Elastic Hearts (Hearts #3)(61)

“I’ve known you most of me life, Vic. We’ve been through some real shit together,” he said, pausing. “And I . . .” he sighed, shaking his head, “I’m not going to say anything. I’m not going to get involved. I just hope you’re thinking this through.”

“Nothing is going on,” I said. He shot me a don’t give me that shit look.

“Tell that to someone who doesn’t know you. Actually, forget it. Even a goddamn blind man can see that something is definitely going on. You better be f*cking careful.”

I groaned, but didn’t respond. I knew he was right.

“Like I said, be careful.”

I was being careful. I was about to take the girl to Newport Beach so that we could be together without worrying about getting caught. How was that for careful? Though the more I thought about it the less I knew if I was being careful or just needy for wanting her this badly. But I wasn’t a needy guy. Just careful. I wasn’t an idiot. I knew I couldn’t have both. I knew that if those pictures got out, I would have to let her go until she was no longer my client. We would be fine. We’d done it once before. But she moved on that time.

Thinking that made me feel sick.

She’d moved on and got married.

I’d told her she was mine—pounded that into her—as if that alone could keep her around.

From every which angle I thought about it, I was f*cked.





“YOUR PARENTS ARE the sweetest people ever,” I said, smiling as I waved to his mom while getting into the passenger seat of his car. “I don’t know how they ended up with a grouch like you.”

I inhaled, like I usually did when I was in his car. It had a new-car smell. How? I didn’t know. Mine lost that smell after two weeks. Probably because I ate so many In-N-Out burgers in it. Victor didn’t say anything, instead he reached for my hand and threaded his fingers through mine. My heart skipped a beat every time he did that. Every time he touched me. Every time he freaking looked at me. I felt like a ridiculous junior in high school who had a crush on the star quarterback. I just couldn’t get enough of him.

Victor chuckled. “They really like you.”

“I really like them.”

“I really like you.”

My heart summersaulted into my stomach and back up. Oh my God. I was going to die via sweet nothings from Victor Reuben. I really was, and damn what a beautiful death it would be.

“I like you too,” I whispered. I felt my cheeks burn as I smiled and looked over at him. We were stopped at a red light that changed to green and he was just looking at me without a care in the world. He leaned in as if to kiss me and I said, “The light is green. People are honk—”

“Fuck them. Let them honk,” he said, his lips grazing mine.

I forgot how to breathe, let alone how to complain. I grabbed his face and kissed him back amidst the honking behind us. He pulled back slightly, gaze tender on mine, as if he were seeing me for the first time. As if he were just now realizing his words about liking me were actually true. I smiled softly, and he mimicked it as he pulled back. Somebody else honked and Victor stuck his middle finger up.

“Idiot.”

I slapped my palm on my forehead and lowered myself into the seat. “Victor.”

“What? People act like they can’t wait three seconds. Like they have somewhere important to be on a Saturday afternoon.”

I laughed. “Maybe it’s a doctor.”

“Well, they should’ve left their house ten minutes early so they wouldn’t have to deal with *s like me.”

“Oh my God. You are so f*cking crazy.”

Without looking away from the road he lifted my hand and brought it up to his mouth. “And you love it,” he said, kissing my palm lightly before nipping it with his teeth.

I yanked it away. I really did love it, but I would never in a million years tell him that. “So, where are we going to stop to buy clothes? Target?”

“I was going to take you to Nordstrom, but if Target is good with you, let’s go there.”

I laughed. “Well, I’m not going to pass up Nordstrom.”

“Nah, Target was your first choice.”

I poked him in the ribs and he laughed, taking his hand off the gear to catch my hand and bite the tips my fingers until I yelped. He let go and shot me a look, raising a brow in challenge. I smiled and looked out the window. He turned the radio up a little and started bobbing his head to the Bryson Tiller song playing.

“I like you like this,” I said after a while. He lowered the music a little.

“How?”

I shrugged. “Not cautious.”

He looked over at me quickly, tilting his head a bit before looking back at the road ahead. He didn’t acknowledge my statement, instead turning up the radio again and singing along. We talked and sang and scrolled through different songs on the playlist he had set up in the memory of his car. I made fun of him for having Justin Beiber on there, and he assured me that it was Estelle’s doing.

“Liar,” I scoffed.

He shrugged. “Maybe I like some of his new songs.”

“I knew it,” I said and paused as I continued scrolling. “You know, for a half Puerto Rican guy who doesn’t speak Spanish, you listen to a lot of Hispanic artists.”