as much as he possibly could as long as I gave him an answer.

Or as if he were offering something simple. Something that would obtain a straightforward answer that didn’t require much consideration. Something like, Would you like dessert, Lina? Why, yes, of course. I’ll have the cheesecake, thank you. But Aaron’s offer was everything but simple and as far away from cheesecake as one could get.

“Aaron”—I shot him a look—“you can’t be serious.”

“What makes you think I’m not?”

How about everything? “Well, for one, you are you. And I am me. This is us, Aaron. You just can’t be,” I repeated. Because he couldn’t be.

“I’m perfectly serious, Catalina.”

I blinked. Again. Then, I laughed bitterly. “Is this a joke, Blackford? I know you struggle with that, and let me tell you, you shouldn’t go around, making jokes without a real feel of what’s funny and what’s not. So, I’m going to help you here,” I looked at him straight in the eye. “This is not funny, Aaron.”

He frowned. “Not joking.”

I kept staring at him for a long moment.

Nope. No. He couldn’t not be joking. He couldn’t be serious either.

Bringing my hands to my tangled and wet hair, I shoved it back a little too briskly. I was ready to get out of here. And yet, I remained rooted to the place.

“Did you come up with any other options? A better option than me?”

Both his questions hit the mark I assumed he’d aimed at because I felt my shoulders fall in defeat.

“Do you even have any other options?”

No, I did not. And the fact that he was being so blunt about it didn’t feel all that great either. My cheeks heated, and I remained silent.