Hard Luck (Trophy Boyfriends 4)

“No one wants to hear your thing! This isn’t a confessional! This is my date.”

“It’s not a date,” Glory mutters beside me.

“No shit! And it never will be, because you five are awful!”

True snickers, eating pizza.

Great.

Just great. She looks totally checked out, whatever rapport we had going on ruined. Poof—gone.

“So anyway, as I was saying,” Rosie continues, peeling the cheese off a slice of pizza and stuffing it into her mouth with a moan. “I had sex with the guy who delivered my new sofa last week.”

Oh. My. God.

Who are these people?

My virgin ears! My virgin sisters!

They are not supposed to be saying shit like this! They are not supposed to be going on two dates in one night or having sex with couch dudes or ‘doing’ booty calls.

This is completely horrifying information, and I have no damn idea how I’m supposed to sleep tonight.

What.

The.

Fuck.

“You’re not supposed to have sex before you’re married!” I lecture them all, staring them down one by one, the Catholic boy in me preparing a sermon inside my head, making the sign of the cross and wanting to spit over my shoulder. “Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death…”

“You are not saying the Hail Mary!” Mariana cackles, practically bursting at the seams.

“You are being ridiculous, brother.” Glory laughs, still eating my food, the food I am paying for, not her, the little…the little…

She’s not the only one laughing; they all are, True especially. Tears are streaming down her face.

She wipes them away with a napkin. “This is the funniest thing I’ve e-ever s-seen.” She’s sputtering.

“You.” I direct my stare at True. “Are not helping.” I would get out of this booth, but I’m trapped like a tiger in a cage—a trapped tiger getting poked and poked and prodded by its handlers.

That doesn’t sober her up in any way—if anything, it makes the table burst into more raucous laughter.

Eleven

True

Who knew pizza with Mateo would be this fun?

I was already enjoying myself—he’s pleasant to be around—but this? This hijacking by his family makes it all so much better. Satisfying, even, to see the expression on his face change from curious when he watched them walk in to dread, to horror.

Now, he sits prisoner in the corner, pinned in by his younger sister, barely fitting and uncomfortable. Mateo’s face is a shocking shade of pink from his cheeks to the tips of his ears as he is forced to listen to his siblings’ confessions.

They’re doing it on purpose, as siblings are wont to do, delighting in his shocked gasps, the gagging sounds, the sputtering.

Did he actually think the five of them were virgins?

Probably.

Men are naïve like that when it comes to their sisters, my own brothers included.

I don’t know how long we sit here laughing and talking, how many cups have been brought to the table and refilled, then refilled again. More appetizers ordered, more napkins.

The server comes by with the final check, and it’s only then that the girls decide it’s time for them to leave, giving their brother the privacy he’s wanted this entire time, his mouth suddenly having been zipped shut.

Most likely too terrified to speak, letting his sisters have the spotlight, taking the attention off of him.

When we gather up our jackets and say our goodbyes, his sisters take turns hugging me—kissing and hugging him—before blowing back out the door the same way they blew in: with a loud commotion.

“Don’t be a stranger,” Rosie whispered in my ear when she embraced me. “We like you.”

They will be amazing aunties.

The thought makes me feel a million things, all hitting me like a wave: shame, excitement, guilt.

It’s clear they worship Mateo—they would hate me if they knew what a liar I am. Maybe not forever, but long enough. Especially that youngest one, Gloria—I can totally see her scratching my eyes out.

He and I are out by the curb waiting for our cars in the bustling city, the loud honking and bright lights from the traffic lights and business signs making the mood feel less casual. I wouldn’t call this a date, but it began feeling more…something midway through.

Each time I caught Mateo’s eye after his sister told a story about him or they ganged up on him to tease him, we shared a look.

None of it actually bothered him, what they were doing.

He loves them so much.

I need to tell him, just not…

Here.

Not now, not like this.

“Thank you for late lunch slash dinner,” I finally say, gripping my purse and feeling grateful I have a warm winter hat on. It’s cold outside and I’m beginning to freeze.

He doesn’t look like he’s going to kiss me…

…but what if he kisses me?

Don’t be a fool, True—you barely had any alone time with him. What would make you think he’d want to make out with you?