Our Dirty Little Secret: Book 1

By Sabrina Oliva

When Ivy finds out that her roommate’s brother Arturo is about to be deported, she impulsively agrees to marry him, sight unseen. But when Arturo turns out to be incredibly arrogant—and infuriatingly sexy—convincing the authorities that they’re in love turns out to be harder than she anticipated. Or is it?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Radish
• Release date: Nov 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9781956969023

Sabrina Oliva

Sabrina Oliva lives with her two dogs, Hammer and Forehead, and loves writing Romance and watching reality TV.

Book preview

Chapter One

Ivy

Wait, wait! the guy, a cute hipster type, said between kisses. I can’t see anything!

I hit the lights. His full lips were bitten raw, his pupils blown-up. I took off my little black dress, standing in nothing but a matching black lace bra and thong.

Arching an eyebrow, I asked, Can you see now?

Poor guy looked like he was about to combust.

Oh. My. Go— Before the star-struck hipster could finish, I was all over him again. I was an expert kisser, if I do say so myself, but this guy was pretty good at it too. My mouth devoured his as I tore open his shirt, then shoved him backwards on the bed. I climbed onto his lap, taking off my bra.

His eyes turned wide, staring at my pretty average tits like they could single-handedly achieve world peace. Honestly, under the right circumstances, men were very easy.

You’re so beautiful, it’s just—

I cut him off with another biting kiss, grinding down hard against his denim-covered crotch. I loved the friction. Sparks of arousal bloomed in the pit of my belly, and I couldn’t wait for more. But the second I reached between us to unbutton his pants, he took hold of my wrist.

"Wait, wait," he said for the second time. His hair, which was in dire need of a cut, stuck up in every direction after my enthusiastic assault.

What? What’s wrong? I asked, panting.

What’s the rush? He caressed my cheek. I don’t even know your name. I bet it’s as beautiful as you are.

Blech. I mean, that was sweet, right? In theory, it was sweet, but I had needs. It’d been at least a month since I’d gotten laid. My high-strung libido was very, very frustrated. I wanted to get straight to it, feel that rush of another body pounding inside me, come at least twice, and call it a night.

Balancing a full-time role as a receptionist at the DA’s office and demanding pre-law classes, I simply did not have time for this kid’s starry-eyed BS. I was literally so busy that I couldn’t deal with anything other than casual sex with some random pretty guy I met at a bar.

Why do you wanna know my name? I whispered. We both know we won’t be seeing each other again after tonight... I kissed and nibbled across his neck, guiding his hand inside my underwear. Why waste time when you could be fucking me instead?

His breath hitched. His whole body trembled, the seam of his jeans quickly growing tight when he felt how wet I was. He seemed shocked at how little effort it had taken for me to get like this, so needy. When I unzipped his pants, reached inside his underwear and stroked him, he moaned, breathlessly saying, "Jesus fuck, yes please."

That was more like it.

I want you to lie back and listen to me, okay? I muttered against his mouth, the roll of my hips greedy as I rode his fingers. Lie back, and let me use that cock to make myself come. Can you do that for me?

Yes, I’d do anything for—

Before he could give another emotional speech, I gave him yet another bruising kiss. His submission was swift and quick, exactly what I expected. I slid my underwear off and pulled his pants and boxers away.

Just because I was eager didn’t mean I neglected using protection—in fact, this was another specialty of mine. Placing the condom between my lips, I kneeled in front of him and used my mouth to roll it onto his more-than-adequate hard-on.

He looked at me like I was the most outstanding thing he’d ever seen and I rolled my eyes, not that he noticed. His shaking hands reached up to touch me while I straddled his lap again.

Biting my lip, I rested one palm on his chest for leverage, the other reaching between his legs to get a hold of him. My thighs trembled with anticipation, my insides aching. I was about to slide home when a man tumbled through my bedroom window.

I screamed, grabbing the sheet to cover myself as the terrified hipster shouted, "What the hell?!"

I was scared shitless, my life flashing before my eyes, before I gathered my wits and realized who the hell, indeed, this late-night intruder was.

Arturo.

Fucking Arturo!

He towered over us, all muscled and rugged, motor grease on his tight white t-shirt. He hadn’t shaved recently, and I couldn’t help but note that his stubble highlighted his cheekbones to perfection. He looked so mind-numbingly hot that my murderous instincts were overtaken with an even more pressing desire that he was the one in my bed.

Ugh, no! I hate Arturo, remember?

What in the name of God was he doing here?!

Arturo glanced out the window before turning to the hipster. His eyes narrowed. You piece of shit, stay the fuck away from my wife!

I glared at him. Was Arturo being serious right now?!

I don’t, I’m not— The hipster turned to me, horrified and confused. "You’re married?"

At this point, I was so furious there was steam coming out of my ears. Grabbing the sheet I’d wrapped around my body, I stood to my feet and slapped Arturo on the shoulder. What the fuck are you doing here? Get the hell out!

Dude, she never told me she had a husband! the hipster said, quickly putting on his boxers. I’m so sorry!

Don’t apologize to him, I snapped. Both of them should be apologizing to me; all I’d wanted for the night was a couple of orgasms from something other than my hand or vibrator! Was that too much to ask?

I stared at Arturo, fighting the urge to strangle him. This is ridiculous!

What’s going on here? the hipster demanded, putting on his socks. Is this some kind of kinky sex game you two like to play? He turned to me. Seriously? Married?

I bit the inside of my cheek, huffing. It’s not so simple.

"It is simple!" the hipster exclaimed, fighting to put on his—you guessed it—plaid shirt. As he struggled to locate the sleeve, he yelled, It’s a simple question, are you married—yes, or no?

Before I could answer, Arturo hauled the hipster by the collar off of the bed and shoved him against the wall.

You better watch your tone when you talk to my wife.

Oh my God, back off! I seethed, shoving Arturo’s rock-hard bicep.

Outraged, Arturo turned to face me, the hipster momentarily forgotten.

How could you do this to me, Ivy? He groaned painfully, Go put some fucking clothes on!

Was that an order? How did this asshole not know by now that the second anyone tried to boss me around, I would do the exact opposite out of sheer fucking spite?

You can’t tell me what to do! I dropped the sheet defiantly, exposing my bare body fully.

Arturo instantly averted his eyes, clenching his jaw. Big manly man was sooooo respectful!

I wanted to bite him.

He glowered. You better put some clothes on before I—

What? I scoffed. What are you gonna do?

Arturo was about to respond when I felt something wet at my feet. I squealed, jumping away, only to see a one-eyed mangy mutt, trying to lick at my toes.

Oh my God, how did you even get in here? I gasped. Gross, shoo, go away!

The dog, realizing that I didn’t want to be friends, started growling.

Get your dog off of me! I yelled.

Osa, come!

With one last disdainful sniff, the dog happily trotted over to Arturo, sitting by his feet.

I felt like I had entered a surreal parallel universe of madness. That feeling was only amplified when the hipster helpfully reminded us of his presence.

Has anyone seen my pants? he asked, eyes darting to the foot of the bed. Full-on panic had set in, and he began dry-heaving when his eyes fell on Arturo’s menacing form.

You don’t need pants. Get the hell out of here before I throw you out the window. Arturo stalked toward the guy, who squeaked, before I jumped between them—still buck naked.

If you lay a hand on him, I’m going to scream, I declared.

Glancing out the window, Arturo hissed, "You and I can discuss this later, but your little fuckbuddy needs to get out of here. Right. Now."

Oh yeah? I glared daggers up at him. We were so close that his body heat scorched my bare flesh.

How dare you—

Before I could finish my sentence, I noticed the glow of flashing police lights outside my bedroom window.

My eyes widened.

A moment later, a pounding came from the other side of my tiny apartment’s door, hard and loud enough that it felt like the whole place was shaking. And then:

Open up! Immigration enforcement!

I gasped, feeling sucker-punched as I locked eyes with Arturo.

Oh, fuck…

Chapter Two

Ivy

Three weeks earlier…

Need a lift? a deep voice asked.

I stared at the guy. He was in a leather jacket astride a rumbling motorcycle, built like a linebacker, his thighs the kind you saw in Calvin Klein underwear ads. When he pulled off his helmet, he revealed a pair of soulful brown eyes, spotless tan skin, thick curly hair, and a sharp jawline to die for.

Under other circumstances, I would’ve been all over him.

But, unfortunately, we were in the middle of an empty road, and the stranger had an irritating cocky smile on his face that automatically pissed me off.

This did not look good.

I’m fine, I said, struggling to pop the hood of my car. When I finally managed to get the damn thing open, I shot daggers at the smoldering mess of an engine while cursing my luck.

"You are fine," the man said dryly, giving me a lazy grin.

The asshole did not just use a tone with me, did he? Did he?

Look, I know what I’m doing, I lied. You don’t need to stick around. I poked around the engine, almost burning my fingers. Dammit!

Arching an eyebrow, the man took a look. It looks like your intake hose is shot.

I had no idea what he was talking about.

Yeah, looks like it. AAA is on its way, I lied once more.

That’s gonna take a while, and you’re in the middle of nowhere. He looked skeptical. "Are you sure you don’t want a ride?

I turned away, glancing at my phone. It had been dead for some time now. I wondered if Martina was back from her shift yet, but what good would that do? We only had this piece of shit between us, and the insurance didn’t cover road aid.

It wouldn’t be long until it started to get dark. The temperature was dropping, a coyote howled in the distance, and then the stranger said, I’m not gonna stand here all night—do you need a ride, yes or no?

I sighed in exasperation. Can I use your phone?

He showed me his phone. It’s dead.

I glared at him. Who doesn’t charge their phone?

He stared pointedly at my own dead device.

Shut up, I grumbled.

His smug laugh infuriated me.

This isn’t funny. I huffed. Where are you headed?

He gestured at the same direction I was going. Taking a deep breath, I weighed my options: getting eaten by coyotes after freezing to death or getting a ride with a complete stranger. Neither sounded appealing, and while I hated everything in sight—said stranger included—I would not go down without a fight.

I blurted out, How do I know you’re not a serial killer?

The guy stared at me. He shouldn’t look so hot while he did that, but he did. Didn’t matter, though—serial killers often used their devilish good looks to conceal the evil within.

Before he could respond, I barreled through: Because I know self-defense, you know, and I know people in the police department and the DA’s office. Also, I pass through this road every day, and I’m pretty sure there’s a traffic camera right over there. I pointed somewhere behind me.

The guy squinted at me, frowning. Is this a racism thing?

"It’s a man thing! Men are a lot more likely than women to be serial killers, and you’re a strange man with all those— I gestured at his, admittedly chiseled, chest. Muscles and shit. I don’t need you to save me if you’re going to kill me." I crossed my arms and lifted my chin.

The stranger considered my words for a moment. Then he said, Fair enough.

When I realized he didn’t plan on going on further, I was gobsmacked. I had expected protests, pained offense and a ‘Not All Men’ diatribe.

I’ll get going, he went on, and call highway authority to come pick you up when I get to a phone.

I blinked in surprise.

Not because I like you, he continued casually, but because I’d do the same for anyone stranded in the middle of the road. I have a sister your age, and I wouldn’t want her to stay out here all alone.

The stranger was annoying but he sounded sincere. And really, if he wanted to kill me, he would’ve done it by now, right?

As I mulled those conclusions over, he hopped back on his bike, putting on his helmet. He kick-started the motorcycle with a thunderous roar.

See you never! he shouted. At the same time, a BANG! made me jump. I screeched, leaping away from my car as thick smoke burst from the engine.

And just like that, my decision was made.

Wait! I called after him.

He stopped the motorcycle, turning back to me with a smirk. He dug into his side bag and held out a helmet. Looks like you do need saving, after all.

"Oh my God, shut up," I snapped, reaching to grab the helmet.

He drew it back. Ah-ah! Say, ‘please give me a ride, kind handsome stranger.’

I shoved him before grabbing the helmet.

Chuckling, he said, Come on, cranky princess. Hop on.

Grumbling, I positioned myself behind him, snapping on the bulky helmet.

Hold onto me tighter, he said. Otherwise you’ll fall off and be roadkill.

He thought he was so funny, didn’t he? I tightened my grip, wishing I could squish him hard enough to shut his cocky mouth.

Okay, maybe I should’ve been more grateful here, but I happen to have a chip on my shoulder. Like, a pretty huge chip. As big as this guy’s biceps.

Speaking of biceps, his body felt incredible beneath me: rock-hard abs against my forearms, a solid back against my cheek, and a firm ass between my thighs.

Why were the sexiest guys always assholes? It just wasn’t fair.

Where do you want me to drop you off? he asked.

As much as a certain part of me would’ve liked to drag him straight into my bedroom, I wasn’t about to tell him my exact address. I still hadn’t completely ruled out the whole serial killer scenario. Corner of Third and Watson.

He nodded. And then, he popped the clutch and the motorcycle screeched forward.

He drove like a fucking maniac.

Slow down! I yelled, loud enough to be heard over the wind, but he just sped up.

See? I was right to call him an asshole. He was going to get us both killed!

Just as my fear was reaching a peak, I felt something move by my leg. "Jesus Christ!" I screamed, recoiling.

The guy nearly lost control of the bike. He shouted, Stop flailing! What the hell is wrong with you?

My heart racing, I looked down and saw a small, one-eyed dog growling at me from the side bag. Unbelievable.

You didn’t think to mention you have a goddamn dog on board? I yelled, feeling the urge to wring the guy’s neck—which only intensified when he started laughing.

Oh yeah, he shouted. Say hi to Osa!

I groaned while the dog snarled.

How the hell was this my life?

* * *

As soon as we pulled up to Third and Watson, I hopped off the motorcycle right away. I was grateful to still be in one piece—and particularly elated to be done with that nightmare. I couldn’t wait to tell Martina about this no-good, horrible day.

Here you go, I said, handing his helmet back.

The guy raised an eyebrow. I don’t get a thank you?

"Gee, thanks."

Don’t be so enthusiastic about it.

I was still shaking with adrenaline. What do you want me to say? Yeah, thanks for driving like a lunatic and helping to remind me I should have made a will. You definitely saved the day.

Seriously? He looked confused. I barely touched the speed limit. Was this your first time on a bike? Were you scared?

Of course I was fucking scared! I felt like screaming at him, but I’d rather combust than admit weakness. Instead, I snapped, Do you try to be such a dick, or does it just come naturally to you?

What are you talking about? He grinned. I’m adorable.

I may have accused him of being a serial killer earlier, but once again I was the one who felt capable of murder.

I’m done here. Goodbye forever! Turning my back on him, I marched away. My irritation only subsided when the relief from being so close to home swept over me. God, I couldn’t wait to collapse on the couch with a beer.

But then, I got the strangest sense that I was being watched. I glanced over my shoulder only to see Prince Annoying trailing behind me on his motorcycle, moving so slowly that I couldn’t believe the damn thing hadn’t fallen over.

What the hell? What was he doing? I quickened my pace and finally, he sped up, moving past me. On the off-chance he was following me, I took a roundabout way to my apartment.

Ten minutes later, I was climbing the stairs to my doorstep when Martina flung the door open, startling me.

Oh my gosh, there you are! My best friend and roommate threw herself into my arms for a hug.

You almost gave me a heart attack. I huffed. You won’t believe the shitty day I had.

You’ll tell me in a moment, Martina chirped happily, used to my snippiness. She pulled me back into her arms and squeezed me for a second time before quickly letting me go. I loved Martina’s hugs, though I wouldn’t ever admit it.

Martina beamed at me. I have a surprise for you, Ivy.

Oh no. Surprises were the worst. Anything I couldn’t control was the worst.

You know I hate surprises, remember when you threw me that surprise birthday party and I accidentally kicked Tomas in the balls!?

Martina ignored me. My brother is here! I can’t wait for you to meet him. She pushed past me, calling, Arturo!

A man in his mid-twenties stepped into the hallway, hugging Martina. He had a killer body, curly hair, brown soulful eyes, a sharp jawline, a leather jacket, and worst of all…

An infuriatingly cocky grin.

Martina’s brother, Arturo: the asshole who gave me a lift.

Chapter Three

Ivy

Half an hour later, I lay on my bed, stewing.

I still couldn’t believe that the douchebag who had scared the shit out of me with his reckless driving was Arturo. Martina had talked so much about her brother—what a great man he was, how close they’d always been, how he’d been away for so long because of work.

If I was honest with myself, I envied their relationship. I often came home to find Martina chatting away with him on the phone. Sometimes, I would eavesdrop on their easy, fun conversations wondering what it would be like to have such an amazing sibling.

But of course, my best friend had neglected to mention how much of a dick her brother could be. Or how infuriatingly hot he was.

I did not like any of this. Not one bit.

It was hard to be annoyed at Martina about anything, though; she and I had been best friends for four years. We met freshman year of college and immediately took to one another like sisters. When money was tight for both of us after we graduated, we'd roomed together, working shitty jobs just to make rent before we’d made moves to pursue actual careers, sharing our struggles, hopes, and fears.

Even if the sky fell, I could always count on Martina and vice versa.

She was my person.

So I couldn’t believe that someone as amazing as Martina had a brother who was so reckless, arrogant, and just . . . irritating. When I sought out that irritating tone in the living room, though, it was hushed.

Huh.

Curious, I walked toward the door. Martina knew that I slept like the dead, so why were the two of them whispering like that, all conspiratorial? Since when was Martina secretive anyway? She was usually an open book.

Wanting to respect her privacy—how many times had she respected mine?—I had to physically stop myself from eavesdropping by returning to my bed. I flipped through the pages of my textbook, which was about nautical law of all things. It was exceptionally boring—who would’ve thought?

I resisted for approximately ten seconds, and then I was back at the door, willpower be damned. It had never been one of my strong suits to begin with. And I had to figure out what was going on, you know? Anything going on with Martina meant something was going on with me, too.

Maybe Arturo was running away from a scorned ex or something. Or, like, a pack of exes. I could just imagine that jerk breaking hearts right and left, showing off his dimples and biceps and massive... everything.

Ignoring the heat that simmered beneath my cheeks, I crouched down, fighting to listen. That was pretty easy to achieve, given that our apartment walls were paper thin.

Are you sure about this? That was Martina’s hushed tone. I was shocked to hear her sounding so despondent—she was the most positive person I’d ever met.

There’s no way around it, Marti, Arturo said. My special status VISA is expiring. I’m about to be deported.

I gulped. Okay, I hated the guy, but that was a bit much. And what would that mean for Martina? He was her whole family.

I can’t even remember the last time you were in Mexico . . . Martina trailed off, and I felt my chest twist in pain for her. Her parents had died in a car crash years ago, and I knew she hadn’t been able to physically connect with her extended family in Mexico due to money issues and immigration concerns.

How are you feeling about this? Martina’s voice was thick—she was holding back tears. I felt an almost visceral urge to burst out into the living room and comfort her, but I forced myself to hold back.

Worried. Fucked up. I don’t know, Arturo said, and he did sound worried, actually. It was such a change from his earlier arrogant demeanor that I felt my dislike for him slip somewhat. Moving as silently as possible, I cracked the door and peeked out to catch a glimpse of him removing his leather jacket. He was wearing a snug black t-shirt underneath.

I gulped for different reasons.

This can’t happen, Martina was saying, sniffling now. You’ve spent all your life here, you can’t go back to a country you barely know! Your mental health and well-being—

Arturo snorted. I don’t think anyone gives a shit about my mental health.

I’m the only family you have, Martina said, tears slipping down her face. What are you going to do there all alone?

I could see Arturo’s jaw clenching. I’ll be fine, Marti. I’m a big boy. Don’t worry.

Martina shook her head. Don’t talk like that.

Like what?

Like you’ve given up. Like you want to let them kick you out like you don’t matter.

Crouched down behind the door like some kind of stalker, I eyed Arturo. He did seem dejected.

What do you want me to say, Marti? he asked quietly. That I want to stay here with you?

She shoved him. Of course I want you to say that! We should get an immigration lawyer, maybe you can enroll at the community college, get a student VISA, or a work VISA—

Arturo shook his head. I’ve looked into this, Marti. No shop can afford to spend what it takes to deal with the bureaucracy of keeping me in the country. The paperwork alone is a nightmare.

But you’re an amazing mechanic—

I am replaceable and expendable. Arturo’s words made me wince. Jesus Christ. Nobody should have to think or utter those kinds of things about themselves.

Besides, he added, we don’t have the kind of money or time for an immigration lawyer.

Then what are you going to do? Martina asked.

He gave her a bitter little smile. It made my stomach clench. Maybe I should just make my way to Canada?

Please don’t joke about things like that. Promise me you’re not giving up. Promise me you’re going to come up with a plan that will help you stay here. Please, promise me… Martina cut herself off, tears streaming down her cheeks.

I covered my mouth, smothering the gasp that threatened to escape. Seeing my best friend like this made me sick. Arturo wrapped his arms around her, trying to soothe her, but her sobs continued.

Overcome by Martina’s sorrow and Arturo’s unexpected tenderness, I leaned too far forward…

And tumbled through the doorway.

* * *

Plopped on the living room floor, I was so embarrassed I could die.

I’m okay, I blurted as they stared at me, shocked. I pretended to look around on the floor.

I was looking for my earring, actually.

Arturo glared at me, suddenly as sharp as ever. The ones you’re wearing, you mean?

Obviously not, I said defensively, getting on my feet while Martina quickly wiped her cheeks. Seeing her like this made me feel physically sick.

No? Admit you were spying on us! Arturo demanded. The man was truly upset, and this time, I couldn’t even fault him.

Okay, fine, I conceded. But don’t worry, the secret’s safe with me. I got up and moved to Martina, squeezing her shoulder. You know it is, Marti.

Thank you, she whispered. I hugged her tightly, kissing her cheek. I’ll give you privacy, okay? For real this time.

She held onto me. No, wait. You might as well stay now that you know—I hate keeping things from you.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Arturo stiffen.

Wincing, I glanced at him before turning to Martina. I’m really sorry this is happening.

Do you have an idea about any of this deportation stuff? You know, from work? she asked me as all three of us sat back down on the couch.

No, I said, intimidated by the mere thought. Immigration law is a whole other beast in and of itself.

Maybe that new lawyer in your office can help—the one who just graduated from Yale? Martina asked hopefully.

You mean Dean?

Martina nodded, but I shook my head. Dean probably isn’t the best guy to go to in this situation. He works for the DA, and even if he was, I haven’t even met the man yet.

Martina cringed. Arturo remained cool, though. It was as if my presence walled up any vulnerability that he’d allowed Martina to see.

Well, then. Thanks for nothing, he scoffed. Can you leave now?

Martina nudged Arturo. Be nice. She’s just trying to help.

I felt really really bad about what Arturo was going through, and my stomach was in knots thinking of Martina’s devastation.

Arturo shot me a glance. She’s not trying to help. She’s just nosy.

Martina gasped. Arturo!

I glared daggers at him. You’re such a—

He cut me off. You better watch what you say next because I’m done with you and your bullshit.

The feeling is mutual, I sniped.

The asshole dared look away from me like I was an irritation he’d prefer to brush off. Unbelievable!

On another note, he told Martina, you know what would’ve been great? If I had found a nice girl. He shot me a glance. Unlike your friend here. Someone to settle down with and get my green card. He cracked a smile. "Marriage would solve all my problems. Literally."

I gasped, offended. You’re rude, insufferable, and a reckless driver. Who in their right minds would marry you?

Arturo let out the most arrogant laugh known to man. You don’t know me, Ivy. I would make the most loyal and caring husband ever.

Before I began fantasizing about how Arturo would behave as a partner, he pointed at his face.

Plus, I am hot as fuck. Like, look at me. Are you looking at me?

The urge to strangle him consumed me once more. My rage must’ve been painted all over my face, because Arturo started snickering. Shit, stop looking at me like that. I’m only joking!

I rolled my eyes. "Right. So you don’t think you’re hot?"

No, I’m obviously hot, Arturo scoffed. But the marriage thing was—

A brilliant idea! Martina’s voice snapped both of us out of our quibbling. We’d forgotten she was there, sucked into each other’s vortex.

What? Arturo said, frowning at his sister.

That’s it—it’s perfect, Ivy! Martina said, wide-eyed as she turned to me. "You should marry my brother!

Chapter Four

Ivy

I looked between Arturo and Martina and burst out laughing. Okay, that’s hilarious!

But then I took in Martina’s serious expression and felt a deep sense of dread in the pit of my stomach. Uh, you’re kidding…right?

Martina wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. I’m sorry. This is an extreme situation, so why not—

"Why not?" Arturo scoffed, looking at his sister like she had lost her mind. Which, same. Cause I’m going to marry for love, and I definitely don’t love her!

Okay, what Arturo said was ridiculous for two reasons: 1) Love isn’t a real thing. It’s a propagandist machine that exists to keep capitalism afloat and sell Valentine’s Day cards. 2) As if I would ever marry HIM!

I let out a huff of air. I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth!

The asshole laughed in my face. Hah! You’d be so lucky to—

"Lucky? You’re an egotistical douchebag that’s in love with himself!"

And you’re a condescending harpy that won’t stop shitting on me!

Both of you, stop it! Marti cried. I was stunned for a moment, not used to her raised voice under any circumstances.

She straightened up, her expression so bright that for a split second I forgot what she was excited about. You wouldn’t even have to actually do anything. It doesn’t have to be a real marriage, just pretend so Arturo can get his green card.

She clapped her hands happily before going on, And then once he does, you can get a divorce! How hard could it be?

I blinked at Martina, wondering if I had just entered the Twilight Zone.

Arturo stared at his sister incredulously as well. "How hard could it be?"

He’s right, I said. You knew shit was serious if I let myself agree with Arturo.

"But why? Martina said, her face falling, desperately grasping at straws. You two are close in age, look good together, and since Ivy and I have been friends for years, it wouldn’t be far-fetched for you to fall for each other—it could’ve really happened!"

When Martina framed it that way… it wasn’t entirely outrageous? But then I pushed the idea of out my head—no, it was completely outrageous.

I’m really sorry, Ivy. I know this is a lot, Marti said, examining my face. I probably looked as freaked out as I felt. Her voice broke, and tears started streaming down her cheeks once more. I wouldn’t be asking for this if I wasn’t desperate. If I didn’t think… Marti broke down in tears again. If I didn’t think that this could be the last time I see my brother.

I felt my chest tighten. The last time.

The last time I saw a certain someone I used to love was years ago. I’d only been six years old when my deadbeat dad volunteered to go out for some ice cream. I waited for hours, but he never returned. Later, I realized that he had simply abandoned my mother and me.

Arturo looked at Martina like she was his entire world. Like he would never abandon her.

Come on, Marti, he said soothingly, caressing her arms as he hugged her. Don’t cry. Please, don’t cry. Whatever happens, we’re going to be okay.

I could see the exact second Arturo’s resolve crumbled.

As for me…

I was still processing the fact that my friend—my always-helpful friend who had never asked me for anything and had repeatedly been there for me through thick and thin—looked like she was near collapse.

You’re beyond important to me, Marti. You know that, I muttered. But I just… I need to think about this. I winced. For God’s sake, I work at the DA’s office.

Instantly, Martina paled. I didn’t think of that.

Martina always put others, and, in particular, me, first. Looking at her agonized face, I instantly regretted being so closed minded. The whole situation was messed up, but I could at least think about it.

I’m sorry I even brought it up, Marti said guiltily, changing gears. I didn’t want to put you in such a position, it’s just—

I cut her off. Stop that. It’s a crazy idea, but it’s not horrible. I just need to process.

I don’t want you to feel pressured to do this, Marti said insistently, grabbing my hand. Even if you said no, I would still love you. You’d still be my best friend.

Marti’s words soothed a fear that’d needled beneath my breast bone. Marti would be there for me no matter what. But could I do the same?

Gulping, I told her, Let me sleep on it, and we’ll talk tomorrow. Okay?

Martina nodded, sniffling. Okay.

I turned at Arturo, who was playing with his probably flea-ridden mutt, seemingly unconcerned. Seriously?

What about you? My tone had an edge to it. Don’t you have anything to say?

Arturo looked up at me. His gaze felt heavy against my skin. His face was guarded, as if he wanted to hide himself away from the whole world.

Well? I pressed.

His only answer was to shrug.

* * *

You like that? Arturo panted in my ear.

All I could do was mewl.

That’s what I thought, he said, his voice rumbly, hot against my neck. You act all high and mighty, but this is what you really need . . .

He had me bent over the saddle of his motorcycle. As I gripped the leather, his palm landed consecutive hits on the flesh of my ass. I keened, feeling my skin burn, my heartbeat thudding throughout my body and then settling into a pulsing throb between my shaking legs. I was naked, but Arturo was fully clothed, begging me to tear each layer of fabric right off of him.

Are you going to be nice to me from now on? Arturo asked. His hand smoothed and caressed my reddened, sensitive skin before settling at the apex of my thighs.

Yes, I whimpered.

His fingers rubbed and traced me smoothly, but that gentleness lasted only a moment. He started finger-fucking me in earnest, so expertly that soon, I felt like coming and crying at the same time.

Are you going to be a good girl?

I choked, arching my hips up to his hand. My mouth dropped open, my fingers digging into the leather of the saddle. Yes!

That’s what I thought, he said again, and I wanted to smack him. But my anger was forgotten when I heard his belt unbuckle. Turning around, I watched as he took off his jacket, his t-shirt, then he unzipped his pants. Jesus. His body was a goddamn work of art.

He took a hold of my hips, angling them up to him, and I felt so empty that I choked out, "Please."

Instead of giving me what I wanted, though, Arturo withdrew. I groaned in frustration, turning to glare at him. What the fuck?

He smirked. I don’t think you’ve earned that yet.

"You motherfucking asshole, how dare you—"

He grabbed me by the nape of my neck, tugging at my hair in a way that had my knees buckling. Then he kissed me, hard, devouring my mouth as I clung onto him, more turned on than I’d ever been in my entire life.

Please, I whimpered against his lips, begging once more. This time, though, his smile wasn’t arrogant.

This time, he murmured, I think you and I are gonna have a lot of fun.

And that was when I woke up.

It was the middle of the night. I blinked up at the ceiling, sweaty, horrified and…horny. What a fucked-up combination! I could not believe I had just dreamed about that douchebag. This was ridiculous and clearly all Arturo’s fault!

Kicking the sheets away, I stood up and set out to get a glass of water. Passing through the living room, I saw the bane of my existence lying on the couch.

Arturo was shirtless, and he looked even better than he did in my dream.