Mae sighed, brought out a fat wad of cash, and started running her fingers through it. Counting.
He watched her and couldn't help but ask,
"Who is he to you?"
It had been gnawing at the back of his mind. He needed to clear the air.
"Ortega…"
"Just who is he?"
Mae looked forlorn. "My brother." Then she shook her head. "I'm sorry. Are you okay?"
Wait.
Everything scattered in Ortega's brain. The notions he'd been holding all vanished as he replayed his interaction with Bron through a new lens. It became horrifyingly clear he wasn't dealing with a jealous ex-lover, but an overprotective older brother. Ortega shook his head in disbelief just as Mae repeated her question with a worried look.
"I look fine to you, don't I?" he replied.
She lowered her head, lips pursed in a bitter line. "I'm sorry," she said. "I should've been more upfront."
She finished counting the cash and handed it to him. Ortega didn't bother to confirm it, just stuffed the wad into his pocket.
And stood there.
'Come on,' he told himself with a tight jaw. Turn around and leave.
He did, after willing himself to. But her slight, dejected pout gave him a flicker of relish and a tiny, guilty twist in his chest.
He'd only walked three steps when he stopped, grabbed a chair, dragged it around the counter, and sat beside her.
She shifted, just a little. The distance between them was short enough that the tension stayed thick and electric.
They sat there for a few moments, looking anywhere else but at each other.
Time ticked.
The tension started to dissolve into something awkward. Suddenly, Ortega was a high school kid again, sitting beside his crush.
His face heated up as the realization came. He had nothing to say.
Part of the heat came from feeling her sneaking glances. He never caught her staring. She always looked away, like a sneaky little assassin.
"Did he do anything to you?" Ortega found himself asking, rubbing his sweaty palms against his thigh.
A bit of silence. Then he turned to face her.
There was a complicated look on her face.
She shook her head.
Ortega gritted his teeth. He wanted to double down, to probe further, but…
Was it even his place?
And if he asked and she told him the worst, what could he do?
He winced. First the robbers, and now this.
His hard body was useless if he didn't know how to fight.
Ortega never thought he'd one day want to know how to fight.
The cause being a woman, no less.
But it was beneficial either way. Nobody would be able to cross him.
He imagined Bron attacking him again, and this time Ortega coming out on top easily.
In reality, that was far from possible. The man was bigger, stronger, faster. Ortega just had the physique of an Instagram model.
His fists clenched. He saw himself punching Bron's cocky face over and over until it was a bleeding mess, and somehow, that gave him joy.
"You okay?"
Her voice pulled him back to the present. Instantly, guilt surged through him.
"Will I see him around more often?" he asked.
Her expression turned pained. She hesitated, then said, "Yeah."
Ortega nodded, eyes fixed on the entrance doors.
From his periphery, she rummaged through a carton and took out a can of beer.
"You want some?"
"Water is fine."
She paused, then handed him a bottle of water.
"I'm not trying to get you drunk. Just… whatever."
Ortega tuned her out. She watched him drink, eyes lingering on his throat a little too long.
He put down the bottle, and she turned away, blushing.
"Thanks," he said.
"You're welcome," she squeaked.
Ortega looked at her. "I meant about yesterday."
Her eyes widened.
"Thanks. You were a real support."
He said it and felt his shoulders lighten. He meant it.
When he looked at her, she was beaming. It was fucking contagious.
"You're welcome."
A beat of silence loomed, but this one was softer. Almost comfortable.
Ortega's heart started racing. Thoughts of their passionate moments swarmed his brain.
He looked at her. She was flushed too. Probably thinking the same thing.
Her fists clenched, her face a battlefield of emotions and unsaid words.
"I should… thank you too."
Ortega's eyes widened. "For what?"
He got an inkling when the ground suddenly became very interesting to her.
"You know…"
A ridiculous grin spread across his face. "I dunno."
She snapped her head up, flustered. Ortega almost laughed at her tortured expression.
"So you really want me to say it?"
"Please do so."
They were both smiling now.
She harrumphed. "Now that I think about it, I'm not gonna."
Ortega felt his lions stirring. His voice turned dark and husky.
"Shall I make you?" he said, and she blushed hard.
She backhanded his shoulder, and Ortega burst out laughing. The sound filled the store, his chest blooming with genuine mirth.
He stopped when he saw the look in her eyes. Intense. Almost hungry.
"Why'd you stop?" Mae.
"You know why I stopped."
She smiled, tracing circles on his thigh. "I like it when you laugh."
Ortega was taken aback. Genuinely. Didn't know what to do with the ticklish warmth in his chest.
"I like it when you make other sounds," he drawled, watching her bite her bottom lip.
The air between them grew heated. Charged. Ready to explode into passion.
Ortega looked at her lips and swallowed, wanting to taste them again.
She batted her eyelashes in that sexy, dangerous way of hers, and his hormones somersaulted.
He shifted to face her fully.
She mirrored him.
Then he cupped her cheek, tracing his thumb over her lips.
What she did next shocked him, but thrilled him to his core.
She bit his thumb.