The plain white T-shirt she wears complements her golden skin and wavy brown hair, while her ripped jeans appear more fashionable than functional with how her knees pop out of the large, gaping holes. Her curves perfectly balance out her sharp cheekbones and pointed chin, creating the best combination of soft and sultry.
The base of my neck tingles, and I look up to find Dahlia’s red, puffy eyes narrowed at me. Her ruined makeup doesn’t detract from her beauty, although the dark circles underneath her eyes have me speaking before my brain catches up.
“Your face is a mess.”
Pinche estúpido. Unlike my mom and cousin, I’m not a people person, and it clearly shows.
Dahlia’s golden rings glint in the moonlight as she wipes at her cheeks with a frown. “I had something in my eye.”
“Both of them?” I widen my stance as I cross my arms.
She dabs at the corners of her eyes with her two middle fingers. “A decent person wouldn’t call me out on that lie.”
“Since when are we decent to one another?”
Pinche estúpido: Fucking idiot.
“It’s never too late to start.”
Because of our slight height difference, she is forced to tilt her head back to get a good look at me. Her walnut-colored eyes remind me of long-ago late nights spent in the woodshop, meticulously obsessing over staining my latest carpentry project.
Whatever resolve I had quickly crumbles when she sniffles.
“Allergies.” Her defensive tone, paired with her twitching nose, makes my chest constrict in an act of ultimate betrayal.
What the hell is going on here, and how do I get it to stop?
I keep my facial expression neutral despite the rapid thumping of my heart against my rib cage. She doesn’t last long under my scrutiny before slumping against the door with a sigh.
I’m struck with a compulsion to say something, but words fail me.
My ringtone shatters the moment. “Shit!”
Her brows shoot toward her hairline. “What’s wrong?”
You. Always you.
Blaring sirens drown out my response. Every muscle in my body goes rigid as a rush of vehicles makes its way around the bend in a single-file line. A fire truck and ambulance lead the safety brigade, followed by the sheriff, his deputies, and the Lake Wisteria trolley.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Dahlia curses up to the stars. “Dios, dame paciencia con mi mamá.”
Dios, dame paciencia con mi mamá: God, give me patience with my mom.
My gaze cuts into her. “That’s who you were talking to?”
“Unfortunately.”
Leave it to Lake Wisteria to turn a fender bender into a community crisis.
It’s not the cars they’re concerned about. It’s her.
Dahlia is more than my childhood rival. She’s Lake Wisteria’s Strawberry Sweetheart who is finally returning home after years spent away living out her California dream.
And you’re the cabrón who nearly drove her into a ditch.
I rub at my throbbing temple.
“Do you think we can escape before they get here?” Dahlia’s gaze flicks from me to my car.
“This is all your fault.” The words slip out.
A few minutes in Dahlia’s presence already have me slipping back into the bad habit of speaking without thinking.
Add it to the long list of reasons you should avoid her.
She pops a hand on her hip. “My fault? We wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn’t tried to cut me off.”
“I had somewhere to be.”
She throws her arms up. “Well, I was...”
Usually I crave silence, but something about Dahlia shutting down at the first sign of opposition frustrates me.
Bright flashing lights cast us in shades of red, white, and blue as a few of the firefighters hop out of the truck to assess the scene while two medics quickly determine both Dahlia and I are fine.
Cabrón: Bastard.
The older fire chief pulls Dahlia in for a hug. “Your mom made it sound like you were dying.”
Her eyes roll. “You know how overprotective she can be.”
The fire chief ruffles Dahlia’s hair. “She comes from a good place.”
“Lucifer said the same thing about hell.” Dahlia fixes her appearance with a pinched expression.
“Dahlia!” Rosa hops out of the trolley and runs toward her daughter with a rosary clutched in one hand and a bottle of holy water in the other. My own mom exits the trolley with a group of people trailing behind her, turning our car accident into a town reunion.
“Mami.” Dahlia checks out the crowd forming behind the deputy’s line. “Did you need to involve everyone?”
“Don’t start with me. ?Qué pasó?” Rosa scans her daughter from head to toe before ripping the cap off the holy water.
For the first time tonight, Dahlia’s eyes twinkle brighter than the stars above us. “Julian crashed into me.”
That little brat.
Rosa stares at me as if I committed a felony.
I bristle at my mom’s voice as she storms over to us. “Julian? Tell me that’s not true.”
“Ma.”
She snatches the bottle of holy water from Rosa’s hands and gives me a swift blessing before sprinkling me with it. “What were you thinking by trying to run Dahlia off the road?”
?Qué pasó?: What happened.
“That it’s a shame I failed.”
The fire chief covers up his laugh with a cough.
Dahlia’s heated glare threatens to burn a hole in the side of my face. “Don’t tell me you’ve spent all these years plotting my murder only to fail now?”
“Trust me. I won’t make the same mistake again.”
She flips me off.
“Dahlia Isabella Mu?oz!” Rosa tugs at her daughter’s hand while my mother whisper-shouts, “Luis Julian Lopez Junior!”
My mom only uses my official first name on rare—and very pissed-off—occasions, so I better rein myself in before she loses her cool.
Dahlia and I sigh at the same time, and our gazes collide, scattering my thoughts until I’m left with only one.
Her.
The sheriff approaches the scene, saving me from embarrassing myself any further. Thankfully, the deputy with a personal vendetta against me stays far away, a blessing in itself given my bad luck today.
Knowing Dahlia, she would befriend him to spite me.
The older sheriff drags Dahlia into a quick bear hug. “So, what happened here?”
“You should arrest Julian for attempted murder.” Dahlia’s wicked grin sets off a blaring alarm in my head. Memories I spent years erasing surge to the forefront of my mind, flashing before me like a haunted movie reel.
The way her smile grew wider whenever I got flustered and spoke out of turn.
Her sparkling eyes looking up at me as we—no, I stiffly moved us around the dance floor during her quincea?era.
How she had a similar expression during her valedictorian speech as she thanked me, the salutatorian, for putting up a good fight throughout high school.
It’s pathetic how one smile from her can stir up countless memories, all of which are best left in the past, along with any feelings I once had for her.
Truth is, I’m not sure why Dahlia Mu?oz is back, but nothing good can come of it.
Nothing good at all.
CHAPTER TWO
Dahlia