Page 3 of No Sweeter Poison

“Hey.” Karina wiggles her brows over her glass of Coke. “That guy is looking over here.”

Of the two of us, I’m the only one who can manage being inconspicuous, so I cast a casual glance over my shoulder. Pretending to reach into my bag, I spot them, the man at the bar talking to someone who just exited the double doors. My breath catches in my throat, and I spin back around.

Karina grins like a Cheshire cat and I take a sip of my sangria. “Right?”

“I’ve never seen a man that pretty in real life before.”

She cranes her head to get a better look and I kick her under the table. “Ouch!”

“Make it more obvious, why don’t you?”

“Maybe they’re checking you out, Dahlia,” she sing-songs. “You could leave Spain a not so single woman anymore.”

Doubtful. Whenever I’m with Karina, I always get the feeling looks of admiration are sent in her direction. Not because I’m insecure, but rather, I’m very well aware of the fact my cousin is thin and adorable. She’s a notch over five feet, pixie-like, with pretty dimples, and a delicate frame. Next to her, I look and feel enormous. I’m half a foot taller, not to mention twice her size.

She likes to joke that she came out a with a small chest and tiny butt because God gave all those genes to me. I know she means it as a compliment, but I think she’s secretly insecure about it. After all, stereotypes about Latin American women dictate that we are these big, bombacious, voluptuous women, with tiny waists, big breasts, and round asses. She doesn’t look like that but then again, neither do I. I have flaws just like everyone else.

“Man, if I wasn’t engaged,” she muses.

“You don’t have to be.” I cast another look over my shoulder. “Brent’s an asshole.”

As if on cue, her phone vibrates. I don’t need to ask her who it is when she hits the side button and turns it over, screen first on the table. It’s the seventh time he’s called today, impressive, considering the time difference. I’m tempted to address it but know it’ll provoke an argument between us and I want to avoid a confrontation at all costs. Instead, I return my attention to the men by the bar.

The first man is either exactly six feet or just under it and fit like a body builder with a mass of thick, tight, beautiful black curls he keeps tied in a bun atop his head. Tattoos run up and down his brown arms and his eyes are blue, something I’m deathly envious of. When he grins, a dimple on his left cheek reveals itself. He’s the kind of guy Karina would’ve lost her mind over in high school.

But now she’s with Brent. White, rich, entitled Brent, whom she’ll bind herself to in holy matrimony come December.

The man laughs and finishes drying another glass before returning it to its place on the shelf. It’s then that the second man turns around. We make eye contact but I play it off as reaching in my bag for my camera. I take a few photos of the glasswork on the ceiling for good measure and when I look back, he’s still staring.

I turn around, pretending to fidget with my camera as I speak to Karina. I’m not sure what we look like to them from this angle so I don’t want to do anything too incriminating.

“He’s looking at you.”

“Nuh-uh.” She shakes her head. “He’s looking at you.”

My head shoots up and I glare, but she’s unfazed. She continues her relentless staring, and my cheeks heat up with embarrassment. God, if this guy walks over here trying to flirt and Karina opens up her big mouth instead, I might actually kill myself.

“Maybe he’ll invite you upstairs and you’ll have wild, crazy, European sex and begin a passionate, frenzied romance!”

Karina is obsessed with my love life as if her being engaged while I’m single is some kind of crime against humanity. I just graduated Summa Cum Laude from fucking Columbia and the only thing I had time for was messy hook-ups at frat parties and maybe a make out session in the library. Besides, my parents got together way too young and they were all types of toxic. Forgive me for not wanting to be a child bride at almost twenty-two.

I turn around to return my camera to its bag and both men are looking in our direction. Something about them is vaguely familiar, kind of like how Karina and I look related. The second man is a bit taller than the first, with a strong, lean build and deep olive skin. His hair is long and slicked back, a mix of chocolate brown and streaks of caramel like extended periods of time under the sun have given him natural highlights. He has no tattoos, as far as I can see, and from this distance I can’t tell what color his eyes are. I think they’re brown.

He stares at me harder, and I spin around in my seat, taking renewed interest in my sangria.

“Um…check your phone. Please?” I tell her as I unlock mine. “Let’s freeload off this Wi-Fi and find a way to get back to the hotel.”

Keeping her straw in her mouth, Karina leans forward on the table as she scrolls through her phone. “Okay, so, sexy t-shirt guy would’ve definitely been my type circa 2015 but sexy button-down guy is very grown-up, very mature me. Very ‘I read erotica novels like a big girl’ instead of One Direction fanfic on Wattpad.”

I choke on my sangria.

Her eyes widen as she fixates on something over my shoulder. She punches my arm. “Get your shit together, Prima! Sexy button-down guy is coming our way.”

A GENTLEMAN PURSUES

Alejandro

“A nd they just walked in?”