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“Oh shit, Carm, you look like trash.”

Carmen stopped scratching her ass and turned around. Mateo stood in all his five-foot-nine glory, wearing a pink silk robe. His hair was still immaculate and set above the complexion of a fresh-faced youth. At that moment, Carmen hated him.

“Stop scowling at me. That’s why you’re getting lines. I’ll give you a facial later.”

“Oh, just like you were going to bring me coffee and breakfast this morning?”

“Is that why you’re being such a delight? Chica, I tried to wake you for breakfast earlier and you slapped me upside the head, mumbling about pandas.”

Huh. Pandas. “Whatever,” she griped, sounding like a sullen teenager. Turning back to the coffee machine, Carmen poured herself an extra-large cup. Bringing the black gold close to her nose, she inhaled deeply. Oh yeah, that’s the stuff.

“Anyway, it’s not breakfast time anymore. Hell, it’s past lunch.”

Carmen peered up at the clock above the kitchen door. Well shit, Mateo was right. “Pizza?” she asked, still unable to get over Mateo’s breakfast betrayal.

“Sure Hermana, I’ll call it in. Maybe after you’ve inhaled that coffee, you can take a shower.” Mateo wrinkled his nose.

Carmen nodded and shuffled into the living room. She’d shower later. It’s not like she had to go anywhere. Plus, her boxer briefs and tank top were comfy.

As the caffeine worked its magic, Carmen felt half human again. They had to stop partying so hard. Carmen was pretty sure her liver was ninety percent pickled by now. But when Mateo asked for something, Carmen knew she wouldn’t refuse. That man had been through enough shit to last a lifetime, he deserved to get whatever he wanted, and if that was for Carmen to bust a move, and a gut, dancing and drinking in some skanky ass gay club, then that’s what would happen. She just wished he didn’t need that every Friday and Saturday night.

“I got you a veggie supreme, with a side of mozzarella sticks.” Mateo sashayed into the living room and gracefully lowered himself to the sofa.

“Gracias, Hermano.”

They sat for a few minutes in silence. Carmen knew it couldn’t last; Mateo detested silence. Sure enough, he shattered the peace. “Chica, did you see that fine man get all up in my space last night?” Mateo was fanning his face with the pizza takeout menu. “Damn, I could have had some fun with him.”

“Why didn’t you? He was up for it.”

“Now Carmen, you know that’s not my style. I like the chase, but I’m not a one-night kind of guy.”

“Did you get his number?”

“No, Luis pitched a fit about that drag queen ripping the tiara off his head. I had to deal with that. When I got back to the dance floor, Mr. Fine was dancing with someone else.”

“There’s always next time,” Carmen laughed. There was always a next time. A knock on the door interrupted the conversation.

“I’ll get it,” Mateo sang. Carmen rolled her eyes. One hundred bucks, Daniel is the delivery guy. Daniel was Mateo’s not-so-secret crush. Whenever they ordered pizza, they went to Vinnie’s. Not only because it was the best pie in Seattle, but because Mateo enjoyed looking at Daniel.

“Hey, chica, there’s a white girl at the door for you.” Carmen scrunched her eyebrows. Who the hell had turned up? Becky maybe? No, she’s out of town. Donna, possibly? They were the only white girls that would come knocking, but it was far too early in the day for either of them, regardless of whether they were in town.

Hauling herself off the sofa, Carmen studied her attire. Rainbow boxer briefs and a scraggy tank top did not scream sexy. “Eh, it is what it is,” she mumbled.

Mateo passed her in the hallway with a judgmental look on his face. “Damn Carmen, she’s young, even for you!”

What the hell did that mean? Carmen didn’t sleep with young women. Twenty-five was the lowest she’d ever go, and that was stretching it. Ten years her junior was the limit. Carmen arrived at the partially closed door. As soon as she opened it, she understood Mateo’s concern. The girl in front of her looked barely eighteen. She was gonna kick Mateo’s ass for thinking this girl was Carmen’s booty call.

“You’re not Molly,” the girl barked, her eyes wide, and face pale.

“And you’re not an extra-large veggie supreme with a side order of mozzarella sticks. Looks like we both lost out, huh?”

“Damn,” the girl growled. “Damn, damn, damn.”

Carmen had no idea what was happening, but she knew she wanted to extricate herself from whatever it was. “Sorry for disappointing. Um… bye.”

“No wait, please,” the girl begged. Carmen stopped closing the door. “Do you know Molly Parsons? This was her last address.”

“Sorry, kid, no idea who that is.”