Break of Day. Andie J. Christopher

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СКАЧАТЬ she belonged in her family was worthless. She was worthless. And now this guy wanted to pick at that scab.

      “I can talk to you anyway I want, princess.” His words came out with gusts of breath that she could have sworn moved the hair at the back of her head.

      “Sure you can,” she hissed. “But you can’t expect me to stay here and listen.”

      She walked out, ego bruised but her head held high.

      * * * *

      Jonah clenched and unclenched his fists after she walked out of the room. That little bit of fluff had a steel core, and she was going to drive him all the way crazy. She was his worst nightmare, but he wanted her despite himself.

      That’s why he’d thrown out those biting words, which he’d immediately regretted. He needed her to stay away from him. And he needed to make sure she wasn’t here to hurt Lola. He knew her type—the kind that would do anything or hurt anyone in order to get what she wanted. He might want to fuck her, but she wasn’t the kind of girl who would let it go at a fling. No, the pretty, pretty princess would want forever, something he never had any intention of giving anyone.

      The front door opened, and Lola came through. “Hola, mijo.” She always called him “her son” in Spanish, which warmed a part of him that didn’t usually feel the light of day. His own mother had barely been around while he was growing up—too busy working. Maternal concern for anything other than his grades and whether he’d brushed his teeth was foreign to him. “Has Carlita arrived?”

      “Yeah, she’s in the kitchen.” He pointed to the door Carla had just walked through. “I couldn’t stop her from getting into the rum.”

      Lola’s laugh was more of a bark. “Be nice to that girl.” She shook her finger in the general direction of his face—not very threatening considering she was about four foot nine. “The idiot she was engaged to broke up with her, and she’s here for tender, loving care.”

      “She said she was here to give you something.”

      Lola had this evil smile that Jonah had learned to fear, and it was on her face now. “That’s what she thinks.” She shook her head. “My nephew sent her here because she’s lost, and I happen to be an expert at helping young people find themselves.”

      Jonah didn’t believe in any of that woo-woo shit. “Whatever.”

      “You should know. You were floundering when you came here for the first time.”

      She followed Carla into the kitchen before he could protest. He’d never been lost. He’d always known exactly who he was.

      * * * *

      “Carla, mi amor! Come here this instant and hug me.” Carla followed her great aunt’s instructions and was immediately wrenched into the woman’s embrace. Though Lola was one of the few people in her family smaller than her, she was deceptively strong. “I’ve missed you.”

      “I’ve missed you, too.” Her words were muffled by her aunt’s fluffy, curly hair.

      Lola pushed her away abruptly. “You look terrible. Skinny.”

      “I was trying to get in shape for my wedding.”

      “Pfft. If you were trying to get into shape, you would have been eating ropa vieja and plantains, putting meat on your bones.” Lola pinched her side. “You’ll make me one of those mojitos you have on the counter, and we’ll put together some dinner.”

      “I thought you served tea at four?” Carla muddled some fresh mint to fix her aunt a drink.

      “I’m running late today because I was hung up with my lover.”

      Carla was glad she wasn’t drinking because she would have choked. “Far be it for me to get in the way of you and your love life.”

      “Not a love life, Carla. Sex.” She’d forgotten how frank Tia Lola could be. Nothing like her much-older sister—Carla’s abuela. According to family lore, Lola had only been in love with one man—her ex-husband—and he now lived in Miami, near their adult children.

      When Carla had come to Cuba for the first time with her father, when she was sixteen, she’d watched Lola get ready for a date. Though Lola was nearing seventy, she’d aged in the mysterious way that French or Italian women did. Carla had marveled at all the potions Lola applied to her face and neck. She’d never forget her great aunt’s words. All of this stuff is bullshit. The best skin cream is an orgasm. Nobody knew what would come out of her tiny, pocket Venus of a great aunt.

      Carla had taken Lola’s words to heart during her early twenties. She’d made out with every hot artist, musician, and bartender on South Beach—always making sure she got hers. No one had intentionally made her feel bad about the one-night stands and flings she’d had before she’d met Geoff; it was all part of her flighty, party-girl image.

      But when her brother got divorced, she realized that she was getting further and further away from the life she wanted with every new flirtation. She’d thought that settling down with a steady guy instead of a model who was really a bartender who couldn’t be bothered to show up for a real date would improve her life. Instead, she was humiliated and in self-imposed exile in a foreign country—a communist country at that. So no opportunities for retail therapy. She really should have thought this out better.

      Lola must have noticed her scrunched-up face because she poked Carla between the eyes. “I know you have lots of fancy fillers and peels in the States, but don’t court wrinkles.” She clapped her hands and pointed at the ancient refrigerator. “We’ll heat up some leftovers, and you’ll be too full to be worried.”

      “That’s not how it works, tia.”

      “Of course it is.” Lola raised her glass and took a healthy gulp of her mojito. One would think that her diminutive size would make her delicate, but her drinking was certainly hardy.

      “Far be it from me to argue.”

      Lola huffed and started pulling covered plates out of her vintage refrigerator. Shortly after that, there was food on the stove, and smells curled around the kitchen to Carla’s nose. Back home, she didn’t eat Cuban food often. But whenever she smelled ropa vieja, it felt like coming home.

      She finished one cocktail and made herself another, after which Lola held out her empty glass. After a mojito and a half, she was truly happy she’d come to Cuba. She needed to get away. Around her deliriously in-love siblings, she felt as though she couldn’t get her breath. She didn’t begrudge them their happiness, but it hurt so much that she’d done everything the right way, and she still didn’t have that.

      “You look sad again.” Lola pushed two heaping plates of food at her. “Jonah will never pay you any attention if you look constipated.”

      “I hate to break it to you, but Jonah is not my type.”

      Lola threw her head back and laughed so hard she coughed and choked. Just when Carla thought she might have to break Lola’s ribs to give her CPR, she stopped. “That boy is the type of every single person on earth who likes to have sex with men. If I were even five years younger…”

      “You should go for it. Since when do you care about age?” That pit of jealousy that СКАЧАТЬ