The Slayer (Untamed Hearts #2)(41)

“Really?” Chuito did a very good job of appearing surprised as he rubbed a hand over his head, brushing off the rain running into his eyes. “The queen agreeing with the princess. I’m shocked.”

Alaine dug into her purse and pulled out a bottle of hand sanitizer. “Here, give me your hands.”

“I washed my hands,” Chuito argued.

Alaine grabbed one of his hands and squeezed a considerable amount of hand sanitizer onto his open palm before he could complain any more.

Chuito looked at it. “Does it have glitter?”

Alaine studied the bottle. “I don’t think it’ll show up. It doesn’t make my hands glittery.”

“You’re the whitest white person ever. You glow without glitter.” Chuito sniffed his hand and gave her a look. “Does it have perfume in it?”

“It’s Winter Sparkle.”

“Co?o.” He rubbed his hands together and then shook them off in annoyance. “Ay Dios mio, I smell like a woman.”

“Better than smelling like gas station facilities.” Alaine went back to putting on her mascara as Chuito turned the car back on. Once they got onto the road, she looked at his hands and observed, “Oh, it does glitter on you.”

Chuito gave her a glare.

Alaine giggled in response.

“I hope you appreciate that I’m being very agreeable with you ’cause today is your day,” Chuito said and then pointed to the radio. “Listening to this mierda while sparkling and smelling like a woman.”

“We can put on your music.” Alaine tossed her purse on the floor. “Gimme your phone.”

“It’s okay. We can listen to this. It’s your day.”

“No, I like your music.” She reached over and fished into his pocket for his phone, making him jerk in surprise.

“I’m gonna get into a wreck!” Chuito shouted at her. “You can’t just grab at my lap!”

“Why?” Alaine gave him an innocent look. “That shouldn’t make you uncomfortable. I thought we were just friends. What’s your passcode?”

“I’m not giving you my passcode.” Chuito yanked his phone back.

“Why do you have a passcode? I don’t have one.”

“That was your choice, Alaine,” Chuito snapped as he opened his phone and clicked on his music.

“You shouldn’t do that and drive.”

“But I can have you groping at my dick while I drive? That’s not dangerous?”

“That’s dirty.”

“I am dirty,” he said as he plugged in his phone and messed with the buttons on the radio until Latin music overtook the country music. “That’s why we’re only friends.”

She held up her hands in defeat and leaned back. She closed her eyes, listening to the music. “This makes me think about dancing with you. I like this song.”

“I think you like all songs.”

“Is it a love story?”

“Does it sound like a love story?”

Alaine shrugged. “How would I know? It’s in Spanish.”

“But the song, does it sound like a love story? It’s fast-paced.”

“There can’t be a fast-paced love story?” Alaine laughed and then asked, “What’s it about?”

“It’s about dancing. He’s singing about dancing with his woman. All night. Until the sun comes.”

“I’d like to do that. Dance all night until the sun comes up,” Alaine mused to herself. “Is it dirty?”

“Yes, it’s dirty. Very dirty.”

“You dance with me to this song,” Alaine pointed out.

“Yes, I do. Remind me to stop doing that.”

Alaine closed her eyes again, listening to the music, imagining dancing with Chuito in his apartment. That was their new thing. Dancing. He was a better dancer than her, which was a surprise, because Alaine wasn’t a bad dancer. She’d been going line dancing with Jules over in Mercy since she was eighteen, but Latin dancing was much faster and more complicated.

It was almost like sex, or at least what she imagined sex to be. Sweaty and breathless, with Chuito’s body pressed against hers. More often than not, it left her very frustrated, and when she went to bed, she would touch herself to no avail.

All it did was leave her more frustrated.

Even when she imagined it was Chuito’s hands on her, it only left her on the edge of bliss. Just like loving Chuito—so close, but not quite there.

When the song ended, she pointed to the radio, her eyes still closed. “I want to hear it again.”

He turned it back to the same song. For the first time, she really listened to the words, because she loved the way Spanish sounded.

“He says mami,” she observed. “He says it the way you say it.”

“Did you think I was the only one who said that?”

“But you said he’s singing to his woman.” Alaine lifted her eyebrows, still listening to the words. “And it sounds the same as when you say it. Like he means it. Like it’s a love story.”

“It’s not a love story,” Chuito reminded her.

“Does he love her?”

“I don’t know.”

Alaine gestured to the radio. “Does he say it? That he loves this woman he’s dancing with until the sun comes up.”