Dahlia scratches the tip of her nose with her middle finger.
“That’s it.” Rosa throws her napkin on the table and points a finger at her daughter. “You’re in charge of dishes.”
“But I got my nails done yesterday.” She holds up her hands, showing off her intricate nail art.
“Wear my rubber gloves, then.”
“Here you go.” I place my plate on top of Dahlia’s cleared one, making her scowl.
My mom throws her napkin on the table with a dramatic sigh. “Since you’re in the mood to be helpful, you can do the dishes too.”
“What?”
“Dahlia wouldn’t be in trouble if you didn’t keep bothering her all day.”
“She’s the one who started it.”
“And I’m ending it. Go.”
I scoot my chair out and stand with a scowl. “Fine.”
Dahlia and I silently collect everyone’s dishes before entering the kitchen.
“You wash and I dry?” she asks as the door swings shut behind her.
“You don’t have a dishwasher?”
“It broke last night.”
Great. “I’ll take a look at it once we’re done.” I place the dirty dishes in the sink before rolling up my sleeves.
Dahlia tracks my every move with heated fascination, making my stomach clench.
Shit. “Do you have gloves?” I ask.
She snaps out of whatever trance my arms had her in. “Um, yeah.” She digs through the cabinet beneath the sink and pulls out a large pair of pink gloves.
I grab them from her, ignoring the tingle of her fingers brushing across mine. Both of us pull away a little too fast. I put the gloves on with too much force, nearly ripping one of them.
Dahlia searches the laundry room for a clean towel while I busy myself with the dishes.
She returns, only to pause midstride so she can snap a photo of me washing a plate. “Aw. The color of the gloves really brings out your cheeks.”
“Delete that.”
“Nope.” She tucks her phone into her back pocket and leans against the counter beside me.
I drop the dish in the dirty water. Soap suds and water droplets fly from the big splash, landing on both of us.
“Hey!” She wipes a few drops off her face.
I take advantage of her distraction to steal the phone from her back pocket.
“Give that back!” Dahlia reaches for her phone, but I hold it above her head.
I struggle to rip one of the rubber gloves off thanks to the soap covering it, but somehow manage to bite down on the tip of one finger and pull.
“Julian!” She claws at my arm with her freshly manicured nails.
I can vaguely overhear Rosa speaking from the other room, asking if she should go check on us, only for my mother to assure her that everything is fine.
“What’s your password?” I ask while attempting a few number combinations myself.
“Screw you.” She turns her attention toward the spot between my ribs that has me jolting.
“Give it back.” She tickles me again, and my grip on the phone slips.
Oh fuck.
Her phone falls into the sink full of water and lands at the bottom with a sickening thud.
“Oh my fucking God! I’m going to kill you!” She dives for the phone and pulls it out. Water drips everywhere as she does everything in her power to turn it back on.
I rip the other glove off and run my fingers through my hair. “Shit. I’m so sorry.”
She scowls hard enough to make me take a step back. “You’re sorry?”
“It slipped.”
“It wouldn’t have been in your hands had you not accosted me.”
“Accosted? A bit dramatic, don’t you think?” A small laugh escapes me.
My reaction seems to fuel the fire behind her eyes. “I’ll show you dramatic.”
With a burst of impressive speed, she grabs my phone from my back pocket and tosses it like a football into the sink. The glass screen hits the side of a heavy metal pot before plunging to the bottom of the sink.
Both of our mouths drop open as the cracked screen flickers once before going black.
“I can’t believe I did that.” She stares up at me with wide eyes.
“I can.” I seethe.
Five deep breaths.
Except five doesn’t exactly cut it. Twenty breaths later, I’m still fighting the urge to snap at the woman beside me.
El que se enoja pierde, my dad’s go-to proverb, echoes through my head, easing some of my irritation.
“I’m so freaking sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.” She rubs at her eyes.
“You’re sorry?” I ask with a cool voice.
“Yes.”
I can’t explain what possesses me to react the way I do, but I grab the side hose and spray Dahlia like we did countless times as kids.
“Julian!” She holds up her hands, making the water splash everywhere.
I ignore her cry as I blast her face with cold water, ruining her makeup and hair in the process. A mix of mascara, eyeliner, and blush runs down her cheeks.
I drop the hose. “I accept your apology now.” My gaze flickers toward her soaked T-shirt. The black fabric clings to the curves of her breasts like a second skin, emphasizing the— “What the hell?” I sputter while choking on water.
“You look like you need to cool down.” Dahlia sprays me with enough water to soak my hair, white button-down shirt, and the front of my pants. The water feels cool on my skin, but a blast of warmth pours through me as her gaze follows as it trickles down my arms.
El que se enoja pierde: Who gets angry loses.
Her tongue traces her bottom lip as she focuses on my abs pressing against the wet fabric.
I follow her gaze. “Like what you see?”
“Consider me unimpressed.” Although the faint blush creeping up her neck gives her away.
I grab my shirt by the soaked hem and lift it to wipe my dripping face. Dahlia’s eyes widen as she is given a full view of what lies beneath the drenched fabric.
“What are you doing?” she hisses.
“Cleaning up the mess you made.”
Her gaze flickers over my abs before following the angled muscles that disappear beneath the band of my jeans.
“Still unimpressed?”
She squints. “Even more so now that I got a better look.”
“You’ve always been a lousy liar.”
“And you’ve always been a terrible flirt.”
“You’ve got something…” I swipe at the corner of her mouth with the pad of my thumb. Her sharp inhale is loud enough to be heard over the rapid beat of my heart.
She tilts her head back, giving me a better look at her hooded eyes.
My fingers tingle as I clasp her chin and lean in until our lips hover a few centimeters apart. “For someone intent on acting like she doesn’t find me attractive, you desperately look like you want to be kissed.”
Her eyes snap open as she shoves me away. “God! I can’t stand you.”
“The feeling is mutual.”
She tosses a dish towel at me. I catch it a second before it lands in the puddle forming by our feet.
“I’m going to grab a bag of rice to soak our phones, and the mop to clean up this mess,” she announces with flushed cheeks.
“That’s a good idea after how you drooled all over the floor.” I smirk.
You’re playing with fire, my head warns.
Wrong. I’m playing with something far more dangerous.
Dahlia Isabella Mu?oz.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Dahlia