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“Nervous?” He pauses with the beer bottle a few inches from his lips. “Nervous like butterflies in your stomach and sweaty palms nervous?”

“No, nervous like your stupidity is going to get me killed.”

“Oh.” He’s visibly disappointed.

“You don’t have anything to be worried about. I’d die before I let anything happen to you.” His look is poignant. “That’s my job. Proteger a las leonas. That’s what I told Stefania.”

“What does that mean?”

“We’re gonna work on your Spanish, La Tiburona.” He swallows a mouthful of beer. “Protect the lionesses. How can you be the eyes and ears if you don’t know what everyone is saying?”

I smirk. “Body language. Tone. The look in your eyes. I know when someone is up to no good.”

Tate leans forward and stares intently. Suddenly, I’m nervous, and now there are butterflies in my stomach. The exact kind he described. The kind I loathe. “No estoy tramando nada bueno?”

I barely have any idea what he said, but I am compelled to answer, “Yes.”

Tate smirks. “I’m only interested in getting up to no good with you.”

“It will never happen.”

“Why?”

“I don’t mess around with the help.”

Tate pffts. “That’s the oldest, dumbest excuse in the book. I’m not afraid of your bite, Tiburona.”

“You should be,” I warn him.

“I can handle myself. And I can handle you, too.”

I glare. “No one handles me.”

“No.” He shakes his head lightly and smiles. “No one does. It’s what draws me to you. You’re a wild great white, unable to be tamed.”

“Remember that and we’ll get along.” I suck down my margarita.

“We’re already getting along.” Tate sits back as the waitress places our dinners in front of us.

“Is that what you call it? You must not know what a healthy relationship looks like.”

“Play hard to get all you want.” He looks down at his food and chuckles to himself.

“I’m not playing hard to get. I don’t like you.”

“Yes, you do. You all but rubbed me like a cat earlier when I was standing behind you.”

“Excuse me? You were crowding me. Being all macho protective. I wasn’t rubbing up against you; I was refraining from elbowing you in the gut. I didn’t want to start a scene. Lord knows what would’ve happened.”

“Well, excuse me for trying to do my job.” Tate throws his fork onto his plate. He’s mad. At me?

“I don’t need you to protect me. I need you to do what I say.”

“Well, you weren’t saying much, so I did what I thought was right. A little gratitude can go a long way.”

“Gratitude? You’re delusional.”

“And you’re a . . .” Tate stops himself from finishing his sentence. He tightens his fists and takes a deep breath. We’re definitely not getting along now.

Tate snatches his shot of tequila and shoots it with authority.

“Better?”

He glares. “Let’s just eat.”

“Good idea.” I poke my fork at the chopped-up meat sitting atop a soft tortilla. We say nothing as the sky churns above us with fiery colors of the sunset. Red, oranges, and golds light up the desert landscape, casting everything in an amber-hued glow.

A mariachi band strolls out onto the deck. The sound of trumpets and guitars and big, bold, beautiful lyrics are serenaded at the sunset. People begin pushing empty tables away as the dining space quickly turns into dancing space. There aren't many patrons outside with us, but there are enough to give Tate and me a show.

People sway and twirl to the cheerful music. Happiness abundant.

I wonder what that’s like? Being able to dance without ever having to look over your shoulder. To be happy without the threat of someone ripping it away. To look at someone the way the couple in front of us are. With complete love and trust. I can’t remember ever feeling that safe or secure. Not even in my own mother’s arms. My fate was sealed the day I was born. Destined to wonder. Repelled by love. Doomed to walk alone.

At least I found a confidante in Stefania. For me, that’s enough. I get to make my own rules, follow my own path, and make my own decisions, which is much more than I ever had before. My detachment is my freedom.

The group makes their way over to mine and Tate’s table. They finish their song right in front of us. We both clap. Then one of the men holding a guitar bows in front of me and takes my hand.

“Es un pecado moral no tener en tus brazos a una mujer tan hermosa.”

It is a moral sin not to hold such a beautiful woman in your arms.  He kisses my hand, then glances over at Tate. I look at Tate, too. What the hell did he say? Tate just smiles uncomfortably.

“Si.”

The music starts again, and the mariachi member still holding my hand pulls me to my feet. “Oh no . . . I don’t . . .”  I can barely protest as he motions for Tate to stand. He’s very insistent.

Before I know it, I’m in Tate’s arms, and we are being serenaded just like the sunset. It's an uncomfortable situation, one I want no part of yet am not trying to change.

It’s hard to look at Tate as we dance. I don’t like the way I feel pressed against him. I don’t like the way he smells, or the way he looks, or the way I can feel him looking at me. His grip gets a little tighter, and the beat of my heart hits the inside of my chest a little harder.

“Do you know what they're singing about?” I ask just to break the tension.

“Yes. It’s a sad song. It’s about a man who lies to all his friends that he doesn’t love a woman anymore. But who he is really lying to is himself. Because he does love her. More than anything, but he can only admit it to her. But she’s gone, so she’ll never know how he truly feels.”

“Oh, not very much a love song, then, huh?”

“It’s a beautiful love song.”

“Love is anything but beautiful.”

Tate pulls himself away and stares down at me in utter dismay. “Who made you so jaded?”

“Every man I have ever met,” I answer honestly.

He shakes his head. “We’re not all the same.”

I refrain from laughing in his face. “Maybe not. But you’re definitely no ordinary Joe. There is no room for love in a world like ours.”

“There’s room for love in every world. Bonnie and Clyde, Mickey and Mallory Knox, Thelma and Louise.”

“I’m pretty sure those last two weren’t in a relationship.”

“It was platonic love. Still love.”

“All of them also died in the end.”

“True, but they still experienced epic love. True, embedded-in-your-core love.”

“And that’s what you want?”

“I do. I want to find that love.” He pulls me close against him, holding me tighter than he did before.

“I’m not down for dying.”

“But you are down to explore the possibility of love?”

“With you?”

Tate spreads his luscious lips and nods.

“No. I’m not your girl.”

“That’s too bad, Tiburona. I think we can create some beautiful chaos together.”

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