Page 58 of Liar

He’s back.

I partially turn in my chair, ignoring all the reasons I shouldn’t care.

He enters the restaurant accompanied by seven men. Oblivious to the stir he’s caused as a waitress leads him and his Lobos to a table on the other side of the room. Oblivious to me.

“Es guapo,¿no?”

I swallow hard but don’t deny it.

He’s dressed in a deep blue suit that fits his broad shoulders perfectly. Hair slicked back, lips pulled tight, oozing dangerous sex appeal, he’s a combination of ruthless CEO and fashion model.

I swallow hard, resisting the fluttering in my stomach, then force myself to turn away. Picking up my fork, I dig into my dinner, gathering a whopping mouthful of chocolate sauce, enough to drown the most stubborn of butterflies.

“¡Pinche, Luciana! Why did you insist on a table by the window when we could see things better from the center of the restaurant?”

“Come tu cena,” I say, repositioning my chair and my body so I won’t be tempted to look at him, “before it gets cold.”

“You’ve spoken to him before?”

A pang of guilt washes over me, but I brush it off. Veronique and the hussy across the table are my closest friends. But I kept my encounters with him, my feelings for the Bastard, to myself. It’s pride that keeps me quiet. If my friends had any idea how I threw myself at him or how he rejected me—no, I won’t be pitied or consoled.

“Once or twice,” I vaguely offer.

“And you never noticed how handsome he is?”

“He’s a cartel boss, Veronique. He doesn’t have time for dating.”

“Who said anything about dating?” she’s quick to reply.

But she’s all talk because, like myself, she’s never had sex.

I eat another forkful, but my dinner doesn’t taste the same. It sours further when I notice that everyone at our party is looking toward his table.

Eduardo, with nervous glances.

María with a bold as brass stare, licking her lips like raw, unadulterated sex just stalked across the room. My eyes narrow on her.Is she seriously crushing on the Bastard?

Another swipe of her tongue and I’m flat-out scowling at her. That flirt. First Diego, then Eduardo, and now Hayden?

She places her napkin on her lap and is about to stand up. To go to the ladies’ room? A route that will require her to sashay by his table, swinging her hips, and staking her claim?

I place my fork down, my appetite gone. It’s hard to eat when a rock the size of a watermelon forms in the pit of your stomach.

Except as María rises, Eduardo strikes, deciding at that very moment to reposition his chair. His shoulder bumps into María’s thigh, knocking her off-balance and back into her seat, while red wine spills all over the shaking table.

María glares at him.

My dance partner looks mortified.

And I struggle to hold back a smile, along with my conflicted emotions.

“He’s looking over here,” Veronique squeals, turning back around.

“I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”

“Are you loca?”

Maybe I am. I have a long list of his wrongdoings—needlessly endangering my brother, breaking my trust, not upholding his promises, telling Diego about the Superama, and dismissing me then ignoring me as if I’m part of his lovestruck fan club. I’m not excited we’re at the same restaurant.