“Yeah, we’re not doing that.” She snatches her hand out of mine and ducks around me, disappearing into the fucking crowd.
It doesn’t take long for me to find her. Thanks to the handy little GPS tracker her father has on her phone. I might have paid someone to hack into the app for me a few years ago.
“Frankie, what the hell?” I storm into my cousin Jazzy’s living room. We’re all cousins, but not by blood. We grew up together. Our fathers have been lifelong friends and business partners.
“What’s going on here?” Jazzy asks, pointing between me and Frankie.
“He’s an asshole,” Frankie says.
“I’m an asshole?” I laugh while aiming a finger at my chest and telling her she’s lost her damn mind in Spanish.
“English,” Jazzy snaps out. “Sit.” She points at me. “Both of you, before I call your fathers.” That gets Frankie and me to sit in the chairs opposite her at her dining table. “Why is he an asshole?”
“He thinks he can tell me what to do. Newsflash, he can’t,” Frankie snarls at me.
“Sure. Now tell her what you were doing.” I smirk, knowing full well she won’t want to. Some guy walks out as if he owns the place. Must be the asshole Jazzy is dating. “This him?” I ask.
“Yes. Be nice or I really will call Tío E,” Jazzy threatens.
“You could do better, Jazzy. But you already know that. You really shouldn’t settle for someone… less-than.” I side-eye the fucker in front of me.
“Emilio,” Jazzy groans.
“You’re right. I’ve been telling her the same thing. I’m Jake.” He holds out a hand.
“Emilio,” I reply reluctantly as I return the gesture.
“I know who you are,” Jake says, sitting back down and picking up a fork.
“Is that Aunt Antonia’s lasagna?” Frankie asks.
“It is.” Jazzy nods.
“Is there any left?” Frankie looks towards the kitchen.
“No. Now tell me what you were doing?” Jazzy glances from me to Frankie again.
“I can’t. You’ll tell my parents, and then I’ll get grounded for life. Probably the next life too.”
“If it’s that bad, then maybe you shouldn’t be doing it in the first place,” I add.
“Shut up,” Frankie hisses at me. “You were there too.”
“That’s different.” I shrug.
“What were youbothdoing?” Jazzy asks.
“I was betting. On a fight,” Frankie explains.
“A fight? What kind of fight? And how were you betting?” Jazzy raises her brows at Frankie.
“An underground fight. She wasn’t supposed to be there,” I clarify.
“Why wereyouthere?” my cousin asks me.
I smile wide at her. “I was the star of the show.”
“You were fighting? In an underground what? Fight club?” Jazzy looks surprised. I’m not sure why she would be. Everyone knows I’m a fighter.