I touch the lights. “Your apartment is so pretty,” I tell Sofia, who stands expectantly in front of a hallway.
“Thanks.” She smiles, bouncing on her heels, then turns to her brother. “Marco, I think the chicken is done.”
“Thanks, Sopaipilla. Why don’t you show Frankie your room?”
Sofia beams and drags me by the hand down the hallway. We pass the photos on the wall. Most of them are ripped down one side, where someone was torn out of the picture—Marco’s dad, I’m guessing. Then each photo was returned to its frame, minus one family member.
“Here it is.” Sofia opens the door proudly. Her lavender walls are covered with posters of boy bands and concept cars. She has two photos on her nightstand—one of a beautiful woman who must be her mom, with the same tan skin and mass of black curls as Sofia, and the other of Marco standing outside the rec center with Sofia.
“I love it in here,” I tell her. “Did you decorate it yourself?”
“My mom painted the walls before she got sick, but I picked out everything else.”
I let her walk me through and point out all the details. Marco appears in the doorway and watches us, his strong arms folded across his chest. “Are you two ready to eat? The chicken is done.”
“We’re coming,” Sofia says.
Marco walks ahead of us to the kitchen. I pause at the door across from Sofia’s. “Is that your brother’s room?”
“No.” Sofia lowers her voice. “It was my parents’ room, and then after my mom died, just my dad’s. Marco hates our dad, so he won’t take it, and he wouldn’t let me switch with him. He still sleeps on the sofa, like he always has.”
I nod, but I hate the thought of Marco not having a bedroom because of his father. How much can one person take from you? On my way back through the living room, I look closer. Car magazines are piled on the floor. An alarm clock and a picture of a little boy in overalls holding a woman’s hand sit on the end table next to the sofa. Marco and his mom.
Dinner is amazing. Marco made arroz con pollo, a garlicky chicken with rice. I never would have pictured him cooking. We eat and laugh, and afterward we play board games with Sofia. She’s a real-estate tycoon when it comes to Monopoly, and she beats us in half the time it normally takes to finish the game. Once she’s settled on the sofa with a movie, Marco walks me out to a small balcony at the far end of the living room.
He drops down into a big plastic chair and pats the seat between his legs. “Come here.”
I sit in the empty space, and he pulls me back against his chest.
“Thanks for coming. I haven’t seen Sofia that happy in a long time.” His breath tickles my bare neck, and I have to fight to stay focused. “She really likes you.”
I snuggle against him. “I like her, too.”
A question lingers in my mind, but I’m not sure how to ask him without making a fool of myself.
Stop overthinking it.
I take a deep breath. “You said you’ve never brought a girl home before … so why me?”
In a fluid movement, Marco hooks his arms under my leg and flips me around so I’m facing him and my legs are hanging over the sides. The position is intimate—the way our bodies are pressed together and I feel parts of him against me that make my whole body buzz, the way his hand rests on my hip and our faces are so close that I have to lean back a little to keep from seeing double.
Marco’s other hand moves to my neck, and his fingers drift across my skin, teasing. “When I saw you in the parking lot on your first day at Monroe, I couldn’t stop staring because you were so damn gorgeous. I figured you were just another rich girl from the Heights. When you jumped into the fight on the quad, I knew you were different. Then you showed up at the races to help your friend. Most girls wouldn’t do that, Frankie. Most guys wouldn’t.”
It feels like he’s talking about someone else.
He frowns. “When I saw Sung with his hands on you, and I thought about what could have happened if Deacon and I weren’t there … that’s when I knew I felt something. And I couldn’t make it go away.”
“Did you want to make it go away?”
His lips brush mine. “Yes and no. I wanted you, but it seemed like I always said the wrong thing. And I didn’t want to fall for anyone.”
My breath hitches. “Is that what’s happening?”
He tugs on the knot in my hair, and it spills over my shoulders. “It already happened.”
“We’re not as different as you think, Marco.” He tightens his hold on me when I say his name. “We both have things in our pasts that we would rather forget, and we’ve both made mistakes. We look at the same stars and see the same sky.”
“I wish that was true. But the stars don’t look the same in the Downs. It’s tough to see past the projects to notice the sky.”
I take his face in my hands. “You just have to look harder.”
CHAPTER 25
CRIMINAL INTENT