The Spanish Love Deception

by Elena Armas

  I knew someone who owned a vehicle in the same midnight blue.

  Keep walking, Catalina, I told myself as I restarted my graceless hopping.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the passenger window roll down.

  Without moving any closer to the vehicle I strongly suspected belonged to someone I was in no mood to interact with, I turned my body and zeroed in on the driver’s outline as I still held the stupid and wet piece of garment above me.

  God-freaking-dammit.

  Aaron was sitting inside. His body was leaning toward the copilot’s door, and while I could see his lips moving, I couldn’t make out what he was saying with the noise of the traffic, the wind, and the rain hitting the pavement with the characteristic force of a storm.

  “What?” I shouted in his direction, not moving an inch.

  Aaron waved his hand, probably indicating that I come closer. I stood there, squinting my eyes at him, wet as a drowned rat. He aggressively waved his pointer at me.

  Oh, hell no.

  I watched his scowl take over his expression as he mouthed a couple of words that looked a lot like impossible and stubborn.

  “I can’t hear you!” I howled over the rain, still rooted to the spot.

  His lips moved around what I assumed was something like for fuck’s sake. Unless he was telling me how much he wanted a milkshake. Which, judging by his scowl, I would not put any money on.

  Rolling my eyes, I stepped closer. Very slowly. Almost ridiculously so, just so I wouldn’t slip and slide across the sidewalk again. Not in front of him of all people in New York City.

  “Get in the car, Catalina.” I heard Aaron’s exasperation clinging to his voice, even over the furious and relentless rain.

  Just like I had suspected, he hadn’t wanted a milkshake.

  “Catalina,” he said as that blue gaze fell back on me, “get in.”

  “It’s Lina.” After close to two years of him exclusively using my full name, I knew correcting him was of no use. But I was frustrated. Irritated. Tired. Soaked too. And I hated my full name. Papá—being the history nerd he was—had named both his daughters after two distinguished Spanish monarchs, Isabel and Catalina. My name being the one that never came back in trend in my country. “And what for?”

  His lips parted in disbelief.

  “What for?” he repeated my words. Then, he shook his head as he exhaled through his nose. “For an improvised trip to Disneyland. What would it be otherwise?”

  For a long moment, I looked inside Aaron Blackford’s car with what I knew was an expression of genuine confusion.

  “Catalina”—I watched his face go from exasperation to something that bordered resignation—“I am driving you home”—he stretched his arm and opened the door closest to me, as if it were a done deal—“before you catch pneumonia or almost break your neck. Again.”

  Again.

  That last part he had added very slowly.

  Blood rushed to my cheeks. “Oh, thank you,” I gritted through my teeth. I tried to push down how embarrassed I was and plastered a fake smile on my face. “But there’s no need.” I stood in front of the open door, my wet hair sticking to my face again. I finally dropped the stupid cardigan and started squeezing water off it. “I can manage myself. This is just rain. If I’ve survived this long without breaking my neck, I think I can get home on my own today too. Plus, I’m not in a rush.”

  Also, I have been avoiding you since you walked out of my office earlier today.

  As I uselessly twisted some more water off my cardigan, I watched his eyebrows knit, regaining his earlier expression as he processed my words.

  “What about the cat?”

  “What cat?”

  His head tilted. “Mr. Cat.”

  The water must have been seeping through my skull because it took me an extra second to pin down what he was talking about.

  “Your neighbor’s furless cat that you are not allergic to,” he said slowly as my eyes widened. “Ryan’s.”

  I averted my eyes. “Bryan. My neighbor’s name is Bryan.”

  “Not important.”

  Ignoring that last remark, I couldn’t help but notice a line of cars forming behind Aaron’s.

  “Get in the car. Come on.”

  “No need, really.” One more car piled up. “Mr. Cat will survive a little longer without me.”

  Aaron’s mouth opened, but before he could say anything, the blaring sound of a horn startled me, making me give a little jump and almost collide against the car’s open door.

  “Por el amor de Dios!” I squealed.

  Turning my head with my heart in my throat, I discovered it was one of New York City’s infamous yellow taxis. After a few years of living and working in the city, I had learned my lesson when it came to angry drivers. Or pissed New Yorkers in general. They’d let you know how they felt exactly when they felt it.

  Proving my point, a trail of ugly-sounding words was thrown in our direction.

  I turned back just in time to watch Aaron curse under his breath. He looked just as furious as the taxi driver.

  Another nerve-racking honking noise—this time much, much, much longer—blared in my ears, making me jump again.

  “Catalina, now.” Aaron’s tone was severe.

  I blinked at him for a second too long, a little dazed by everything going on around me.

  “Please.”

  And before I could even process that word that had slipped out of him, a yellow blur was driving past us, gifting us with a ragey, “Assholes!” and blaring his horn with something close to devotion.

  Those two words—Aaron’s please and that assholes—propelled my legs into the safety of Aaron’s car. With impressive speed, I found myself letting my body fall onto the leather seat with a wet thud and smacking the door shut.

  Silence instantly engulfed us, the only sounds the muffled rattle of the rain against the shell of Aaron’s car and the dull roar of the engine moving us forward and into the chaos that was New York’s traffic.

  “Thank you,” I croaked, feeling extremely uncomfortable as I fastened my belt.

  Aaron kept his eyes on the road. “Thank you,” he answered, delivering that you with sarcasm, “for not making me get out and carry you inside myself.”

  The visual of what he had just said caught me completely off guard. My eyes widened before then quickly narrowing at him. “And how in the world did you think that would be a good idea?”

  “I was wondering myself, believe me.”

  That answer did not make any sense. And for some reason, it made my cheeks heat up. Again.

  Turning my head away from him and focusing on the almost-lawless array of moving cars ahead of us, I shifted awkwardly in my seat. Then, I stopped abruptly, noticing my soaked clothes made weird squishy noises against the leather.

  “So …” I started as I slid to the edge, stretching the seat belt along with me. More noises followed. “This is a very nice car.” I cleared my throat. “Is it an air freshener that makes it smell all new and leathery?” I knew it wasn’t; the interior was in pristine condition.

  “No.”

  Moving my ass further up to the very end with yet another squishy sound, I cleared my throat. Straightening my back, I opened my mouth, but nothing came out, not when my mind was stuck on the fact that my soaked clothes were probably ruining the most likely expensive fabric underneath them.

  This was a bad idea. I should never have climbed in his car. I should have walked.

  “Catalina,” I heard Aaron from my left side, “have you ever been inside a moving vehicle before?”

  My eyebrows wrinkled. “What? Of course. Why do you ask?” I queried from my position at the edge of the copilot’s seat. My knees were touching the dashboard.

  He slid me a glance, his eyes assessing my stance.

  Oh.

  “Well, just so you know,” I added quickly, “this is how I always sit. I love watching everything from up close.” I pretended to be
engrossed by the traffic. “I looooove rush-hour. It’s so—”

  We came to a sudden halt, and my head and whole body were pushed forward. So much that my eyes closed on instinct. I could already taste the flavor of the PVC that covered the refined lines of the dashboard. The elegant details in the wood too.

  Although it never did. Something stopped me midway.

  “Jesus,” I heard being muttered.

  One eye opened, taking in the delivery truck crossed in front of us. Then, my other eye popped open, too, and my gaze slid down, finding the explanation as to why my face wasn’t tattooed on the polished surface of Aaron’s dashboard.

  A hand. A big one, all five fingers splayed across my collarbone and … well, chest.

  Before I could blink, I was being pushed back, an array of squeaks accompanying the motion. Right until my whole back was flush against the seat rest.

  “Stay right there,” came the order from my left as his fingers heated my skin across my drenched blouse. “If you are worried about the seat, it’s just water. It will dry off.” Aaron’s words weren’t reassuring. They couldn’t be when he sounded just as angry as a few minutes ago. If not a little more.

  He retrieved his hand, the movement brisk and stiff.

  I swallowed, grabbing on to the seat belt that now rested where his palm had been. “I don’t want to ruin it.”

  “You won’t.”

  “Okay,” I said, stealing a quick glance at him.

  His gaze was on the road, shooting daggers at whoever had been responsible for that little mishap.

  “Thanks.”

  Then, we were moving again. The car was filled with silence while Aaron’s attention remained on his task and mine took the chance to scatter.

  I surprised myself, thinking of Rosie’s words.

  “I don’t think Aaron is all that bad,” she had said earlier today.

  But why had that thought waited to seep in until right now? To sound so loud and clear in my head? It wasn’t like Mr. Sunshine here was being any nicer than he usually was.

  Although he had sort of just saved me from the rain. And a good blow to the head.

  Silently sighing, I cursed myself for what I was about to do.

  “Thank you for printing out those papers for me, by the way,” I said quietly, fighting the impulse to take it back immediately. But I didn’t. I could be diplomatic. At least, right now. “It was very nice of you, Aaron.” That last part had me wincing, the admission feeling funny on my tongue.

  I turned to look at him, taking in his hard profile. I watched the tight line of his jaw relax a little.

  “You are welcome, Catalina.”

  He kept his gaze on the road.

  Whoa. Look at us. That was … very civil.

  Before I could delve any more into that, a shiver crawled all the way down my back, making me shudder. I hugged my middle in hopes of getting warmer inside the wet clusterfuck that was my clothing.

  Aaron’s hand shot to the console, changing the temperature setting and switching on the heating of my seat. I immediately felt the pleasant hot air brushing my ankles and arms, my legs growing gradually warmer.

  “Better?”

  “Much. Thank you.” I faced him with a small smile.

  His head turned, and he searched my face with a skeptical expression.

  It was almost as if he were waiting for me to add something.

  I rolled my eyes. “Don’t let all these thank yous get to your head, Blackford.”

  “I wouldn’t dare.” He lifted one of his hands from the wheel. And I swore there was a hint of humor in his voice. “Just wondering if I should enjoy it or if I should ask if you are okay.”

  “That’s a good question, but I don’t think it’s one I can answer.” I shrugged my shoulders, fighting the snappy comeback rising to my tongue. I sighed. “Honestly? I am soaked to my bones, and I’m hungry and tired. So, I’d enjoy it if I were you.”

  “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?”

  “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.