The Spanish Love Deception

“Oh, nothing.” I waved my hand in the air, thinking of what Mamá had said. What that Sherlock Holmes wannabe had said about not finding photographic evidence of my made-up boyfriend. “Just some family drama.”

Aaron seemed to consider that for a long moment, in which we drove in silence. I used the time to look out

the passenger window, watching the blurry streets of Brooklyn through the droplets running down the glass.

“Gerald is a prick,” came from the man in the driver’s seat.

Eyes wide, I looked over at him. His profile was hard, serious. And I didn’t think I’d ever heard Aaron curse.

“One day, he’ll get what he deserves. I’m shocked that hasn’t happened yet, if I’m being honest. If it were up to me …” He shook his head.

“If it were up to you, what? What would you do?” I watched a muscle jump in his jaw. He didn’t answer, so I averted my gaze, letting it fall back onto the passing traffic. This conversation was pointless. And I was too drained of energy to attempt to have it anyway. “It’s all right. It’s not like it’s my first rodeo with him.”

“What does that mean?” Aaron’s voice had a strange edge.

Trying not to pay attention to that, I answered as honestly as I could without getting into too much detail. I didn’t want Aaron’s pity or compassion. “He hasn’t been exactly pleasant and agreeable ever since I got promoted to team leader.” I shrugged, clasping my hands in my lap. “It’s like he can’t compute why someone like me has the same position he does.”

“Someone like you?”

“Yeah.” I exhaled heavily through my mouth, my breath fogging up the glass of the window for a couple of seconds. “A woman. At first, I thought it was because I was the youngest team leader and he was skeptical about me. It would be fair. Then, it also crossed my mind that he might have an issue with me being a foreigner. I know a few of the guys used to make fun of my accent. I once overheard Tim call me Sofia Vergara in a mocking way. Which, honestly, I took it as a compliment. Having half the curves or the wit that woman has wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Not that I’m unhappy with my body. I’m okay with being … the way I am.” Normal. Plain. And I was. Everything about me was pretty standard where I came from. Brown eyes and brown hair. On the shorter side. Not thin, but not fat. Wide hips but rather small bust. We were millions of women that fit that description. So, I was … average. Not a big deal. “It wouldn’t hurt, losing a couple of pounds for the wedding, but I don’t think whatever I’m doing is working.”

A sound came from my side, making me realize that I had not only overshared, but I had also rambled my way out of the topic at hand with Aaron, who didn’t even compute small talk.

“Anyway”—I cleared my throat—“Gerald doesn’t like me being where I am, and it has nothing to do with me not being an American or me being younger than him. But that’s how the world works, and it will work that way until it doesn’t anymore.”

More silence followed my words.

I peeked at him, curious to know what it was that he was thinking that kept him from lecturing me or telling me that I was whining or if he did not care what I had to say. But he only looked mad. Again. His jaw was all bunched up, and his brows furrowed.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the intersection that signaled my street. “Oh, take the next right, please,” I instructed Aaron, taking my eyes off him. “It’s at the end of that street.”

Aaron followed my directions in silence, still looking like he was bothered by something I had said. Thankfully, my block came into view before I was tempted to ask.

“There.” I pointed with my finger. “The building on the right. The one with the dark red front door.”

Aaron pulled up and stationed the car on a free spot that had somehow been magically waiting right in front of my door. My gaze followed his right hand as he killed the engine.

Silence engulfed the confined space of the vehicle.

Swallowing hard, I looked around. I tried to focus on the characteristics of the brownstones of this borough of Brooklyn, the few trees scattered along the street, the pizzeria on the corner—where I usually picked up dinner when I was feeling lazy. Or just hungry. I focused on everything, except the way in which the silence pressed on me, the more I waited inside the car.

Fumbling with my seat belt and feeling the tops of my ears heat for no reason, I opened my mouth. “All right, I’m going to—”

“Have you thought about my offer?” Aaron said.

My fingers froze on my seat belt. My head lifted very slowly until I was facing him.

For the first time since I had placed my drenched ass inside, I let myself really look at Aaron. Study all of him. His profile was lit by the dim glow coming from the few lamps perched on my street. The storm had somehow died, but the sky was still dark and angry, as if this were just a short pause and the worst was yet to come.

We found ourselves pretty much in the dark, so I couldn’t be sure if his eyes were the deep shade of blue that usually told me he was serious and all business—which I hoped wasn’t the case—or that lighter blue that preceded a battle. The only thing I could notice was how his shoulders seemed tense. A little wider than usual. They almost dwarfed the otherwise spacious interior of the car. Hell, looking at him now, his whole body seemed to do exactly that. Even the distance between his seat and the steering wheel was overly wide to accommodate his long legs. So much that I bet a person could easily fit in there.

By the time I found myself wondering what he would say if I jumped on his lap to test my theory, Aaron cleared his throat. Probably twice.

“Catalina.” He drew my attention back to his face.

“Do you …” I trailed off, a little shaken by the fact that my mind had taken me to Aaron’s lap. I am ridiculous. “Do you want to pee or something?”

Aaron frowned and rearranged his body in his seat, angling it toward me. “No.” He looked at me weirdly. “I’ll probably regret asking this, but why do you think I want to?”