Hard Luck

by Sara Ney

  “What would you call sex with me then?”

  True pauses. “I meant…I don’t have casual sex…a lot. Ever. That wasn’t…it was the first time I’d ever done that.” She’s rambling because she’s nervous, which I find cute, not annoying.

  “Neither do I.”

  Her brows go up.

  I reach for a calamari. “We covered this already, remember? At the wedding? I told you I don’t do one-night stands—I grew out of that the night my sisters busted into my shithole apartment and kicked out a girl they thought was a gold digger. I’m scarred for life, and the chick probably was too.”

  True laughs. “Probably not. Gold diggers don’t give up easily.”

  “Right, but nobody—absolutely nobody—wants an Espinoza girl crashing their party.”

  I shudder at the thought, cringing as I tear a piece of calamari in half with my teeth.

  We plow through most of the food we already have while I keep a watchful eye on the kitchen door, body filling with excitement each time the server walks through it bearing a pizza.

  I sag with disappointment when he moves past us.

  “So what was the reason you wanted to reconnect?” True asks, wiping her hands on a napkin then resting them in her lap.

  Is she that obtuse? Why does a man invite a woman out if he’s not interested in her? For shits and giggles? I slept with her once, she disappeared—I’m not making the same mistake twice. If she thinks I’m only here to jerk her around, she’s sorely mistaken.

  “Do I need a reason to want to see you?”

  “Yes.” She laughs. “You barely know me. We’ve met once.”

  Good point. “So? Haven’t you ever felt a connection with someone you couldn’t stop thinking about?”

  She pauses, and I can see the uncertainty written on her face. “Sure.”

  I shrug. “There’s your answer.”

  True’s next question comes out slowly, carefully. “You’re not seeing anyone right now?”

  Uh—did she not hear what I just said? “No. Not even a little.” There are no appetizers left, but that doesn’t stop me from rooting around the plastic basket in search of scraps.

  Where is that damn pizza!

  “You know,” she begins anew. “We didn’t really have any serious talks about…stuff. Like…do you ever want kids?”

  Kids? “Yeah, like ten.”

  “Ten!”

  I can see I’ve shocked her, and her expression makes me laugh. “So maybe not ten, but at least three. I want a loud house when I’m old and decrepit.”

  “I highly doubt you will ever be decrepit.”

  “Aww. Why, True Wallace, was that a compliment?” I’ll take what I can get, even if it’s in the form of the lamest flattery ever.

  “Barely.”

  I catch a glimpse of our server and he’s definitely, definitely heading in our direction with a pie in his hands. The steaming circle of cheese and goo and meat has my stomach growling before he places it on a tiny metal stand in the middle of our table.

  “Dang this looks good. I’ve been craving pizza for days.”

  “Doesn’t your brother feed you?” I tease, offering her the triangle spatula so she can take the first slice.

  “He eats a lot of healthy food, so it’s a real challenge getting pizza delivered to the house.” She hesitates, adding one, two slices to her plate. Three. “If you don’t count the Chinese food he brings home sometimes.” She groans. “God, I love pizza.”

  It’s good, but it’s not my first choice; that will always be Mexican food. Mi madre’s carnitas, grilled corn with chipotle-lime butter, and her sopapillas for dessert.

  Delicioso. Delicious.

  Second to that? A good old-fashioned steak. Crab legs. Italian.

  Damn I’m hungry thinking about all that food.

  I serve myself and smile when the server catches my eye with a thumbs-up. He doesn’t approach the table, instead giving us our space, and I shoot him a thumbs-up back to let him know we’re happy.

  “So you’re not dating anyone,” I start. “Any reason why, or…”

  I know it’s rude to ask someone why they’re single, but True Wallace is a real catch that someone is going to snap up soon, and I don’t want to miss my opportunity. If she’s not dating for a reason, I want to know what it is; maybe I can solve her problem. Ha ha.

  “No reason.” She’s chewing. “Just haven’t found anyone, and honestly, those dating apps are the worst.”

  “No shit they are.”

  “Have you been on any apps?” Her brows and a slice of pizza are raised.

  “Yeah—my account got reported for being fake a lot, so I said fuck it and stopped. There’s an app for high-profile people and celebrities, but it’s vapid—who wants to date another celebrity? They’re so high-maintenance.”

  “Wait—they have dating apps specifically for celebrities?”

  “Yes, but it’s stupid.”

  “How did I not know this?”

  “You’re not famous enough,” I joke, giving her a nudge with my foot beneath the table.

  “I wonder why my brother never said anything about this secret app. I have FOMO kind of.” Pause. “Even though I have a love-hate relationship with those stupid things.”

  “Dating apps?”

  “Yes. I download them with all this hope—gear myself up for the process, swipe my little finger away until it’s about to fall off. Then I quickly wonder what the hell I’m doing because guys are the freaking worst.” True is chomping on the end of a pizza slice, fervor in her voice. “For real. You start talking and it can go two ways: they want your phone number almost immediately, or they want to talk for a month and will come up with millions of reasons why they can’t meet up or ask you out.”

  “That’s called a catfish,” I point out drolly. But she is far from done complaining now that she’s on a roll.

  “I’m being serious. I hate, hate, hate when they ask for your number within the first few messages after matching. It takes the wind out of my sails. Like I’m going to give some strange dude access to my personal shit.” She stares at me, wide-eyed. “They can do that, you know. Sometimes your full name will pop up in the contacts, and if they have that…” She whistles. “They can google you and find out all kinds of shit before you even talk about it. It’s creepy.”

  That does sound creepy, but it’s nothing I’m not familiar with.

  “Try having your face on the side of city buses and attempting to find a woman to date you for your inner beauty.” I’m kidding, but not really—it’s not easy being in the public eye and searching for love. “Try having women show up outside your building at all hours of the night because they waited in the parking lot outside the stadium and followed you home.”

  This is why True and I are a good match—we get the complications of dating. It’s too bad she’s making it impossible to date her, and I’m still not clear what her hesitations about me are.

  I’m successful.

  I have all my hair.

  I come from a great family. Well…mostly, if you don’t count when my sisters get up in my business.

  I’m loyal.

  I’ve never gotten anyone pregnant out of wedlock.

  If those things don’t make me a great catch, I don’t know what does.

  “So if you’re not on any apps but you’re looking for a relationship, why won’t you consider dating me?”

  I see her freeze, entire body caught off guard by my question, which shouldn’t be this hard to answer. Fuck, I knew she wasn’t into me—why am I torturing myself like this?

  Because you’re an idiot.

  No.

  Because she’s a good catch and you know it, and what man in their right mind lets a good woman slip through their fingers?

  An idiot.

  Just as I’m about to ask if she wants to go on a date—and not this ridiculous façade of “Hey let’s catch up” pizza shenanigans—a group of females materialize in my p
eripheral vision, causing a stir at the door as it blows open, wind kicking up the cold, blowing them in along with it.

  One, two, three, four.

  Five of the Espinoza girls, aka my goddamn sisters.

  What are they doing here?

  Seething, I vow to kill Gloria, vowing also that I’m never telling her anything ever freaking again.

  Their eyes scan the crowded pizzeria until they find what they came here for: me.

  Five mouths smirk.

  Five pairs of legs weave their way through the pizza place, beelining for a table at the far side of the room—far enough away from True and me but still a distraction.

  Spies.

  Each and every last one of them.

  My mother’s street soldiers here to do a job. They think they’re here because they love gossip and knowing what goes on in my life, but the truth is, whatever they report back to mi madre, she is going to use as ammo to find me a suitable wife.

  I cannot take a piss without them breathing down my neck or trying to control my personal life! Ugh!

  I want to bang my head on the table. Instead, I paste on a pleasant smile, peeling my eyes off the lot of my sisters and back onto True.

  Her eyes flit to their table.

  Back at me.

  Raises her brows though no actual questions come out of her lips, just the sound of her clearing her throat uncomfortably.

  I exhale, shoulders sagging, feeling like I’ve already gone ten rounds inside a boxing ring, the heat of my sisters’ penetrating stares getting me all sweaty.

  Focusing on the words coming out of True’s mouth has become impossible now, my gaze roving back to my sisters’ table of their own accord.

  They have menus propped up in front of their faces, watching over the tops—it’s a scene from a bad romantic comedy, hiding at a corner table but doing a horrible job concealing themselves.

  As if they didn’t cause a ruckus when they blew in through the doors.

  Jeez.

  Estoy tan avergonzado. I’m so embarrassed.

  “Is something bothering you?” True is watching me watch my sisters, except she has no idea those are my sisters, and I cannot imagine what’s going through her head right now.

  I bet she thinks I’m ogling other women and probably thinks I’m being a pig.

  I feel like one; this is a disaster—or it’s going to turn into one as soon as my asshole sisters decide they’ve sat around long enough and make their way over to our side of the pizza place.

  My head gives a shake as I drag my eyes away. “Sorry, no—nothing is bothering me. I thought I saw someone I knew.” Turns out it’s a whole table of someones I know, their beady little Espinoza eyes gawking in my direction.

  They’re horrible at this.

  It occurs to me that all but Sophia are here, and why the hell aren’t my sisters at work instead of skulking around town spying on me? It takes Mariana a good forty-five minutes to get into the city, and that’s when there’s no traffic.

  Why do they so obviously hate me?

  I pull the ball cap on my head down further, knowing it’s far too late in the game to hide but attempting it regardless.

  “You don’t look so good,” True observes, biting into a slice of pizza. “Are you getting sick?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure? Your face got really pale.” Her eyes flit back and forth between my face and my sisters’ table. My face.

  Their table.

  “Does your sick stomach have anything to do with that group of girls sitting over there?” She tilts her head in their general direction but doesn’t point or stare.

  I’m not sure what to say.

  “Because they’ve been staring at us since they walked in. It’s almost like they know you.” She considers this. “Or maybe they’re super fans.” True is biting down on a slice of pizza, the mozzarella melting off one side. “Do you think they’re fans, or am I just being paranoid?”

  One, you’re not being paranoid, and two, those are my sisters and I’m going to single-handedly strangle each and every one of them when I get my hands on them.

  Why the hell I thought Gloria could be trusted to keep my location secret from the others is beyond me; I should never have even told her the woman I was meeting for lunch is the same girl I slept with at Buzz Wallace’s wedding (who ghosted me), and I sure as hell shouldn’t have mentioned we were having pizza, or at what restaurant, or at what time.

  I am such a goddamn moron. I basically gave them my itinerary!

  This was way too tempting an opportunity for them to resist, and my sisters aren’t fools.

  I get it—they wanted to see what True looks like, though they’ve no doubt google-searched her a million times.

  They wanted to see her in person.

  ¡Estúpido, estúpido, estúpido!

  Stupid, stupid, stupid!

  You would think I would have learned my lesson the first time this happened—yes, it’s happened before.

  Remember, I just said I’m a moron.

  Three years ago to be exact, when I was dating an actress on a daytime soap opera—a telenovela, specifically, and one they all absolutely adore. They wanted to meet this fiery Latina beauty in person, but I wasn’t ready to introduce her to the family, so they did what any self-respecting girl gang would do: they ambushed me.

  Showed up to that date—a romantic dinner in the park—and pretended to stumble upon us before proceeding to set up their own picnic a few feet away, killing the entire mood.

  I should have known that relationship with Eva wasn’t going to last long—she was horrified by my sisters’ behavior, their fawning, their lack of etiquette, how loud they were.

  And I was horrified by Eva’s lack of enthusiasm for my blood; it was a turn-off the way she treated my sisters, the way she spoke about them afterwards, the way her eyes sparkled when she ridiculed them.

  She showed her true colors, and that was when I knew she was not my forever person.

  Which makes me wonder…how would True Wallace behave if the Espinoza clan were to let loose on her? If my sisters got up from their table, made their way over, and—

  “Oh my god, are you José Espinoza?” The high-pitched squeal interrupts and comes from Mariana’s mouth, the oldest of the bunch though not nearly as mature as she should act at her age.

  She calls me José because that’s the name the team officially uses for publicity, smug smile tipping the corner of her bratty mouth. She may be older than I am, but goddamn she’s acting childish.

  “Oh my god, I can’t even believe it! Eek! Can I have your autograph?”

  Mariana is carrying on as if she’s meeting a real-life celebrity, like a rock star or movie star.

  What a sarcastic dick.

  She comes bearing a napkin and a pen, thrusting it toward me the same way a fan might do, if she were an actual fucking baseball enthusiast.

  It takes all my self-control not to swat her dumb hand away.

  I’m conflicted. Do I bust my sisters and have to admit to True that they’re spying liars, or do I pretend they’re complete strangers?

  A few heads in the place turn.

  I sigh.

  “True, this is my sister Mari. Mari, this is True.”

  Mariana shifts in her sneakers, rocking on her heels, studying True Wallace. “Your name is True? Like True or false? Or is it a nickname?” The rest of the bunch hovers behind her, waiting for their turn to humiliate me.

  Immature and rude!

  I want to die.

  “That’s my actual name.” True graciously puts her hand out for my sister to shake. “It’s good to meet you, Mari.”

  “This is Glory,” Mari says, thrusting Gloria forward. “And Ana, Rosie, Camila.”

  True greets them all good-naturedly, apparently a natural at navigating awkward situations and crisis management. Perhaps she should switch careers; instead of sports recruiting, she should be a publicist or a manager, or a—<
br />
  “So what are you two talking about?” Mari slides her ass into the seat next to True, bracing her chin in her hands on the table.

  The other four do the same, and soon, I’m squeezed into the corner of the booth with both my arms squished in front of me, relegated to the far pits of hell.

  “None of your business!” I say with a scowl, unable to reach for my plate. “Go away! We were having a moment.”

  “A moment?” Ana laughs. “Yeah right.” She snatches a slice off the silver platter, folds it, and takes a bite.

  “That’s mine!” I scold in Spanish. “Ours, I mean—get your own damn pizza.”

  “Sharing is caring,” Glory preaches, digging in.

  “No, sharing is not caring. Caring is going away and leaving us in peace. I will give you an update later.”

  “Don’t lie—you always say that then you never do.” Ana is chewing and talking at the same time. “True doesn’t mind, do you?”

  “She’s not going to tell you to your face that she wants you to leave, Ana.”

  God, could this be more uncomfortable? Could my sisters be more uncooperative?!

  True laughs, her eyes twinkling with mirth. “Oh my god, you sound so much like my brothers—it’s uncanny. I can’t right now.” She laughs again, a delicate snort coming out of her nose. “I honestly thought it was just our family, but nope. It’s not.”

  I level her with a stare, still pressed into the corner of the booth with no room to move even an inch. “Could you not encourage them? They need to go. This is my date, not theirs.”

  One of True’s brows goes up, and I’m beginning to learn that’s what she does when she wants to challenge me. “Oh? This is a date now? I thought we were just getting together to catch up and say hey.”

  She’s mocking me; I can see it in her eyes.

  “This is not the time, okay? Can we do this when we’re alone please?”

  I will never live this down—never. Not when I’m fifty years old, not when I’m one hundred.

  My sisters will never allow it.

  Never.

  “Anything you want to say, you can say in front of us—in fact, I will go first,” Camila announces to the table. “I, for example, have a UTI and just had to get medication from the doctor, so. There you go.”