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Chapter 10 - God Bless America

I walked Isabel home after orientation because she said there was no fucking need to wait for Mr. García to pick her up when she had someone she knew from college. And trust me, there was absolutely zero chance I was getting in Jeff's car when the girl of my dreams preferred to walk. Screw that noise—I'd walk to Mexico if she asked.

Back in Leganés, people thought I was the most talkative bastard in the world, but damn, maybe they'd never met Mexicans. Isabel was straight-up a walking podcast with the personality of a telenovela star. This girl had stories for days.

She told me about her first five years in Veracruz before her family moved to the States, and I was listening like, "How the hell do you remember being three years old?" She was describing neighbors and street vendors and family drama like she was narrating a Netflix documentary.

"There was this lady, Doña Carmen, who sold elotes right outside our house," she said, her hands moving around like she was conducting an orchestra.

"And she had this beef with my abuela because apparently my grandmother made better tamales, so every morning it was like watching a Mexican soap opera unfold over corn."

I was dying. This girl could make grocery shopping sound like an adventure movie. And then—plot twist that made my entire week—she complimented my English. Like, actually said she liked the way I spoke.

"Your accent is so cute, Hugo. It's like... sophisticated but friendly at the same time."

Francisco was right all along, that smart bastard. American girls do love Latino boys. I was basically walking on fucking clouds.

When we got to her house, I did the whole gentleman thing and walked her to the door. This time, instead of her parents looking at me like I was some kind of international criminal, they were actually welcoming. Mr. García even nodded at me like I was a respectable human being instead of the neighborhood creep.

"Gracias por acompañarme, Hugo." Isabel said with that smile that could probably end wars. "See you tomorrow?"

"Definitely," I said, trying not to sound too eager and probably failing miserably. But then reality came crashing back like a brick to the face. I had my own drama waiting at home. The whole Laura situation from this morning was hanging over my head like a storm cloud full of awkwardness and regret. I had to talk to Laura about what happened—or what almost happened—and I had absolutely no clue how to approach that conversation without making everything worse.

When I got home, Jeff was standing in the driveway looking like a lost puppy.

"Bro, I was waiting for you outside and had no idea you'd left," he said, trying way too hard to copy my accent. "You could've told me, hermano."

This pendejo was really out here trying to sound Spanish, and honestly? I was getting used to his ridiculous attempts at being Latino. It was like watching a gringo try to salsa dance—painful but somehow endearing.

"You know I don't have a SIM card yet, right?" I replied. "How was I supposed to call you, smoke signals?"

"Fair point," he laughed. "Oh, and heads up, hermano. Laura's been weird all day. Like, weirder than usual. She keeps asking when you're coming home."

Fuck. Of course she was asking about me. This was exactly what I was afraid of. "Is she home now?" I asked, trying to sound casual instead of like I was about to face a firing squad.

"Yeah, she's in her room. Dude, what happened between you two? Are you teaching her spanish?."

Jeff was looking at me like he was trying to solve some kind of mystery, and I was not about to explain to my host brother that I'd almost hooked up with his sister while she was in a towel.

"Nothing happened," I lied. "Just... cultural differences, you know?"

"Uh-huh," Jeff said, clearly not buying my bullshit but not pushing it either. "Well, I can tell you're teaching her spanish behind my back, hermano."

Great. Now I had to go inside and face Laura, who was probably either pissed at me for rejecting her or planning to seduce me again. Either way, I was fucked. Why couldn't life be as simple as walking pretty Mexican girls home and talking about corn vendors? Why did everything have to be so complicated?

I took a deep breath and headed toward the house, mentally preparing for whatever awkward conversation was about to destroy what was left of my sanity.

"Ni modo, allá voy," I muttered, opening the front door like I was walking into a freaking battle.

Time to face the music, or in this case, face Laura and probably make everything ten times worse than it already was.

I knocked on that fucking door, which was probably the stupidest mistake I could make considering what happened earlier. But here I was, doing the exact same dumb shit all over again.

"Hugo," she called from inside, and that tone—God, that same sultry "enter if you dare" voice that had gotten me into trouble esta mañana.

"Vete al diablo, Hugo. You could've just ignored this whole mess," my brain kept screaming at me as I turned the handle. But did I listen to the smart part of my brain? Hell no. I walked right into that bedroom like a lamb heading to be slaughtered.

She was sitting on her bed, looking at me with those green eyes that said she'd been waiting for this moment all damn day.

"Close the door," she said, and I immediately started panicking about what the other Lees would think if they saw me in here with the door shut. But then I remembered—this was an American family. Everyone minds their own business and God help the rest of us. They probably wouldn't even notice if I set the house on fire. So I shut the door like the idiot I am.

"Hey, Lo," I said, trying to sound casual as I sat on the edge of her bed, keeping as much distance as possible. "I hope you can understand where I'm coming from earlier..."

Silence. The kind of silence that makes you want to dig a hole and disappear forever.

I fucking hate this about girls. They always find some way to manipulate you into doing exactly what they want, and they make it seem like it's your idea. It's like they have a PhD in psychological warfare.

"I didn't ask for much, Hugo," she finally said, her voice all soft and hurt. "Did I?"

And there it was—the guilt trip. The classic "poor innocent me" routine that every guy falls for at least once in his life. And speaking about life;

Life is so fucking complicated, man. All I ever wanted when I decided to come to America was to hook up with American girls—as many as I could handle. Live the dream, you know? But now all I could think about was Isabel. Bel. The way she smiled, the way she told stories, the way she made me feel like maybe I wasn't a complete disaster.

But here's the thing about being a teenage guy with hormones basically running my entire life—when opportunity knocks, logic goes out the window. Boys will be boys, no strings attached, right? What was I supposed to do? Say no to a beautiful girl who was literally offering herself to me?

And you—yeah, you reading this story, probably judging me right now—what the hell would you do? Easy to be all moral and shit when you're not the one sitting in a bedroom with a half-naked girl looking at you like you're the answer to all her problems.

"Laura, look..." I started, but she cut me off.

"You think I'm not good enough for you?" she asked, and damn, she was good at this manipulation thing. "Is it because I'm not exotic like your Spanish girls?"

Exotic? What the fuck? I wasn't looking for exotic—I was looking for someone who didn't make me feel like I was betraying a family that had taken me in and treated me like their own son.

"It's not about that," I said, running my hands through my hair because I was starting to stress out. "It's about respect, Laura. Your family has been incredible to me, and I can't just—"

"Screw my family," she interrupted. "This is about me and you. Right here, right now."

She moved closer on the bed, and I could smell her perfume and see the way her green eyes were looking at me like I was some kind of prize she was determined to win. My brain was having a full-scale war with my dick, and honestly? My dick was winning.

"Laura..." I said, but it came out more like a question than a statement, and we both knew I was wavering.

"Just one time, Hugo," she whispered, reaching out to touch my arm. "Just to see what it's like. No one has to know. No drama, no complications."

No complications. Right. Because hooking up with your host sister while crushing on your neighbor never leads to complications. That's like saying jumping off a cliff is just a quick way to get down the mountain.

But she was right there, and she was beautiful, and I was turning eighteen years old the next day with the sexual experience of a monk who'd taken a vow of celibacy.

"This is such a bad idea," I muttered, but I didn't move away.

"The best ideas usually are," she said with a smile that probably got her everything she'd ever wanted in life.

And that's when I realized I was about to make the kind of mistake that ruins everything. The kind of mistake that turns a simple exchange student experience into a fucking telenovela.

But sometimes, when you're seventeen and stupid and thinking with the wrong head, you make those mistakes anyway.

"Fuck it," I said, and leaned in. Because apparently, Hugo González was destined to learn every lesson the hard way.

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