“Make it quick,” I replied. “Tomorrow I have to talk to a lawyer.”
His eyes widened slightly.
“You’re serious?”
“I’ve never been more serious in my life.”
He ordered a black coffee; I asked for chamomile tea that tasted like nothing. Diego stared at his cup as if the right answer might be floating inside it.
“What happened tonight…” he began. “It wasn’t just a bad joke.”
“I know. Javier never jokes—he just feels untouchable.”
Diego swallowed.
“For months he’s been talking about you like that when we go out. He says you’re ‘below his league,’ that you married him to get out of your neighborhood, that…” he hesitated, “that you owe him your life.”
It didn’t surprise me as much as it should have. I had heard softened versions at home, small stabs wrapped in sarcasm. But something in Diego’s voice unsettled me.
“I can imagine that,” I said. “You didn’t call me out at one in the morning to tell me that.”
His fingers began tapping against the cup.
“There’s something else. A bet.”
A different kind of cold ran through me—sharper.
“What bet?”
Diego took a deep breath.