Jealousy Games

I walked back to the print shop with a storm in my head.

The discovery at the construction site had lit a fuse. Cata wasn't just cutting corners; she was committing grand larceny. And worse, she was doing it under my name.

I needed to tell Sofía. I needed to strategize with Tony. I needed a plan.

I pushed open the glass door of Imprenta Mercedes, the bell jingling sharply.

"Sofía, we have a—"

I stopped.

Sofía wasn't alone.

She was leaning over the counter, laughing at something a man was showing her on his phone.

It was Mateo. The guy from the mud cleanup. The dancer from the club.

He was wearing a tight black t-shirt that showed off arms that were definitely bigger than mine, and he was leaning in close—too close. His hip was resting against the counter, invading her workspace with a casual, practiced familiarity.

"Hola," I said, my voice louder and harder than I intended.

Sofía looked up, her smile bright. "Max! You're back."

Mateo turned slowly. He looked me up and down with a lazy, arrogant grin.

"El Arquitecto," Mateo drawled. "Still here? I thought the sun would have melted you by now."

"I'm heat resistant," I said, walking over to stand next to Sofía. I instinctively placed a hand on the small of her back. A claim.

Sofía stiffened slightly, surprised by the touch, but she didn't pull away.

"Mateo was just showing me the flyer for the Bachata Festival this weekend," she said, sensing the sudden drop in barometric pressure between the two men. "He is competing."

"Competing," I repeated flatly. "Good for you."

"We won last year," Mateo said, looking directly at me. "We."

My stomach dropped. "We?"

"Sofía and I," Mateo smirked. "We were partners. Best chemistry in the city. Tell him, chula."

He looked at Sofía, his eyes dropping to her lips for a fraction of a second.

"You still have the dress, Sofi? The gold one? The one with the..." He made a gesture with his hands outlining a low neckline.

"I have it," Sofía said, her cheeks flushing pink. She stepped away from my hand, moving to organize some papers. "But I am not competing this year, Mateo. I am too busy."

"Busy with what?" Mateo gestured vaguely at me. "Babysitting the tourist?"

I took a step forward. My fists clenched at my sides.

"She's busy running a business," I snapped. "And she’s busy with me."

Mateo laughed. It was a dismissive, grating sound that scraped against my pride.

"With you?" He shook his head, looking at me with genuine pity. "Listen, amigo. You play house for a few weeks. You eat the food. You dance the bad bachata. But don't confuse a vacation with real life. Sofía needs a man who can handle the rhythm, not someone who counts the steps."

He turned back to Sofía, ignoring me completely.

"Think about the competition, Sofi. The prize is one hundred thousand pesos. We could win again. The money would help with... you know. The situation."

Sofía went still. She looked at the flyer on the counter.

"The situation?" I asked, looking between them. "What situation?"

"The prize money is good," Sofía said quickly, avoiding my eyes.

"It's rent for three months," Mateo pressed. "And my boss... Mr. Vila... he asked about you. He said if you win, maybe he gives you an extension on the loan."

I felt a cold chill. Vila. The developer she had mentioned at the Chimi truck. The one trying to buy her building.

"Mateo works for the guy trying to evict you?" I asked Sofía.

"It's complicated, Max," she sighed.

Mateo stood up straight. "It's business. I'm trying to help her. What are you doing? Fixing printers?"

He touched her hand—just a tap on the knuckles—and then walked toward the door.

"Saturday night, Sofi," he called back. "Plaza España. Don't leave me hanging. We look good together."

He walked out, whistling.

I stared at the door, my blood boiling.

"Max," Sofía said softly.

I turned to her. "You danced with him? Competitively? And he works for the shark trying to eat your shop?"

"It was years ago, Max. We grew up together. He is like a brother. He separates the dance from the business."

"He didn't look at you like a sister," I snapped. "And he didn't sound like he was separating anything."

Sofía’s eyes narrowed. "Careful, Max. You sound jealous."

"I am jealous," I admitted, my voice rising. "He has history with you. He speaks your language. He moves like you. I'm just the guy fixing the printer."

Sofía sighed. She walked around the counter and stood in front of me. She placed her hands on my chest, right over my pounding heart.

"He knows the steps," she whispered, looking up at me. "But he doesn't know me. Not like you are starting to."

"He said you need the prize money," I said, latching onto the detail. "Is the shop in trouble again?"

Sofía pulled her hands away instantly. The wall went up.

"The shop is fine," she said, her voice cool. "Do not try to fix it, Max. I am not your renovation project. And I am not a damsel for you to save with your checkbook."

"I just want to help."

"I don't need your help. I need you to trust me." She grabbed her purse. "Now. Are we going to talk about this 'heist' you texted Tony about? Or are we going to stand here measuring dicks with a ghost?"

I clenched my jaw. She was right. The marble was the priority. But the image of Mateo's hand on hers burned in my mind.

"The heist," I said. "But on Saturday... I'm coming to that festival."

"Max, no. It is loud. It is crowded. And if you glare at Mateo, you will look crazy."

"Exactly," I said, my eyes dark. "I want to see you in his world. And I want him to see you with me."

"You are being territorial," she warned.

"I'm being present," I corrected. "If I'm going to be part of your life, Sofía, I need to be part of all of it. Even the parts that make me feel like an outsider."

She looked at me. She was stubborn. She was frustrating.

And she smiled.

"Fine," she sighed. "We go. But you do not dance. If you try to dance Bachata in front of the judges, they will disqualify the whole building."

I grinned, the tension finally breaking. "Deal. I'll just hold your purse and look menacing."