Excerpt
When Javi Dumped Mari
Chapter 1
Javi
Now
I'm not the kind of person who fidgets, but tonight I can't stop messing with every object on this table. The pepper shaker isn't close enough to the saltshaker. The candle centerpiece should be shifted three centimeters to the right. The tiny ripples in the cream linen tablecloth need to be smoothed out too. Now that I think about it, where are those little sugar packets for our after-dinner coffee? Mari loves her café con un montón de azúcar like no one else I know.
And where's my best friend anyway?
I glance at my watch, then loosen my tie as I scan the small group of people lingering near the host station. Maybe I shouldn't have dressed up for the occasion. Not that this is a special occasion exactly, but to me, it's a big deal, so I figured I'd look the part of a guy who's going places. Overkill? Perhaps. Still, Mari's going to be floored when I tell her about the recent changes in my life: a spot to call home that isn't a glorified frat house; excellent career prospects on the horizon; a therapist to help me process years of suppressed emotions. These are huge personal milestones-all of them long overdue and meant to show Mari that I'm on my way to becoming a worthy partner. Mari would probably say I have a lot of nerve being impatient now; given how long it's taken me to get my shit together, she'd be a thousand percent correct.
I survey the dining room, my attention snagging on a man who's tapping a spoon against his wineglass. He stands, presumably to address his guests, and because this stranger's business isn't mine-a phrase Mari jokingly imprinted on my brain years ago-I look away.
The absence of a suitable distraction means I can no longer ignore my clammy palms and bouncing knees. Annoyed by my own restlessness, I reread our latest text exchange.
Me: we still on for 7 at Bella Trattoria?
Mari: definitely
Me: can't wait to see you
Mari: same :-)
Mari's never stood me up, so I'm not worried that she won't show. She probably got held up at work. I'll just send her a quick text to be sure she's on her way.
Me: everything okay?
Me: not a problem if you need a rain check
I'd hate to miss out on the opportunity to see Mari tonight, but I don't want to place any undue pressure on her. Besides, if I have anything to say about it-and Mari's suggested on numerous occasions that I do-we'll have plenty of time to spend together while I'm here in California.
The moment I take a sip of water, someone settles a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. I look behind me, and there she is: the woman who's captured my heart in a vise.
Mari rounds our table and slips into her seat, then takes a deep, steadying breath. "Hey, sorry to make you wait. I had to run to the restroom."
She gives me a weak smile, places her hands in her lap, and centers all of her attention on the bifold card promoting the restaurant's cocktail specials.
No kiss on the cheek. No hug. No eye contact, for that matter. Her placid expression suggests she isn't particularly upset, but she also doesn't seem to be herself. I'll find out what's up in the next few minutes. Neither of us has much patience for bullshit. In the meantime, I can't help but stare at her, taking in her glowy tan skin; the gorgeous curly hair skimming her shoulders; the full, glossy lips that always captivate me when she's talking.
"It's good to see you, M," I say, shifting in my seat. "You look beautiful."
She blushes, her gaze slowly lifting to mine. It's the first sign of the Mari I'm used to. The one who never quite knows how to take a compliment.
"Oh, stop. I'm the same ol' me. But you? You look fantastic, Javi." Waggling her brows, she adds, "Que gato."
We quietly eye each other, matching smiles on our faces, and my spirits lift. We're good. Of course we're good. Now that my mind's at ease, I can't contain myself any longer and blurt out, "I have good news!"
Giving Mari a secretive grin, I reach into the messenger bag at my feet and grab the rough draft of the musical script she's been urging me to finish for years. It's done. Finally done. Well, the bones of it. And yeah, there's still a ton of work to do before it's ready for showtime-the music and half of the lyrics, for starters-but this is a symbolic end to the rut I've been in, and I'm in a celebratory mood.
The brightness in her eyes dims, and her shoulders slump, immediately putting me on high alert. "I have news too," she says less enthusiastically.
I let the libretto slip from my hand. It lands at the bottom of my bag, the faint thump of its pages making me flinch. The book can wait. Because she didn't say her news was good, and my antenna when it comes to Mari couldn't be more fine-tuned.
"You first," I say, peering at her closely.
She reaches for her water glass and takes a long sip, then leans forward, as though she has something urgent to say. "Listen, I'm sorry I didn't give you a heads-up sooner, but I brought someone with me. He's parking the car."
I relax into my seat and blow out a slow breath. Jesus, is that all? A random date I can handle. These men are never worthy of her anyway. "I thought you were going on a romance hiatus? That's what you told me in the fall."
"It ended," she says, her face as blank as an untouched canvas. "Didn't get a chance to tell you."
I casually park an elbow on my chair's armrest. "So, who is he? Another former classmate from law school?" I chuckle. "Damn, that guy was a pendejo to rival all pendejos."
Mari twists her lips into a half smile and playfully rolls her eyes. "Don't remind me. He's married now, and I pray for his partner daily." Straightening her shoulders, she adds, "But seriously, this new guy's great, and I really hope you like him. His name is Alex Cordero. We, uh . . . we work together at the firm."
The passing mention of her father's entertainment law firm irks me. It's just another tool Luiz Campos uses to exert control over his daughter. She'd be better off someplace else, where her talents aren't wasted, but her career choices are just that-hers-and I tend to give a wide berth to any subject that relates to her dad.
Wait. A frisson of alarm runs down my spine when I focus on what she said about her date: But seriously, this new guy's great. By agreement, I'm supposed to be the judge of that. I mean, considering we've been gatekeeping each other's relationships the past two years, that's literally my job. And as for Mari, I have yet to meet someone who passes muster. Hell, I don't even pass muster, but I'm willing to live trying.
I lean forward conspiratorially. "Still, I'm here to do my duty as your best friend. Tell me what you need, an interrogation or a shakedown?"
Most people are subjected to interrogations; shakedowns are reserved for individuals who've already raised a few red flags. Either way, this guy will be a blip in Mari's history once I'm done with him.
"Neither," Mari says. "Just do me a favor and get to know him organically, okay? No third degree. No snarky remarks. I want you to give Alex a fair chance."
Well, damn. She's never imposed any stipulations on my assessment before. Is she into this Alex guy? Does she want me to rubber-stamp what she already knows? In all the time we've been vetting each other's dates, our mandate has been unfailingly clear: approve or disapprove. Except Mari's essentially telling me she won't be swayed by my opinion-as if it's too late for me to do anything. I'm fucking stumped by this change in the status quo, but I eventually gather enough wits to respond. "Sure, sure. Whatever you need."
Mari briefly closes her eyes and exhales, then glances at the restaurant's revolving door.
"Is everything okay?" I ask, unsure what to make of her mood. She seems . . . off. And she seems especially off considering it's just us. Mari and Javi. Javi and Mari. She can tell me anything. She has to know this by now.
Mari reaches over the stretch of distance between us and places her right hand on mine. "You mean so much to me, Javi. Please don't ever forget that. I . . ."
Okay, what the fuck, heart? Chill. I breathe through my nose and massage the left side of my chest, hoping to calm my quickening pulse. Is there something else? Is she moving out of the country? I narrow my eyes and study her face more closely. Is she sick? What the hell is going on? "Whatever it is, Mari, just tell me. I want to be there for you. We'll get through it together."
She looks past me, and her whole face lights up as she rises to her feet. "Here he is now."
I turn in the direction she's facing, my jaw dropping as I watch Alex make his entrance. And I'm not exaggerating when I describe it as an entrance. I mean, the guy's straightening his cuff links, his topcoat flapping behind him like a superhero's cape while the people in his wake pretend they're not staring at this prime specimen. He's Latine, maybe, and tall. Really tall. I mean, I'm no short king, and this guy probably has four inches on me. To add insult to injury, he also comes equipped with hazel eyes, a chiseled jaw, and-I glance at the floor around him-huge feet. He's the fucking Beyoncé of men. Okay, fellas, no need to get in formation. It's a
wrap.
Alex folds Mari into a warm embrace. "Sorry to keep you waiting, princesa," he says, his lips grazing her temple. Then he looks down at me, flashing a big, confident smile. "And here's the man of the hour. Glad we're finally meeting in person, Javier. Marisol's told me so much about you."
Mari and I exchange an awkward glance before I jump up and shake his hand. "I wish I could say the same."
Alex grins, completely unaffected by my tepid greeting. "There's plenty of time for us to get to know each other before the wedding."
I frown at him, my brain struggling to comprehend the words coming out of this stranger's mouth. "What wedding?"
Alex's gaze swings between Mari and me, and then he tips his head back, not a strand of his chestnut brown hair out of place. "You didn't tell him, Marisol?"
Mari clears her throat, her eyes blinking at warp speed. "I was working up to it when you arrived."
"Ah, got it," Alex says affably. "Well, then, this is the perfect time for a toast, isn't it?" He raises a finger in the air, and our server, a white kid with floppy hair, rushes over. To the server, Alex says, "My fiancée and I would like your best bottle of champagne. This is a celebration!"
"This is an Italian restaurant," the server replies in an even tone, his brow lifted.
Alex puffs out his chest. "Your best Prosecco, then. The bubblier, the better."
"Right away, sir," the server says before dashing away.
I'm itching to call him back, because this isn't a celebration at all; as far as I'm concerned, it's a catastrophe, and none of this is making any sense.
I look between Mari and this Alex guy as they share a furtive smile. Wait, wait, wait. Hold up. Am I being played right now? The tightness in my chest unfurls. Damn, I can't believe I almost fell for it. I throw my head back and wag an index finger at my devious best friend. "Okay, okay, I'll admit you almost had me there. Seriously, though"-I jerk my thumb in the man's direction, not even sure if Alex is his real name-"is he an actor? I mean, you've done some wild shit in the interest of pranking me, but this is next level."
I tap the guy on the shoulder. "'Princesa' was a nice touch, by the way."
Beside him, Mari winces. "This isn't a prank, Javi. Alex is my fiancé."
I stare at her, then at him, then back at her, my chest tightening all over again as tiny pinpricks pierce my body from head to toe. My ears are burning too. Worse, I'm feeling unsteady on my feet, so I collapse onto my chair. "You're getting . . . married?"
"I am," she says, taking a seat and pulling Alex down with her. "I mean, we are." She laughs at herself, nervously flashing the gigantic engagement ring she's obviously been hiding since she arrived. Damn, it's a wonder she doesn't sink to the floor from the weight of that thing. "Um, Alex and I are," she pointlessly clarifies. "In six weeks."
"In six weeks," I repeat, my mouth going dry.
"The eighteenth of May, to be exact," she says, nodding. "And I was hoping you'd be my man of honor."
Fuck me. Fuck Alex. And fuck the stupid-ass Tesla he probably owns.
"What the hell is a man of honor anyway?"
"It just means you have a special place in the bride's life," Mari explains.
Shit. Did I say that out loud? How do I play this off? Think, Javi, think. "Oh no, I wasn't asking. It's actually a song."
Alex tilts his head, his eyebrows snapping together. "There's a song about a man of honor?"
I clear my throat. "Yeah, it goes, 'And what'-clap-'the hell'-clap-'is a man of honor?'-clap-"It's a military chant. You know, when they're running or marching. Left, right, left . . . Saw it in a movie once."
"Riiight," Alex says, stretching out the word.
Yeah, I'd be skeptical too. Chacho, this is a mess.
Mari shakes her head as if to clear it. "Anyway, I want you to stand beside me when we take our vows."
The irony of this statement pummels my chest like a battering ram. Still, the lie flows from my lips so easily I almost believe it myself. "Nothing would make me happier. I'm touched."
In reality, though, I'm a carcass being pecked to shreds by vultures at the side of the road. (Sue me, I've always been dramatic.) One thing's for sure: This is not how the night was supposed to go. I had declarations to share, explanations to give, promises to make; now I'm just processing the trash fire before my eyes.