Marrying My Billionaire Hookup

“I’m sorry,” Sonia says, her gaze on her hands on the table. She stands up.

What the hell…?

Suddenly everything clicks. “Did you set me up?” I demand.

“I didn’t want to, but he made me. I had no choice.” Her voice is a wail, and she’s actually holding the back of one hand against her forehead.

“He made you?” Nobody can make Sonia do anything, not even her father. I’m tempted to point out she should’ve punched Aaron. But then, what, oh what would she do if she broke a nail?

Sonia runs away dramatically, back arched and hair bouncing like a tragic heroine in a cliché-ridden movie. I watch her disappear with narrowed eyes, then start to get up. I don’t have time for this, and I’m going to bill her for making me come out for this bullcrap.

“Sit down,” Aaron says, grabbing my wrist.

As if. “You want to make a scene here? Is that what you want? White man harasses Hispanic girl? How do you think that’s going to play?”

“Come on, sweetheart.” His tone turns condescending and cajoling.

Irritation spikes. Why does he insist on using an endearment when I’ve made it clear as the Palm Springs air that we’re through? “I’m not your sweetheart anymore. We broke up months ago. It’s over.”

I try to yank my arm out of his grip, but he holds me firmly. Maybe I should talk to Angel. He’s one of my brothers, and an amateur kickboxer. Surely he can give me some pointers on ball-busting.

“I won’t accept that it’s over,” Aaron says, recycling a line all the stalkers in history have used. But I know better than to expect originality.

I sigh. “Look, we’re done. Finished. Kaput. Bye-bye land. You can’t make me date you again. You’re lingering like a guy two hours after the last course has been served. The restaurant is dark, the kitchen is closed. It’s time for you to go home. Alone.”

“But I need you to marry me.”

I can’t help it. I snort, and then start laughing. We dated for four months. In the beginning, I was entranced by his dance moves—he’s an excellent dancer—and he made me laugh with silly jokes. But we were never in love. The sex was just okay, at least on my end, even though he groaned and grunted like a pig in mud. The memory, in retrospect, makes me wonder if those sounds were the reason I got over him so fast. My experience with Edgar says yes. Because when Edgar groaned…

Stop, stop, stop. My lady parts are clenching hard, trying to ease the empty ache.

“I’m serious.” Aaron’s whiny voice cuts my Libido Express off like a katana through a bra strap. His face is turning a dull red.

No longer laughing, I squint at him. “Did you get hit by a car or something?”

“No, I—”

“Fall off a ladder? Some kind of head trauma?”

“My grandpa wants me to prove I’m good and settled, or he’s giving all the money to my brother. Why should that little weasel get everything?”

“No idea, but it’s not my problem.”

“Grandpa likes you! Says you’re a nice girl. He never said that about any other girl I dated.”

That makes me feel slightly warm and fuzzy, because while Aaron might be a dick, his grandfather is a gentleman. I blame Aaron’s mother for the way he turned out. She’s a piece of work. The only reason Aaron’s younger brother grew up to be an upstanding citizen is that he’s actually Aaron’s half-brother and was raised by his own very normal and nice mom.

“So?” I say carelessly. “You aren’t my type. Not anymore.”

He looks around and then pulls his phone out. He clicks a few buttons and then pushes the screen toward me. “Look at this. You think you’re in control here? You’re not.”

“Get that thing out of my face.” I’m too pissed off to give a damn now. I can’t believe I’m wasting my time here when I could be eating Tío Manny’s tacos along with Tía Bea’s guacamole.

“Oh, you want to see this,” Aaron says. “After all, you’re the star…”

Huh? I squint at the screen. It’s a video of two people…having sex. After a moment, I realize it’s me and Aaron. The camera is angled on my face enough that you can tell. And the setting is familiar enough—those blue sheets and the black metal furniture. Aaron’s man-cave condo.

For a moment I stare, my brain working to put things together. Obviously, there were cameras hidden in his bedroom. Fucker!