Page 28 of Revv

Guacamole is on the floor, one paw hooked in the sleeve of Revel’s hoodie where it hangs out of the hamper. He chews his tiny piece of tortilla like he’s minding his business, which he is absolutely not.

“No,” I tell him. “We don’t like him.”

He keeps chewing.

“He’s annoying. Cocky. Way too pretty for his own good.”

Guacamole pauses.

I narrow my eyes. “Don’t judge me, señor wrinkles. You’re bald and built like an uncooked chicken.”

He goes back to chewing.

“Exactly. Worry about yourself.”

I sit at the counter and eat because I’m not wasting good tacos just because they came with feelings attached.

That would be dramatic, and I am not dramatic.

I’m a grown-ass woman eating breakfast. Calmly. Normally. Like the man who sent it didn’t have his mouth on my throat last night while I stood there pretending I had even a little bit of self-control.

Totally fucking normal.

The problem is, the longer I sit there, the harder it is to stay mad.

The coffee is so good. The tacos are literally perfect. And the battery sitting by my door is proof that he noticed a problem and fixed it without making me ask.

Ay, Dios mío.

Why does he have to be annoying in a useful way?

I pick up my phone again, because, apparently, peace is not something I’m interested in today.

Me: You didn’t have to do all that.

He answers almost right away.

Revel: I know

I stare at the words.

Simple. No joke. No dirty little comment. No cocky bullshit wrapped around it.

Just ‘I know.’

Me: I could’ve handled it.

Revel: Never said you couldn’t, mama, but maybe I like taking care of shit for you

My throat tightens a little, and I put the phone down. Pick it back up. Put it down again. “See?” I tell Guacamole. “This is manipulation.” He is licking salsa off the floor.

“It is literal emotional manipulation. With tacos.”

He looks up.

“Yes, I’m still eating them.”

I take another bite because principles are important, but so is breakfast.