Martina looks at her and holds up two fingers. “Twice.”
“Girls, I’m sure Tris has a partner at—”
“No partner. Single.”
“And seventeen.” Her father appears beside me.
“Dad, seriously?” she huffs, and I can’t help but find amusement in her revealing her age as she objects to its truth.
“If she’s still single at eighteen, I’d be honored to take her to dinner, if that pleases her padre?”
She narrows her eyes at him.
“We’ll discuss then. Let’s go, Tris. You have fans waiting.”
“It would please him more if you waited until I was eighty.” She looks back at the girls. “It was an honor to meet you all. Thank you so much for loving the band.”
They hug her, and then she looks at me and takes a deep breath, summoning the courage to flirt … I think. “Don’t wait too long now. A girl like me won’t stay single forever.”
Her dad grips the back of her neck. “A girl like you, with a father like me, will not be dating a man his age until you’re at least eighteen.”
“Oh my God, really?” She rolls her eyes as she looks at her phone and walks away with him.
Catalina giggles, and I look down to see her staring at my phone that was used for one of the many pictures. She holds it up. “She sent you a message. Can I read it?”
“How did she get my number?” I ask, attempting to sound stern, as I take the phone and fight the urge to read it.
“I gave it to her because you like her, and you haven’t dated anyone except internet girls since Isla,” she says as I take Martina’s hand and she takes Elena’s.
“What’s wrong with internet girls?” I joke as we make our way toward the exit.
“You can’t love them, but you could love Tris, and Tris could love you. She already likes to kiss you.”
“No internet girl, but a rock star is okay?” The moment I ask the question, even if it were in jest, I realize how inappropriate it is to ask dating advice from a child.
“She won’t be after the family money,” Elena pipes in.
“Elana,” Catalina shushes her.
“What? Dad says if he marries—”
That bastard, I think.
“Money isn’t for you to worry over at your age. You should spend your time laughing, playing, and loving.”
“Papa says be nice to you, because you hold the family purse,” Elena says matter-of-factly. Before I have a chance to get angry, she smiles. “He’s so stupid—”
“Elena!” Catalina gasps.
“What? He is. Doesn’t he know we’re nice to Uncle Matteo because he’s nice to us?”
“Graci, Elena. And I’m nice to you because I love you girls very much.”
Las amo mucho chicas.
As the girls slide into the waiting vehicle, my phone vibrates again, and I use the opportunity to open Tris’s message and two pictures; one from the show in Paris where she and I are kissing, and the other just this evening in London, showcasing, again, our kiss.
The internet loves us. X ~ Tris
The message she just sent reads: You should never keep a sure thing waiting. X ~ Tris
I tap out my reply, seeking clarification.
What is a sure thing?
I hover my thumb over the screen, unsure of how to sign off, and when the girls call my name, I hit send.
“Un momento, por favor,” One moment please, I say as I watch the dots jump about the screen.
A picture pops up of her biting her bottom lip and, for a moment, I allow a part of me to take pleasure in its promise, one not needing translation.
Me, of course. XXX ~ Tris
I do the responsible thing and do not reply.
Fucked Up Again
Tris
“She’s sleeping,” Mom whispers in the darkened room.
“You sure about that?” Patrick huffs.
Annoyed and sick of them talking, I sit up. “I understand I’m frustrating to you all. Newsflash: no one is as frustrated with me any more than I am. I wish I could be all sweet like Brisa, or as focused and solid as Amias, but I’m not them.”
“No one said you were, kiddo. And newsflash: no one was as frustrating as your dad was as a kid, so—”
“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Dad cuts Uncle Xavier off.
He smiles, he always smiles, and waves his hand toward me. “This, right here, is a mirror image of you when Bekah came back from her old man’s after you professed your love. You did it a little differently, though. You holed up at Momma Joe’s place, and we had to come check your pulse. If I remember correctly, we even offered to get you a hooker to help you get out of your—”
“Xavier, how is that even helping?” Aunt Taelyn cuts him off real quick.
“Irish, she got fucked over. Both her and Tricks did. And—”
“I’m not going out,” Patrick cuts him off now, “getting drunk and getting splashed all over social media as some sort of wild child when my fan base is tween—”
“Oh, you’re all over social media.” I laugh irritatingly. “Different celebutante every city and one of your own artists.”
He glares at me. I glare back.
“I finally find a set of lips that don’t taste like a rubber chicken, and you all drive him off with your bullshit threats and ‘she’s only seventeen.’ Who the hell are you all? Winger?”
“Righteous.” Xavier holds out a fist at my old-school rock reference.
I tap it. “Uncle X, do me a favor?”
He nods. “Anything you want.”
“Hire me a hooker.”
He laughs so hard as he flops on the bed and pulls me into a stupid hug while giving me a noogie. “Seriously, my favorite.”
“Seriously, not joking.” I wiggle away. “I’m ready to get back in the game, and you’re all twat-swatting.”
Xavier laughs, Taelyn holds a laugh back, Ranger scrubs a hand over his face, and my parents look mortified.
“Fine, no hooker then.” I grab my pillow, fluff it, and lie back down. “Please just let me sleep. We have a show in the morning. Then a ten-day break, followed by the biggest show in Forever Fours history, and then it’s back to the Shore for some much-needed tormenting by the locals and more suffocating by the fam.” I pull the covers up over my head. “Can’t freaking wait.”
“Can I have the fucking room?” Dad’s voice shakes in an anger that nearly vibrates the room.
Xavier pops a kiss to the blanket covering my head. “Love you, Trouble. Send up a flare if you need me.”
“Dad!” Patrick snaps.
“Tricks,” he mocks, pushing up off the bed. “Love you, kid, but in this family, we deal with things with humo—”
“Not everything’s a damn joke, you know.” Tricks’ voice fades as he walks out of the room.
Once the room is clear, I lie here, hoping Mom tells Dad that she thinks I’m sleeping, because she always seems to know when I am about ready to nosedive off the tight rope of insanity.
I should tell her that. I should thank her for that. Then again, that will only open a door that I’ll someday slam shut in her face when I lose it again. Even I’m not that cruel.