Francisco Barreto is no different than them.
He pulls the chair out for me, and I squeeze myself between him and Alejandro, who, along with Kai, nods a soft greeting as I lower myself in my seat.
“Things good?” Alejandro tosses at me curtly.
Kai studies my face, the corner of his lips eventually lifting with satisfaction.
Is it me, or are they under the impression that I’m losing my shit?
They couldn’t be more wrong.
I flick my finger up, ignoring all of them. A waiter rushes to the table. I order a glass of wine, not waiting for them to do it for me.
Something tells me they won’t do it anyway, and I am right.
They all seem carved out of stone while I ask about my food choices.
“Tomato avocado salad, grilled fish with mashed potatoes, and key lime pie,” I say, picking from the catering menu.
The man shifts his eyes to Francisco, who orders the same thing, but that can only be a coincidence.
“You two have worked an appetite,” Alejandro murmurs, keeping his eyes on me.
“We sure did,” Francisco retorts dully.
If this is his idea of erasing the other two men’s interest in our whereabouts, he couldn’t be more wrong. He is so different than his usual self, signaling that something is off.
I slide my hand under the table and touch his thigh.
He doesn’t look at me, only lowers his head so I can talk in his ear.
“Yes?” he murmurs quietly.
I cup his cheek while whispering in his ear.
“You’re not convincing anyone.”
He gestures faintly, breaking away from me without saying another word.
That hurts, but it’s better in a way. He is so compelling, though, that I give him a long inquiring look.
He ignores me, so I let him be.
It feels like he’s slipping into a foul mood. Maybe I’m wrong. And maybe this is the real him right now. Pissed for reasons I don’t quite understand, but still pissed.
Maybe he’d rather be home, sleeping.
Maybe this is me, projecting.
I have no idea what is going on, but I quickly collect myself, figuring that the best course of action is no action and simply focusing on what I’m doing, feeling, and conveying.
We’re still part of the game.
The wine and food arrive for both of us, and I can’t be happier as I begin eating.
For one, I’m hungry. And then, I don’t feel like talking to anyone. In that regard, I’m no different than Francisco.