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dellaspinstales · 2 years

Note

I saw your ere looking for ideas/requests. Riff being ticklish and the reader absolutely melting at the sounds of his light-hearted giggles!! Or even them sneaking into a movie theater and getting caught by tony!! With the reader being Tony's sister!!

I can not stop reading Loving Cup dsjsj pls it's so good!!!

A Night at the Movies

Riff x Reader Oneshot (West Side Story)

Plot summary: Planning and executing a movie date is easier said than done when you’re sneaking around with your brother’s best friend (and everyone in the West Side wants to see Dracula.)

Notes: my first ever attempt at a oneshot from the first request i received! thank you so much for sending this in <33 and THANK YOU to everyone else who has sent in a request!!!! this was so fun and kinda hard to write. v. excited to work on some more requests while also focusing on the next Loving Cup chapter. this was pretty new for me so please let me know if you have any feedback! i hope you enjoy it!!!

*****************************************************************************************************

Anticipation and anxiety are intertwined in a tight ball bouncing around in the pit of my stomach. I breathe in deeply, trying to calm myself down before I speak.

“I’m going out tonight. I’ll be home by ten.”

“Where you goin’?” Riff pipes up. He’s sitting on our kitchen counter as always, twirling a toothpick in the corner of his mouth.

I ignore him. My eyes are trained on my brother, who’s lounging on the sofa next to me.

Tony gives me a quizzical glance. “Since when d’you spend Friday nights out?”

“Dot said she’d help me study for our math test next week.”

“Dot?” Riff says incredulously. “She ain’t got brain cells to spare.”

“She’s got at least one more than you do,” I retort. “And can’t you just stay outta my business for once?”

Riff’s eyes brighten as he hops off the counter. He grabs an apple and opens his mouth to reply, but Tony cuts him off.

“You know the rules, Y/N. As long as you gotta Jet walkin’ you home.” His expression turns grave. “I can’t tonight, I’m seein’ Grazi.”

“Oh yeah?” Riff says casually. Our eyes meet and he raises a single eyebrow. I look away immediately.

“She’s got it in her head it’s our anniversary of somethin.’ I can’t just get her flowers, but I ain’t gotta clue what she wants.” Tony runs a restless hand through his hair. “Can you walk Y/N home tonight?”

“Nah, I got plans.” Riff flashes me a smile that I don’t return. “Sorry, kid.”

“We’re studying at Velma’s, so Ice can walk me home,” I add.

Tony nods, satisfied. His eyes glaze over, like he’s already lost in thought—no doubt he’s being plagued with questions of the least expensive gift he can scramble together in the next couple hours. All anxiety vanishes as my anticipation bursts into fizzing firework sparks. Tonight is confirmed. I lean back on the sofa and sigh happily.

Riff takes a loud, crunching bite of his apple.

“So now you’re stayin at Velma’s? And you’re all doin’ equations on a Friday night?” He swallows, smirking. “I dunno, kid. Sounds like you’re hidin’ something.”

My glare does nothing to falter Riff’s grin. He’s really laying it on thick today. Annoyingly thick.

I transform my scowl into a sugary sweet smile. “Y’know what? I’ll just stay home. Work on my essay instead.”

It’s as if I flipped a light switch. Riff’s smirk wipes clean off his face. I jump off the sofa and head into my bedroom, satisfied by his confused, despondent expression.

About an hour later, there’s a soft knock at my door. I crack it open just enough to see a sliver of Riff’s face, a single blue eye.

“So, we’re not goin’ out tonight?” he asks, softly and more than a little disappointed.

“I don’t know,” I reply curtly. “I don’t wanna be hiding anything from anyone.”

“Hey, if I don’t talk to you like I’ve always done, Tony’s gonna—”

“Well, you’re doing a bang-up job. Very convincing. You should be on the stage.”

“What can I say? I got a lotta gifts.”

“Oh, I know.”

My intended sarcasm doesn’t land. Riff’s lips curve into a smile, and I can read his thoughts loud and clear. You really don’t know. I roll my eyes instinctively, but my cheeks heat up a few degrees.

“C’mon, lemme take you out,” he says, dropping his voice to a low, pleading murmur. “D’you want me to beg, baby doll?” He presses against the door, pushing it further open.

My nerves jitter, like I’ve downed ten cups of coffee. I’m still getting used to the way he’s been talking to me now. For as long I can remember, Riff has been annoying, nosy, and unbearably snarky. None of that has changed; yet somehow, everything feels unfamiliar. I’ve caught him looking at me like this for a while, though. Heavy-lidded, piercing, and knowing all at once.

I fold my arms to keep myself stern. “Sure, you can beg.”

Riff flashes his teasing, crooked grin. “Can I please, please take you to go see that movie you’ve been yappin’ about for two weeks?”

The door is fully open now, and his whole face is in view. He rests his hand on the doorframe, drumming his fingers as he waits for my response. My outfit for our date is already spread out on my bed behind me: baby pink blouse and a full mint green skirt. I’ve been ridiculously excited for tonight and Riff knows it. Besides, I don’t really care about making a point anymore.

“Well, if you’re so desperate��” I whisper, reaching out to pick at one of the loose buttons on his shirt. My heartbeat quickens as his eyes brazenly stray to my lips. I tug his collar and he bends down to meet me, dimples flashing.

“Riff, you gotta light?”

My stomach lurches. Tony’s voice is faint, but Riff jerks his head back anyway. I slam my bedroom door violently hard, my pulse roaring in my ears. We’re skating on dangerously thin ice. But as long as my brother doesn’t know, our snow globe won’t crack.

*****************************************************************************************************

Under the glowing red marquee lights of the Regal, he’s waiting for me, staring out onto the street with his hands in his pockets. The top of his hair is glistening in a glossy coif. Part of me wishes he had left it alone, keeping it soft and fluffy the way I prefer it. Then I imagine him standing in front of a mirror, carefully combing and applying gel to his hair just for tonight. The thought makes me smile and speed up.

I’m close enough to see the threads on Riff’s oversized grey blazer before he finally glances over his shoulder. He lets out a low whistle, eyes widened and sparkling.

“Y/N…” Riff’s gaze moves indulgently slow as he takes me in. “You look like candy.”

“Don’t be too slick,” I reply, but my heart is humming happily in my chest.

“Can’t help it. You bring it outta me.”

His hand finds mine—it’s noticeably warm despite the chill in the air. Our fingers intertwine, and he bobs down to kiss my knuckles. A sleek brown sheen flashes across my eyes.

I can’t stop myself. “You gelled your hair,” I remark lightly.

“You don’t like it?”

“No, it’s nice!”

Riff tilts his head knowingly. “You don’t like it.”

I chew my bottom lip. “Just…bend down a little.”

He lowers his neck in small bow, and I tussle up the front of his hair. A few strands come loose, falling into the front of his blue eyes. I take a step back and admire my work.

“I like it,” I confirm. Riff grins in return and pulls the door open for me. I can feel his hand rest on my back as we walk inside.

The lobby is completely empty, save for a middle-aged man behind the ticket counter with a balding patch as shiny as a pebble. He barely glances up when we reach him, treading over crushed popcorn embedded into the fading green carpet.

“Two tickets for Dracula,” Riff says, reaching into his pocket.

The man just shakes his head. “Nope.”

He stiffens instantly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You didn’t check the listings?” I ask, unable to hide my disappointment.

Riff frowns at me. “I’ve been checkin’ them every day for two weeks.” He turns back to the counter, his voice now steely hard. “What kinda answer is ‘nope’?”

“We’re sold out,” the man replies with an unapologetic shrug. “Everyone and their mother want to see Dracula. There’s only one showing at eight with tickets.” He glances at a sheet in front of him, reading off it mechanically. “Jiminy’s Dolphins. It’s animated.”

A children’s movie. A children’s movie that I’ve never even heard of.

Riff sours even more. “Listen, pal. There ain’t no one else in this lobby, except you, me, and my girl. And you’re tellin’ me you’re sold out?”

“That’s because they’re all inside,” the man replies simply. “Watching Dracula.”

“Alright, you—"

I tug Riff’s blazer sleeve and his mouth clamps shut. “I don’t care what we see.”

“You’re not serious, Y/N.” His face is tinged pale pink with embarrassment.

I wrap my arms around his chest, pulling him against me. All the muscles in his face relax. “As long as you promise to take me back, I don’t care.”

He grins, but his eyes are earnest. “Hand to heart.”

“But I’m not wasting tonight, Riff,” I warn. “We’re watching Jimmy’s Dolphins.”

Bossing him around feels a little foreign, almost like I’m speaking a new language. Riff brightens, though. His hands tighten on my waist as he dips down to my ear. “Whatever you say, baby doll,” he murmurs. Tingling flames light up over my skin with the soft heat of his breath.

The man clears his throat. “It’s Jiminy.”

We both stare at him.

“Your lady friend said Jimmy. It’s Jiminy. And his dolphins.”

Riff scowls at the man, his hands not leaving my waist. “Two tickets for Jiminy’s Dolphins,” he snaps. Somehow, he manages to make that ridiculous title sound like a surly insult.

*****************************************************************************************************

We’re sitting in the middle of a dead empty theatre. On the small screen in front of us, a cartoon boy is building a sandcastle on a beach.

“It ain’t even in colour,” Riff grumbles.

“You need colour to tell you the sea is blue?”

“I’m just sayin’, if you’re makin’ a movie, you should put some effort in it.”

“Shhh, the dolphin’s gonna show up!”

Riff falls quiet. He reaches over, grabbing some popcorn from the red-and-white striped bag balancing on my lap. We’ve only been sitting down for ten minutes, but it's already half-empty.

The little boy points into the shaded grey waves at a trio of bobbing dolphin heads. “That’s the most beautiful fish I’ve ever seen!” he says in a tinny voice.

The dolphins let out a piercing, harmonized whistle in response. I scrunch up my nose; this doesn’t seem to be the most complex film.

Something soft rustles behind my neck. I turn my head to watch Riff’s arm drape over my shoulders. Only the tips of his fingers touch my bare skin below my sleeve, but the contact makes me tense.

“You’re really gonna make a move on me with Jiminy’s Dolphins playing?”

“I’m just stretching,” he reples, staring straight ahead at the screen with a satisfied grin on his face.

“Uh-huh.”

He fiddles with my sleeve, tugging gently at the frilled hem. My eyes flicker to his fingers; his thumbnail is bruised, black and blue.

What’s left of the popcorn tips over onto my skirt when I jerk forward. “What the hell happened?”

It takes a second for Riff to register what I’m talking about. When he does, he immediately pulls his arm away. “That’s nothin.’”

I yank his hand back and hold it up to my eyes, examining his thumb carefully. “Don’t tell me you got in another fight.”

“Oh yeah,” he says, nodding seriously. “She’s scary but she can keep slammin’ doors on me whenever she likes. ‘Til she gets all my fingers.”

My stomach plummets. “Christ, Riff. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—”

“Nah, it’s fine.” He flashes a smile. “I got nine more shots to get in your room.”

I’m too concerned to even roll my eyes. Guilt is twisting through me as I trace around the bruised nail. I lightly press my lips to the back of his hand. His fingers twitch reflexively.

“Does that hurt?”

It’s a genuine question, but Riff stares at me like I’m messing with him. Butterflies flutter in my stomach. His expression is far more interesting than this movie.

“Okay,” I shrug, with a small smile. My gaze shifts to his index finger. I gently kiss the tip, tasting a hint of butter popcorn. He shifts in his seat when I kiss him again in the same spot. It’s only when my tongue touches his skin that Riff sucks in a breath and slips out of my grasp.

“You can’t do that in public,” he says, a low, unconvincing reprimand.

“There’s no public in here.”

“That ain’t the point. Anyone could walk in.”

My eyes narrow; I’ve heard enough stories eavesdropping on giddy girls over the years to know that’s never been a problem with Riff. “No one else is coming to see this movie. And since when d’you care about that anyway?”

He leans in, jaw tight, and I know I’ve hit the right spot. “I don’t.”

“I don’t, either.”

“But I’m not gonna be a bad influence. Tony’ll—”

“Don’t talk about Tony.”

Riff grins. He breaks our stare, eyes flickering down. “You got skirt on your popcorn.”

My brows furrow. “Wha—”

He reaches forward, sweeping the empty popcorn bag off my lap in a lightning quick movement. Its barely hit the ground before he takes my face in his hands. Riff kisses me, and it rocks through me in an electric jolt. The heat of him sears all my senses. His soft lips tease mine open, tasting me slow and deep, like he’s staking a claim.

My breathing breaks as I reach out for him blindly, claiming him back. I twist my fingers in his gel-stiffened hair. Riff groans and it vibrates into my bones, turning them to liquid. I cling to his blazer to keep me upright. He falls forward instead, pushing me back until my elbow hits the armrest between us. It’s a sharp, prickling pain. I pull away, gasping.

Riff lurches forward in his seat. “Shit, are you—”

The stinging is already subsiding. I push him back. “Don’t move.”

Dozens of popcorn kernels fall off my skirt as I stand up and wrap my arms around Riff’s neck. He holds onto my waist, and I perch slightly on the armrest. My legs cramp awkwardly on his lap; it’s not very comfortable, but at least I won’t run the risk of banging my elbow again.

“This is…” I falter into silence. Blood rushes to my cheeks. We’re face to face now, and I can see him much clearer. Riff is entirely lit up with amusement—it’s gleaming in his eyes and crooking his grin. He’s watching me with rapt attention, as if I’m the most entertaining view in the world. My pulse spikes uneasily, and I drop his gaze.

Riff tightens his arms around me. I suck in a breath as he pulls me down, securing me onto his lap. “This is what?”

I hesitate. “Better.”

He gently brushes my hair away from my face, tucking it behind my ear. My eyes finally snap up from Riff’s blazer lapel when he shifts forward, still holding me in place. His lips graze me right under my jaw for an agonizingly brief second. It succeeds in disarming me; my shoulders relax as I inhale a wavering breath.

Riff smiles into my skin when he touches me again, this time a lingering kiss above my collarbone. My head dips without my control, and I moan into his hair. I can feel his muscles tense underneath me. His hand curves on my cheek, tilting me up until I meet his heavy blue eyes. He runs his thumb along my mouth carefully and deliberately, parting my lips. Our uneven breaths are filling the silent cinema.

Silent…

I detach myself from Riff with effort. He makes a frustrated sound and tries to pull me back, but I manage to sneak a glance over my shoulder. The film credits are rolling, centered within a border of smiling dolphins.

“The movie’s done.”

Riff jerks away to look at the screen. There’s a momentary pause before his voice rings out. “What the fuck?”

“Must’ve been a short film.”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “Alright, get up.”

“Huh?”

Riff tries to wriggle me off his lap. “We’re talkin’ to the—”

“We’re not talking to the guy up front. What’s he gonna do about it? He didn’t make the movie.”

He pauses like I’ve made a good point. “Fine. Then we’re gonna see Dracula. We’ll sneak in, stand in the back.”

“That’s not right.”

“What ain’t right is charging the same for a twenty-minute movie as a real one,” he says emphatically. “They don’t care, Y/N. As long as we buy a ticket, we can sit anywhere.”

His righteousness is endearingly passionate. “But I wanna sit here,” I protest. I kiss his cheek and Riff momentarily relaxes back into his seat. His hands grip my thighs, and I think I’ve won. Then he starts rolling me off his lap, and I groan with the reluctant frustration of defeat.

*****************************************************************************************************

Twenty minutes is how long we last, standing at the back of a packed theatre, before I drag us both outside.

“I’m not scared, Riff,” I insist. Now that we’re out in the open, I can finally say it with loud conviction, rather than mumbling it into his chest like I did for the past nineteen minutes. “I just didn’t know violins could boom like that.”

He grins and shakes out his left arm, which was securely wrapped around me for – at the most – eighteen minutes. “So, you were scared.”

“No. Just surprised.”

“Being scared is a kinda surprise.”

I pause for a moment. “All scary things are surprises, but not all surprises are scary.”

“You’re too smart for me, kid,” he smiles.

We start walking side-by-side down the dimly-lit corridor. My mind starts to buzz reflecting on the few scenes that I could actually bring myself to watch.

“Don’t you think the vampire, Dracula... He was a little…” I trail off at Riff’s narrowed eyes. “Just his British accent, and the way he bit that girl in her bed, it was kinda—”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Every girl in there was thinking the same thing,” I say defensively.

His look of disbelief quickly turns mischievous. “Y’know, I can do that.”

I laugh out loud. “Sure, you can.”

“I’m serious, baby doll. I told you, I got a lotta talents.”

“A hickey isn’t a vampire bite, Riff.”

He rolls his eyes. “C’mere, I’ll show you.”

I skip away from his outstretched hand. He steps towards me, and I step back, grinning.

“Show me, then.”

Riff raises a single eyebrow before he starts up a slow advance. I continue walking backwards, heart clenching as I keep my gaze trained on him. My heel snags on the carpet, and I almost stumble. Riff’s arm shoots out, even though he’d be too far to catch me. I recover easily and giggle like I’ve tricked him.

He pauses, tilting his head at me. Suddenly, he picks up the pace. For a moment, I freeze where I’m standing, watching startled as he strides quickly towards me.

My heart slams in my ears as I finally spin around. I break into a run down the corridor.

“Y/N!”

I ignore Riff’s call as I burst through the double doors. I barely stop myself from slamming into a woman. The entire lobby is packed to the brim with people. They must be buying tickets for the next Dracula showing.

It takes considerable agility and a little shoving to weave through the packed crowd. Riff can’t be far behind me; the thought thrills all my nerves. I glance over my shoulder at the ticketing man, who appears to be embroiled in a heated confrontation with a couple. Maybe they’re being sold two tickets to Jiminy’s Dolphin’s.

I’m almost out the front door when I run into a teenage boy.

“Watch where you’re goin’, lady!” he snaps.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I—”

My words choke into nothing when someone grabs onto my arm. I stagger forward as Riff pulls me out of the door into the chilly air. We whirl to a stop outside the cinema. The sidewalk is buzzing with stragglers, movie-goers, and pedestrians alike. He catches onto my waist before I can even fully register what just happened.

Riff draws me close. Adrenaline is still coursing through me; I gasp and try to squirm out of his arms, but his hold is too firm. He presses me against his chest, which is rising and falling as rapidly as my own.

“I win,” he pants. His smile is as easy as always, but his eyes are intoxicatingly deep, illuminated by red flickers from the Regal marquee lights.

“That’s not fair, you…” My voice catches. Riff is already brushing my hair to one side. “I was distracted, so it doesn’t count.”

His fingers lightly trace the curve of my neck, over my racing pulse. It’s a wordless response, but it’s enough to stop me pretending to protest anymore. I grab onto his arms, waiting to feel the blinding heat of his lips.

“What the fuck?”

My stomach hardens into lead. That can’t be who I think it is.

Riff’s fingers freeze on my jaw, and it’s all the confirmation I need. I jerk away from his touch and hurtle around.

Even though he’s several feet away from us, Tony’s eyes are wide and steely hard. He drops Grazi’s hand and storms towards us like a charging bull.

Our snow globe has officially cracked open. My chest tightens into a sickening, suffocating knot. How much did Tony see? Should we run inside? Run down the street? Is there any point in pretending anymore?

All Riff’s confident bluster has drained out, leaving him unnaturally pallid. “Shit,” he mumbles, just as my brother reaches us.

My pretending instinct kicks in. “Tony!” I beam, as if we’ve been planning this meeting all day.

Tony blasts right past me. He shoves Riff squarely in the chest, hard enough to make me flinch. “The hell are you doin’ with my sister?” he bellows. “You sneakin’ around with her?”

Riff barely stumbles. He stares at Tony like he’s crazy, but his cheeks are reddening guiltily. “Whatta you talkin’ about? She’s like my sister too, you know that.”

There’s not much else he can say to defend himself, but I still balk at his words. I grab my brother’s sleeve, yanking him away from Riff. “Have you lost your mind?”

Tony ignores me again. “Don’t bullshit me, Riff,” he says through a clenched jaw. “I saw you. How you were holdin’ her.”

Riff looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up. He rubs his chest, and we lock eyes just as Grazi catches up to us. She’s dressed to the nines, hair done up in a curly updo, pink skirt flouncing in the cool breeze.

“Y/N, what’s going on?” she asks agitatedly.

“It’s nothing, Grazi, Tony was just seeing things—"

He cuts me off, pointing a stabbing finger at Riff. “I can’t believe you. There ain’t no girl you’re serious about, and I could care less about any of them. But Y/N? Without even tellin’ me? There ain’t no way in hell you’re tryin’ it with her. You know what you do, and I ain’t gonna let it happen to Y/N.”

Riff’s jaw tightens; he looks more offended than angry. “Oh yeah? What do I do, Superman?”

“You—"

“He was giving me a hug,” I blurt out.

It’s as if I threw ice cold water on a hot pan. Tony’s anger sizzles into incredulous confusion. “A hug?”

“I was sad,” I say slowly, trying to settle on a coherent train of thought. “I was waiting for someone. I had…I had a date.”

Tony’s anger returns in full force. “You what?” His eyes flash with a recollection. “What happened to math with Dot?”

“She got stood up,” Riff interjects. I nod vigorously, and he picks up the mantle. “I was just walkin’ by the Regal. Y/N was standing outside, red eyes, cryin’ and cryin’—”

“—I wasn’t crying that much—”

“—sayin’ some guy stood her up. So, we went inside. Got her a Coke to calm her down, gave her a hug—”

“—And I’m fine now!” I smile tightly at Riff. “Thank you.”

His eyes are glinting, but he gives me a cool nod. “Anytime.”

Grazi stares at Riff’s mouth. “You got lipstick on your face.”

I whip my head around to take a look but he’s already frantically rubbing his lips with his sleeve. “It’s chocolate,” he mutters.

She tilts her head. “Red chocolate?”

“Strawberry flavour,” I jump in. My mind races, and I babble like an idiot trying to keep up with it. “They ship it to the Regal. From Canada. You should try it, Grazi, it tastes exactly like—”

“Just cut it out, Y/N.” Tony’s face is contorted in bewilderment, as if he’s trying to solve an equation. “You’re goin’ out with some guy I don’t even know? What’s his name?”

What’s his name?

The question is a twisty knife to my gut. My mind is as blank as a goldfish’s. Only one name is coming to mind.

“Jiminy.”

Riff coughs.

“Jimmy. I meant Jimmy,” I add hastily. “He’s taller than you. Bright blonde hair. Green eyes. Nice teeth. Big…arms.”

Tony’s forehead wrinkles with an impossibly deep frown. “How long you been seeing this guy?”

“We… we met at the beach last week. It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t mean anything. Anymore.”

“What beach?”

“Oh God, Tony, can you cut it out? It’s too cold out here for you to be nagging me like this.”

I rub my bare arms for effect. Tony shakes his head. “Alright, that’s it. You ain’t waitin’ here for Jimmy anymore. I’m walkin’ you home.”

Grazi’s face crumples like a piece of paper.

“Hey, you can’t do that,” I protest. “It’s your…”

I glance at Grazi and she fills in the blank. “Anniversary. Two years. He’s taking me to Frankie’s, my favourite.”

“Wow,” I drawl. “Y’know, he’s been planning tonight for weeks!”

Grazi beams, and Tony shoots me a death glare.

Riff clears his throat. “I can take her home,” he offers nonchalantly. “I was goin’ to Action’s place tonight, so I’m passin’ it anyway.”

Even though my heart is leaping, I force myself to seem exasperated. “I don’t need a chaperone; I can walk home alone.”

My brother’s expression is entirely unreadable. His chest isn’t heaving anymore, and he doesn’t look glaringly angry, which is definitely reassuring.

He crosses his arms and nods at Riff. “Fine.”

“That’s it? You got nothin’ else to say to me, pal?”

Tony sighs heavily. He rubs the back of his neck, regret palpable in his newly subdued demeanour. “I…I got caught up.”

Riff raises his eyebrows. “Caught up in what?”

“I’m tryin’ to say I was wrong. I shouldn’t have been like that. But you don’t gotta hug Y/N anymore. Even if she’s gettin’ stood up.”

“You got it, buddy boy,” Riff smirks. He throws me a glance. “You comin’?”

I roll my eyes as I traipse behind him. We walk in total silence until we turn the corner around the Regal, out of view from Tony and Grazi.

Riff immediately shrugs off his blazer and drapes it around my shoulders. When he finally speaks up, his grin is perplexingly untroubled, as if we’re strolling home from a perfectly normal date.

“That Jiminy sounds like a tool.”

#riff x reader #west side story #riff west side story #riff #riff wss #riff imagine #mike faist #mike faist imagine #mike faist x reader

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dellaspinstales · 2 years

Text

Loving Cup, Chapter Nine

Riff x Reader (West Side Story)

Plot summary: As the Jets begin getting uneasy, Y/N and Riff continue their relationship in secret. Conversations with Valentina and a death in her community makes Y/N contemplate her choices.

Notes: HELLO!!!! thank you so much for your patience! this is a Longer chapter because a Lot goes on...it was hard to do a plot summary lol. i feel like i’ve been working on it for so long so it’s a bit strange to put it out. i really hope you enjoy it!! also i have a couple new followers, so i just want to say again thank you so much for reading along! every like and lovely comment makes me so happy. and please let me know if i missed your tag, tumblr was being finnicky <3

*****************************************************************************************************

TUESDAY

My tea is still hot enough to scald my mouth, but I gulp it down anyway. Nardo frowns when I grimace.

“Algo está mal contigo,” he says through a forkful of eggs. He’s pressing a cloth full of ice cubes to his knee—treatment after a particularly rough match last night.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I reply as I stand up from the kitchen table, empty mug in hand. My mind is miles away. What is Riff doing in Doc’s right now? Is he sweeping the tiled floors? Stocking a shelf with canned beans? Or maybe he didn’t even show up, and Valentina is already planning exactly how she’ll tell Nardo about us. I can’t understand why Riff would put me through this; I couldn’t yell at him in front of Valentina yesterday, but I’m definitely finding a way to do it this afternoon.

My mug drops into the sink with a clatter. Nardo shoots me an accusing look. “Estás distraída.”

Laughter rings out by the doorway, where Anita is slipping on a pair of bright yellow heels. “You’re calling her distracted when you don’t even pay attention to what’s on your plate.”

“You’re going to be late mi amor,” Nardo manages to call out before she bounces into the hallway, shutting the door behind her with a teasing flourish of her skirt.

“I should be leaving, too,” I murmur. It’s another four-hour shift, but I wouldn’t miss it for anything—even if my panetela de guayaba recipe is still not perfect. If my plan for the day works out, I’m hoping to have time to tinker with the recipe and yell at Riff all at once.

Nardo sets the ice on the table. “Anita told me want another job,” he says with a forced nonchalance.

My stomach twists. It’s obviously no surprise they talk about me, but it’s yet another reminder of how precarious my situation is. There’s Valentina on one end, who knows everything, and Anita on the other, who knows enough.

“I was thinking about it, until the café opens up like before,” I reply, mirroring Nardo’s pseudo casualness.

He drums his fingers on the table, and I brace myself for whatever opinion has been stewing within him. “Maybe it’s a good thing. You can find somewhere safer, get off that street. Work more hours. No es una mala idea.”

Nardo’s shoulders are in an easy shrug, as if to indicate the reasonableness of his suggestion. I stare at him in disbelief. “You know what the café is to me.”

“Lo sé, pero—"

“And you said so yourself Chambers Street is safer, after you sent some ‘message’ to the Jets. Now you’re changing your mind?”

Nardo exhales a patronizingly heavy sigh. “That was different, muñeca. You and Luis were still—”

“Luis?” I say incredulously. “Luis has nothing to do with this.”

“It’s protection. Luis could walk you home late at night when you work late. He could look after you when we can’t. He would take care of you.” With every word, Nardo is becoming increasingly irritated, hitting each syllable forcefully. “Tenemos trabajo; we can’t worry about you all the time.”

“So, you’re saying I should marry Luis to make life easier for you?” Sarcasm bitters my voice. “I think you were hit too hard on the head last night.”

“I do it for our family,” he retorts through gritted teeth.

His condescension sharpens me. “You don’t think I work for our family?”

Nardo slams his hand on the table. I flinch as his plate rattles. “¡Claro que no! If you did, you would have started working at Gimbels or anywhere else as soon as Garcia shut the café. But you didn’t and you won’t.”

My shoulders shrink; I feel like a scolded toddler. “I don’t need to listen to you,” I mutter as I speed into my bedroom. The best thing to do is leave for the café without saying another word.

Nardo stands up behind me, his chair scraping against the floor. “You work there because you like it, no hay otra razón.” I grab my bag without acknowledging him. He continues, undeterred: “Es un hobby, not a job.”

I whirl around, heart pounding: “You—” The words lodge in my throat when I see Nardo’s face. I try again: “Tú... Tú no…”

All the insults I know, everything I could hurl at him is fully formed in my mind. But I can’t bring myself to tear into him.

“¿Qué?” he asks. His anger is quieter now, but it’s still simmering below the surface. “¿Qué es, Y/N?”

I stare daggers at Nardo. “I’m going to be late.” I sidestep past him and storm out.

*****************************************************************************************************

I’m hovering like a restless fly beside the front door to Doc’s, too nervous to peek my head though the glass. I have no idea when Riff is finished or if he’s even inside, but I can’t let Valentina see me. Whatever’s going through her mind, I’m certain that shamelessly flouncing into the store today won’t keep her on my side or convince her that I know how to handle this.

Do I know how to handle this? I bite my nails, and they taste like icing sugar. Nardo’s comments this morning are gnawing away at me, spiking my anxieties even more. I can’t remember the last time I’ve pushed him to real anger. It’s far more peaceful to shut down in front of him and complain endlessly to Anita when he’s not home. I got to that point eventually this morning, but it took me far longer than usual.

The door flings open, and I jump as Rosalia storms out, clutching a brown paper bag to her chest. She spots me and tenses even more.

“Cuidado Y/N, she’s got a Jet working here now.” Rosalia tightens her fingers around the bag, as if she’s worried someone will snatch it from her grasp. “Do you want me to stay with you?”

“Está bien, gracias. I won’t be long.”

Rosalia nods reluctantly, and I watch as she crosses the street. How many more customers are going to come and go, while I stand outside here aimlessly? I need to get a grip on myself. My fingernails dig into my palms as I force myself to turn around and peer through the glass door.

Valentina is thankfully not in my line of sight. My eyes shift to the left, landing on a tall, thin figure hunched over the pinball machine, carefully wiping it down with a grey rag. He’s standing in profile, so I can glimpse an eyebrow furrowed in concentration as he traces along the edges. This must be the strangest, most endearing view I’ve ever seen.

Riff stands up straight, flopping the rag over his shoulder like he’s been working at Doc’s all his life. He rests a hand on his hip, and his eyes flicker out the window, meandering aimlessly up the lampposts across the street until they land on me. I thought I’d be used to seeing him by now, but I couldn’t be more wrong. My cheeks heat up with the soft glow of Riff’s smile, as if I’m the best, most unexpected sight in the world. A dizzying lightness whirls through me, and I almost forget how frustrated I am.

He holds up a finger to me and crosses the store, walking out of my view. A few long minutes pass before he finally returns, swinging the door open and bounding outside, grey rag nowhere to be seen. I grab his hand and drag him around the edge of Doc’s before he can say anything.

We hurtle to a stop in something resembling an alleyway, sandwiched between the side of the brick building and a grey steel fence. Riff’s arm immediately snakes around my waist. He leans his back against the brick, pulling me against his chest with a speed that leaves me breathless.

“You really missed me, huh?”

His grin is teasingly crooked, but he’s not wrong. I’ve been on edge all of last night and all of this morning, waiting for the moment I could see him again. Riff cups my face; his hands smell faintly of fresh lemons. Maybe he was using some kind of citrus cleaning spray? It’s strangely appealing, but the dark shadows under his eyes distract me.

“When did your shift start?”

“She said she’ll let me go at 12 if I get here when she opens.”

I squint at him. “You’ve been working since 5 in the morning?”

Riff shrugs. “Figured if I come in early, we’ll both be done at the same time.”

His thumb lightly brushes my lips, and it takes all my effort to shake my head. “Not here.”

“Where then? I’m a workin’ man now, I can take you out.”

The naïve pride in his words is a needed reminder of my irritation. “Eres—” I bite my tongue before I launch prematurely into my rant. Riff frowns anyway.

“Everything okay?”

I inhale with effort, softening my voice. “I’m taking you out today. Meet me on Amsterdam, over from the construction fence.”

His eyes start to shine, blue and hazel sparks capturing the sunlight. I’m reluctantly pulling away from him when a different flash of colour catches my attention. Further down from where we’re standing, there’s a rusted green door, built right into the brick.

Riff follows my gaze. “What’s that for?”

I roll my eyes. “You tell me; you’re the one who works here.”

*****************************************************************************************************

The wooden floor of Riverside Library shudders under our feet at a steady tremble. Clanging noises of metal-on-metal reverberate through the windows—echoes from the giant construction site across the street. Everything inside is cast in a pale-yellow light, including Riff, sitting opposite me.

I flick through my stained notebook on the wobbly wooden table between us. It’s stuffed to the brim with loose scraps of paper and a blunt pencil, so it takes a bit of rifling to land on the recipe I’m looking for: panetela de guayaba.

Riff’s eyes are stuck on the elderly librarian, who’s sitting on an under stuffed armchair across the room. There’s an open book on his lap, but his head is lolling to one side.

“You sure he’s not dead?” Riff whispers.

“If he is, he’s been dead a long time,” I murmur back. “He’s the only other person I’ve seen when I come here.”

He turns his attention back to me, leaning onto his elbow and watching me with a disbelieving curiosity. “How the hell can you work in this place?”

“No one bothers me, and you block out the noise after a while.”

Riff sits back in his seat. His fingers are drumming impatiently on the table; when I glance up, he’s sulking like a child.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I just don’t get why you’d take us someplace I can’t even touch you.”

Touch me? “Well, I thought we were taking it slow,” I say under my breath.

Riff tilts his head. “Didn’t realize that bothered you so much.”

“It doesn’t,” I lie.

He grins brightly, struck with an idea. After a cursory glance to the unmoving librarian, Riff leaps to his feet and picks up his chair. He sets it next to me and sits down, finally satisfied. When my knee rests against his, we both smile like it’s some kind of secret.

“I didn’t even know you could get in here,” he says, his voice low. “Cause you’re…”

“Puerto Rican,” I fill in, and his small, serious nod almost makes me laugh. “Sí, I’m aware of that. But I keep quiet, so he lets me be. I only come here when I really need to think.”

“D’you want me to think about something?” he asks with a grin.

This seems like a good opportunity. I set my pencil down and stare at him. “You can think about how estúpido you are.”

Riff flinches, entirely caught off guard. “I told you yesterday I was sorry—”

“Did any Jets come in?”

“No, ‘cause I was early—”

“They won’t stay away forever. What will you tell Diesel or the small one or any of them when they ask you what you’re doing?”

“I’ll tell them the truth—that this ain’t about them. The Jets…” He drops my gaze, picking at a loose sheet of paper. “They’re always gonna be my guys, but I gotta stay with this. I gotta figure out how I wanna be, outside of all that. I need to do better.”

Riff’s sincerity cracks through my anger, but a lingering stubborn hurt remains. “You said it was only going to be me and you. No one else.”

“That’s not gonna change,” he frowns.

“No. It’s me, you, and Valentina.”

“She won’t say anything to Bernardo unless I mess up, I can tell. And I’m not gonna mess up.”

Clearly there’s no point in arguing about this. I squeeze my eyes shut and rub my forehead. “You can never be late. Don’t talk to her unless she talks to you first. And don’t try to be funny.”

“Anything else, chief?”

My sigh is pained and ragged. “We didn’t need this problem, Riff.”

He reaches over the table and touches my hand, his arm awkwardly bending over my notebook. “I know this ain’t gonna be easy like with the other a-stupidos you dated. But we’re still in the clear. I promise.”

I stare at him blankly. “I’ve never dated anyone before.”

Riff pulls away so sharply that my notebook almost topples over the edge of the table. “What?”

“Shhh, keep your voice down!”

“You’re tellin’ me no guy ever asked you out?”

His incredulity makes me giggle; I press my palm against my mouth to stop it. “A few asked, but I didn’t say yes. There was one boy—”

I stop myself short. It’s not a salacious story but I’ve never told it to anyone before. Riff is watching me, confused and enthralled.

“I didn’t know his name, but he walked by my bedroom window every morning. He was very tall, and his hair was a little longer than most boys I knew, which I liked. One day, he looked up and saw me staring at him. I fell to the floor so hard, I still have a mark on my knee. And then two days later, he came to the house. I was alone.” Riff raises an eyebrow. “I think he asked for water? He said his name was Manuel, I remember that. But we talked and it ruined everything.”

“He wasn’t nice?”

“He was nice, but he was better in my head.”

Riff sits up straighter in his chair. “Was I better in your head?”

I force my laughter into a snort. “Estabas mucho peor—you were so much worse.”

“Y’know, you never used to speak to me in Spanish before,” he remarks, grinning widely.

Is that true? “I didn’t notice,” I shrug, my heart jumping a little at the idea of him observing me like that. My attention falls back to my panetela de guayaba recipe. I draw a line down the page, splitting it in half—maybe I can try two batches tomorrow, one with more flour and another with less butter.

Out of the corner of my eye, Riff’s leg is jiggling up and down. “I wanted to ask you,” he says hesitantly, like he’s afraid of disturbing me. “Yesterday, when Valentina said she couldn’t give you a job. Why were you lookin’ for one?”

“Garcia isn’t opening the café anymore past noon, because of…” The Jets, I think. “Because of safety. But I need to work more hours than that.”

“You’re incredible. Start somethin’ for yourself.”

The ease of his compliment is sweet, but I can’t help scoffing. “With whose money?”

Riff looks at me like I’m being purposefully obtuse. “Work another job. Save the money. Use it to bake at your house and sell it. Start small.”

“Mmm.” This conversation doesn’t interest me, especially after Nardo’s lecture. Working in Café Rosa is half the reason I bake. Learning from Garcia, chatting to customers, looking outside the storefront onto the road; it’s all part of why I love my job so much. Nardo wasn’t wrong about that, but his self-important contempt was still unnecessarily excessive.

I list all the ingredients again in the first column, circling the butter. Would subtracting fifty grams be too much? I bite my lip and stare at the page. Riff is still shaking his leg, and it’s driving me to distraction. My hand clamps down on his thigh. “You need to stop.”

His eyebrows shoot up. My heartbeat stutters as the corners of his mouth quirk into a mischievous smile. I look away, the implication heating up my skin in an instant. My eyes flicker down to his jeans; there’s a conspicuous square-shaped lump in his pocket that I’ve never noticed before. I move my hand over his leg to slip my hand inside. Riff’s knee jerks up, slamming into the table.

His cheeks are flushed a deep red that was nowhere to be seen a second ago. “Whatta you tryna do?” He sounds oddly high-pitched.

“I just wanted to know what’s in your pocket,” I reply unsteadily. It’s the truth, but the way he flustered so quickly makes my pulse race.

Riff eyes me, unconvinced. He reaches inside and pulls out a dented gunmetal grey flask that looks like it’s been through a war.

“I don’t drink from it a lot,” he says hastily. “It was my dad’s.” I take it from his hands and feel the weight of it, full of what must be some kind of liquor.

The blush on Riff’s face is fading, but he still looks noticeably ruffled. “I’ll put it back for you,” I say innocently.

“No, you’re alright,” he responds quickly, shaking his head. He reaches for the flask, but I hold it out of his reach.

“Why not?”

He stares at me, reddening in full force again. I try and fail to bite back my smile. Now I understand why he messes with me like this.

Riff narrows his eyes as he catches on. Without warning, he bends down and yanks one of my chair legs, jerking me towards him. My hand shoots out, grabbing his arm to steady myself.

“Fine, take it,” I gasp.

“No, no, put it back.” He’s grinning, too. “That’s what you wanted, right?”

I’m rapidly losing control of this situation. “No, I wanted to know why I couldn’t.”

“You can! C’mon, do it.”

“I’m…I’m fine,” I falter.

He raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Why not?”

“You’re so annoying,” I whisper, but my smile undermines me. I push the flask into his chest; he catches my wrist and leans forward, pressing a tickling kiss under my ear. My laughter rings out in the library. “¡Espera, espera, espera!”

“Sorry, I don’t…” Riff kisses my jaw, and my entire body softens. “I don’t understand.” He touches my lip with his thumb again. My breathing shallows and I’m wondering how my attempt at teasing him failed so badly when the floor starts to shake a little more than usual. Footsteps are thundering towards us.

The librarian appears with surprising speed for his age. His bald head is shining yellow in this light, and I can practically see smoke puffing out of his ears. Riff pulls away and I whip my head down to my notebook, pushing my hair in front my face to hopefully block me from the librarian’s memory.

“You both are being far too loud,” the librarian says in a thin, reedy voice. It’s the first time he’s ever spoken to me.

“We’re leavin’ now,” Riff replies with a confident ease. I peek through my hair to see the librarian regard him with displeasure, his eyes lingering on Riff’s tattered jeans. He turns sharply on his heel and marches back to his armchair.

We stare at each other for a second before we both burst into laughter. I shush him loudly and Riff tries to choke it down.

“I’ll meet you at Doc’s tomorrow,” I say, stuffing all the papers in my notebook and putting it in my bag. “Maybe we can go to the park again?”

He pulls me off my chair in response, spinning us both around in a half-twirl. My eyes flicker to the librarian; his book is once again open on his lap, and his head once again lolled back. I’m still struck by the circles under Riff’s eyes, only there because he wanted us to finish work at the same time. Almost without thinking, I reach up and touch the edge of a shadow.

Riff presses against the back of my hand, pushing his cheek deeper into the curve of my palm. “Tomorrows too far,” he mumbles. “How about tonight?”

I run my thumb over his cheekbone. “If work starts at 5, you need to sleep well.”

He groans into my hand, and I feel a stinging twinge in my chest. Parting isn’t easier, but at least I know I’ll see him again tomorrow. That can be enough, for now.

*****************************************************************************************************

WEDNESDAY

I watch with bated breath as Garcia bites into a slice of panetela de guayaba, now with fifty grams less butter. He chews slowly and deliberately, his expression unreadable. Only a few crumbs fall onto the kitchen counter. For the most part, the cake is holding firm.

“Es aún más perfecto,” he mumbles, muffled by a mouth full of cake.

“¿Cómo es la textura? Is there anything I should change?

“No.”

“What about the—”

“I said it’s perfect, Y/N,” Garcia says firmly, and I reluctantly relent. “Put a few slices in the front and leave the rest here. We already filled the counter, but this will last until tomorrow.”

He ties on his apron as I grab a serrated knife. Jam oozes out the sides of each evenly sized square I cut.

“If you keep us open late today, I’m sure we could sell the whole cake,” I say airily.

“But then I’ll lose all my customers on West 68th street,” he replies.

I only sigh in response. Garcia passes me a white paper plate, and I transfer three of the prettiest slices onto it.

“Sabes, if you said you wanted to work with me over there, I would shut this place down tomorrow.”

"¡Oh, por favor, no hagas eso!” I exclaim.

Garcia smiles, but it’s fleeting. “It’s not safe here, Y/N. Esos estúpidos gringos, they can do worse than taking our sign. They have done worse, but not to us yet. And you can’t work half a day, every day. Eres demasiado talentoso para eso. It’s wrong.”

My pulse is pounding in my throat. “If you don’t want me here anymore…”

“It’s not that. You don’t have to work at the other café if you don’t want to. Pero if you want to do something else—”

“No, I don’t,” I say hastily. “This is where I need to be.”

“For now, tal vez. But not forever.”

First, Riff is telling me I should start my own business, and now Garcia is trying to push me out? It’s as if they planned this. I smile tightly as I fumble with a thin roll of aluminium foil. “Today is more important than tomorrow.”

Garcia looks at me pensively. “You should be thinking about the future, Y/N,” he says, picking up the plate of display slices. I force down a laugh as I wrap up the remaining cakes with foil. Lately, trying to ignore the future has been the only thing I want to do.

*****************************************************************************************************

I’m standing rigid next to the Doc’s front door, peeking my head just enough to get a clear view inside. The déjà vu from yesterday would be unbearable if adrenaline wasn’t rushing through me, overrunning all other emotions.

From this vantage point, I can clearly see the backs of several skinny white boys, all congregating in a semi-circle around one particular shelf. Though he’s blocked from my view, Riff is no doubt at the center, being verbally torn to pieces. All the Jets are turned away from me, giving me a precarious sense of security.

My curiosity outruns my trepidation. I stand on my tiptoes, and a familiar flash of fluffy brown hair encourages me. My fingers are pressing against the building as I crane my neck up and up, until I’m finally rewarded with the full sight of Riff.

He’s talking to Diesel, who’s noticeably animated—furrowed brows, big gestures. But there’s something about Riff, a lightness in his posture that makes him stand out. He’s still stocking a soda can when he grins some dismissive remark at Diesel, who tightens his jaw in response. Riff looks at ease, truly comfortable in himself. As if he has nothing to prove anymore.

There’s a prickling feeling on the back of my neck. I turn around and almost jump out of my skin. A Jet is standing behind me—at least, I think he’s a Jet. He’s wearing an oversized blue jacket and a curious expression on soft features, framed by dark curly hair.

We’re alone on the street, gawking at each other. How long was he standing there? The boy frowns at me and my stomach plummets to the ground. It’s broad daylight but that’s never stopped a Jet before. I make two calculations in the course of a second: outside, there’s me and one Jet. Inside, there’s at least ten Jets, but there’s one Riff. My hand reaches blindly for the handle, still keeping my eyes on the boy, when the door flies open. I stumble back and Valentina appears, her eyes flashing with anger.

The boy’s eyes don’t leave us as Valentina drags me by my arm, pulling me around the side of Doc’s. Her fingers are digging into me, but I couldn’t imagine complaining. I’ve been stupidly careless, and this is what I get for it. One-on-one with Valentina. Precisely what I wanted to avoid.

“This is exactly what I knew would happen, Y/N,” she snaps. “You don’t know how dangerous this is.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” We stop abruptly, outside the same green rusted door that Riff and I noticed yesterday. Valentina pulls out a bunch of keys from her pocket.

“¿Qué es este lugar?” She ignores my question as she unlocks the door, motioning for me to go inside.

I tentatively step into a small, warmly lit living room. The walls are a faded pale green, bare except for a red wall clock and a few sparsely stacked shelves. At the center of the room is a pair of leathery brown armchairs, with a low coffee table in between them.

I look back at Valentina. “I didn’t know you lived here.”

“We wanted to stay close to the shop.” She points at a closed door to our left. “That takes you down to the cellar.”

There’s a framed, black-and-white photograph on the coffee table that catches my attention. It’s a grainy image of a beaming couple, standing outside of a storefront that looks exactly like Doc’s. The woman is unmistakably Valentina. She looks at least a few decades younger, her hair passing by her shoulders in long dark curls. Standing next to her is an older white man, slightly balding with an arm draped over her shoulders. There’s a pride in both their faces that shines through their smiles, as if they’re standing on the precipice of something wonderful together. Even though I’ve heard about Valentina and her white husband before, seeing the photograph feels like I’ve stumbled across a secret.

Valentina stands next to me, gazing down at the photograph. “We opened the store that week.”

“Es una fotografía encantadora,” I smile.

She nods in wistful agreement. Then she crosses her arms, and her face hardens into a frown. I ready myself for the onslaught.

“People don’t change, mija. Not that much. Not like what you’re expecting from him.”

There’s an unexpected gentleness in Valentina’s voice, but I feel defensive all the same. “I didn’t ask him to do any of this.”

“But you think Riff’s different from all the other boys in there, verdad? He’s their leader, Y/N; they won’t let him go easy.”

Already, I know I’m losing this battle. I desperately change the subject: “How has he been with you, en el trabajo?”

Valentina puts her hands up in surrender. “Three good days, I’ll give him that. But that’s not the point.”

My palms start to sweat. Last time she challenged me about this, at least Riff was by my side. Now, I’m alone, willing myself to stay firm under Valentina’s unwavering stare.

“I know what you’re doing,” I say weakly. “You’re waiting for him to make a mistake so you can tell Bernardo.”

“Y/N, Riff has already made so many mistakes. When this all comes out, no one will see him the way you do.”

Her words sting me into sharpening. “And what way do you see Riff?” Valentina raises her eyebrows, and I’m filled with a new energy. “If you really think there’s no chance for him, for any of this, just tell my brother por favor. I won’t try to convince you, no tengo el derecho. I can’t change what Riff has done, and I can’t pretend it didn’t happen, pero…”

I falter. My momentum fades into uncertainty. But what? How can I counter everything I’ve just admitted to be true?

A helpful guiding question forms in my mind: what would Riff say? My mind drifts to how he defended himself yesterday, the way his eyes were shining when he told me that he needed to do this. I smile in spite of myself.

“Pero I know this is real. I know he’s true.”

Valentina inhales deeply and takes my hand in hers. I’m struck by how fragile she looks. “Mija, I want you…I want both of you to be safe. That’s all.” She points to the cellar door again. “Those boys don’t need a reason to tear us all to pieces. Protect yourself. La vida importa más que el amor.”

My heart stops. “El amor?” I repeat hoarsely.

Valentina looks at me strangely, pity and bemusement clouding her eyes. “You’re not strong about this, Y/N.”

I’m too distracted to feel hurt by her accusation. Her words are replaying in an endless loop: la vida importa más que el amor. Life matters more than love. Love…Why would she use that word?

“Riff is strong,” she adds in my silence. “He has nothing to lose.”

A squeezing pain flares through me. It’s such a sweeping statement from Valentina, too broad for me to buy into it completely. But I’d be lying to myself if I said there was no truth to her words. I could alienate my whole family, my whole community. How high are the stakes for Riff, truly?

I pick at my nails. “Did you talk to him about this?”

Valentina gives me that strange look again. “Can you promise me one thing?” I hesitate before I nod. “Ask yourself if this is worth it—for you, not for him.”

My mouth falls open to protest, but she cuts me off. “Don’t tell me, no quiero oírlo. Just think about it.” She pats me on the cheek with a drained smile. “Stay here. I’ll get you when they’re gone.”

*****************************************************************************************************

“You sure you’re alright?”

“How many times are you going to ask me that, Riff?”

“'Til you me the truth.”

We’re hiding behind our tree in Needle Park, standing up against the bark in case we need to make a quick exit. It’s frustratingly packed to the brim, full of pensioners, parents, picnic blankets, mud-spattered children, and even a ragged stray dog. All I want is to bury myself in Riff’s chest, blocking out every other thought, but I can’t even do that in peace. It’s further punishment after my draining conversation with Valentina. Riff, for his part, looks invigorated following his own ordeal in Doc’s.

“Nothing happened,” I repeat for the hundredth time. “Valentina saw me waiting for you and she got upset. I sat in her room until she came back, when the Jets had left. Then I found you outside. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Riff wrinkles his nose. “Say it one more time, and I’ll believe you.”

I mutter a dismissive noise and he sighs, relenting. The curious Jet boy outside the store hasn’t featured in any of my retellings. I’ve now convinced myself I was overreacting. A white boy wearing jeans doesn’t have to be Jet—and if he was a Jet, what was stopping him from going inside to Doc’s?

Riff is watching me carefully. “Diesel ain’t gonna drop it.”

Upon my stubborn insistence, I already forced a rushed recap of what the Jets had said to him as soon as we met outside Doc’s. It was nothing surprising. Constant pestering asking what the hell Riff is thinking, working for Valentina. Questions about what his “plan” is, and disbelief when he replied there was none. Adamant refusal to accept his claim that the whole situation has nothing to do with them, that he just needs to be alone for a while.

“They want a real answer. You can’t expect them to…” A faint rumbling sound distracts me. Riff clears his throat. “You can’t expect them to accept this so quick…” The gurgling returns and I stop again. Riff flinches, folding his arms over his stomach. “Did you eat anything today?”

“Nah, but I’m not hungry,” he replies hurriedly.

I frown at this obvious lie. “There’s some extra cake in the café. Maybe I can get you a slice?”

“That’s alright.”

“We can be quick and go around the back—"

“No, I don’t want it.”

I’m perplexed by his firmness. “Why not?”

Riff shakes his head like it’s obvious. “You shouldn’t be helpin’ me out like that, it ain’t right.”

“Because I’m a girl?” I ask teasingly.

“No, ‘cause you’re my girl. I should be taking care of you.”

Our eyes widen in synchronized surprise. Riff’s lips part, and there’s a new delicate fluttering sensation in my stomach. His unexpected sincerity has thrown us both.

“I’m your girl,” I echo. It’s not a question; I just want to feel myself saying it.

The tips of his ears start to pinken. “Well…yeah. Aren’t you?”

I’m entirely unsure of what to say. Riff holds my gaze steady as his fingers find the silver bracelet on his wrist. He’s twisting it with increasingly fervour with every second that I’m silent. My eyes flicker to his shoes, one of which is now bouncing on the grass. When I glance back up at Riff, he runs a hand through his hair so aggressively that he looks as if he’s been dragged through a bush backwards.

For a single, perfect second, the crowd in the park disappears from my consciousness. I leap forward to kiss Riff’s cheek. A dimple immediately appears in the same spot, and he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for hours. The relief is vibrating off of him in golden waves.

“We’re going,” I decide. “You can take care of me tomorrow.”

*****************************************************************************************************

“Don’t touch that!” I call out. Riff whisks his hand away from a metal stand on the café’s kitchen countertop, stacked with various sizes of wooden spoons.

“Where’s the big guy—where’s Garcia at?”

“He’s working in his other café. He won’t be back today, but we still need to be quick.” Part of me can’t believe how easily I jumped from getting this idea to actually executing it. Sneaking a Jet into Café Rosa after closing… Garcia would have a heart attack. I push down a threatening swell of nausea and grab the foil-wrapped plate of panetela de guayaba.

A clattering crash makes my stomach fall. "¿Qué demonios fue eso?" I whip my head around; all the spoons are scattered on the tiled floor.

Riff jumps down to pick them up, consciously avoiding my gaze. “I was just takin’ a look,” he says meekly.

He carefully lays the spoons flat on the countertop. I point towards the corner of the kitchen, at a low wooden step stool. “Sit. There.” Riff huffs but he reluctantly slinks over, dragging his feet. He precariously perches on top, and his knees jut up awkwardly high.

My fingers hover over all the pieces of cake until I find the biggest slice. I slide it on a paper plate and walk over to Riff. When I pass it to him, he smiles like I’m presenting him with a four-course meal. I hover nervously in front of him as he takes a bite.

Riff’s eyelids flutter shut. His whole body seems to curve inwards. “This is amazing,” he mumbles.

The rest of the cake disappears in seconds—he eats even faster than Nardo. He must have been incredibly hungry.

“Take another piece,” I say, turning back to the counter. “I’ll tell Garcia I brought it home with me, he won’t be upset.”

“No, no, no, don’t do that! I’m already full.”

It seems unlikely that’s possible, but I don’t push him. “Bien, I’ll wash these spoons, and we can leave.”

I bend down to take the plate from him, and Riff’s necklace falls forward on my neck. His face brightens like a light bulb when he notices the movement. I try to pull the plate away, but he holds onto it tightly.

A slow smile is spreading across Riff’s face. “Thank you.”

“You’re…welcome,” I say suspiciously.

He shuffles forward on the stool, giving me an expectant look—as if he’s waiting for a green light. Whatever he’s implying, it’s not going to happen in Garcia’s kitchen. I force myself to not drop my eyes to his lips.

“I need to clean, Riff.”

“Sure,” he nods. He lets go of the plate and I shoot him a sideways glance. Whatever that was, he dropped it surprisingly quickly. And I’m only slightly disappointed.

I fold the plate in half and chuck it in the bin. My heartbeat is rapidly picking up; I can feel Riff’s eyes locked onto me while I scoop up all the spoons and dump them in the sink. As I turn on the tap, my gaze unsubtly drifts over to him. Riff’s crooked grin appears, like I’ve told him everything he needs to hear. He jumps up from the stool and slides behind me in a few quick strides. I open my mouth to tell him to sit back down and close it without saying a word.

Riff’s breath is tickling my neck as he pushes my hair over one shoulder. Tingling sparks flicker over my skin.

“You bent the hook,” he murmurs. “It’s all messed up.”

I frown and shut off the tap. Nothing seemed damaged when I got it back from Anita. “You gave me a broken chain?”

“No, you broke it. Gimme a second, I’ll fix it.”

I brace myself for the touch of his fingers, but it never comes. “What are you—” I shut up when Riff’s lips brush the back of my neck. My shoulders jerk up, and a jolt of electricity shoots down my spine.

“Relax, I’m fixin’ it.” The smile in his voice makes my knees waver. Riff’s lips touch my skin again, and I press my hand against the cool countertop, trying not to melt against him. The chain shifts slightly. His hair is brushing against my neck, but I can’t feel his lips anymore.

“Are you…biting the clasp?” I ask faintly.

“Almost got it.”

The necklace goes slack again. One of Riff’s arms curves around my waist. I rest my hand on top of it, touching the silver bracelet on his wrist. He’s pressing against me now, and my fingers dig into him at the sensation. I’m hyper aware of every point of contact. It’s a pleasurable torment that makes my pulse flounder, somehow both too much and not enough.

Riff presses a soft open-mouthed kiss under my jaw, and the torment becomes unbearable. I squirm around to face him.

“That’s enough,” I say breathlessly.

He places his hands down on either side of me, pinning me between him and the edge of the counter. “I fixed the chain.” His eyes are fixated on my lips. I could count every one of his eyelashes.

I clear my dry throat. “Nothing was broken.”

“Not anymore.”

There’s a heat in his gaze that makes my cheeks flush. “We’re in a kitchen, Riff.”

He smiles as if I’ve revealed where my thoughts have travelled, even though he’s the one who lead me there. I grab at Riff’s bicep, and he falls onto me, his lips finding mine. Everything in me hums to life. It’s a desperate, forceful kiss, tension snapping and building even more as we press against each other. My fingers dig into his shoulders, and I realize that taking it slow is truly the absolute worst thing to ever happen to me, if this is what it's depriving me from. Riff’s fingers are curling tightly in my hair, pulling almost imperceptibly gently. He presses me back, lips still on mine. My hand grazes against the cool countertop, and a dangerous mindlessness unlocks within me. I break away, pushing myself onto the counter.

He stares at me for a moment, lips reddened and parted, eyes hazy. Even these seconds of waiting are unbearable. I reach out and yank him forward by his t-shirt. Riff makes a little sound of surprise before he kisses me again, and it’s more a relief than anything else. He’s slow at first, almost like he’s trying to calm me down. Then his hand starts sliding up my leg. His touch moves from absent minded to reckless so fast that I barely register my skirt riding up. Our breathing is catching in irregular, panting bursts now. Riff’s thumb grazes my inner thigh. I gasp and his fingers tighten on my skin. I wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer.

We’re in a kitchen.

My hands travel greedily through Riff’s hair, down his neck, trailing over his arms; I want to feel every inch of him. His muscles tense under my fingers.

We’re in a kitchen.

Riff slips a hand underneath my blouse. My eyes snap wide open at his touch—soft, tentative, and blazing hot on my bare skin. An entirely foreign sound falls out of me. Riff exhales hard, his breath in my ear. His lips catch my earlobe, and a burning shiver sweeps through my body.

We’re in Garcia’s kitchen.

My blood freezes to ice. I push Riff back and he stumbles from the loss of momentum.

“That’s it,” I declare. “Nothing else in here.”

Riff looks as disoriented as if he had just woken up from a dream. He blinks at me, pushing back his tousled hair. “We’re not doin’ anything we haven’t done before,” he manages eventually.

He groans when I stare pointedly at my skirt, which is almost around my hips. I slide off the counter and Riff immediately bends down, tugging at the hem. My mind starts to buzz as I rest a hand on his shoulder. How did I end up here? Sneaking Riff into Garcia’s kitchen, I can forgive—he needed to eat. But kissing him? Like this? On the countertop? The scope of my deception is expanding, pulling Garcia into its web. All my choices are stacking up. They feel increasingly hard to justify.

Riff lightly strokes my thigh before he straightens up. In spite of everything, I’m overwhelmed by the urge to grab his face and kiss him again. The realization takes me aback.

The words slip out of me: “You scare me.”

His face falls, and I cringe with instant regret. “What d’you mean by that?”

I don’t respond at first, which seems to make things worse. Riff is looking at me with so much concern that there’s no way I can back out of this.

“I… I never had secrets. I didn’t have a reason to lie—to my family, to anyone—even if I wanted to. But you changed me in days.”

Riff’s eyes are shining. “When I saw you in your store window, you changed me in second.”

My eyebrows shoot up. That day is forever alive in my memory, but only as the first time I saw Riff. I never thought of it as the first time he saw me.

“You were standin’ there like some kinda picture in a frame.” He grins, and it’s so earnest that I almost feel like I’m intruding. “I remember you started smiling at something, and I really thought I was gonna pass out. Figured I was seeing things, maybe the paint fumes were making me crazy. But then you looked at me and…” He trails off.

I wish I could enjoy this moment, the warmth in his voice and the soft disbelief in the way he’s gazing at me, like this is all too good to be true. But a nagging feeling tightens my chest.

“The paint on your hands. You threw it on our flag, verdad? The mural by the basketball court?”

Riff deflates like a slashed tire. His smile disappears, replaced by an uncertain stare. Even though I know the answer, I wince when he nods.

“Was it your idea?”

“We always did stuff like that.” His fingers are picking at his belt. “Musta started years ago, with the Egyptian Kings. I didn’t come up with it.”

My throat feels heavy. Guilt is whirling inside me, seeking out the memory of Valentina’s words. “Riff, esto es… This should be harder for me, but it isn’t. It feels wrong that this is so easy.”

His shoulders stiffen. “Don’t. There’s no point beatin’ yourself up like that when it ain’t true. It was hard for you—you said no to me twice.”

I’m scrambling for a way to recenter my thoughts, clear my mind of these reservations. “If you never saw me, what would you have done?”

“What kinda question is that? I did see you.”

“You know what I mean. What would you be doing—where would you be? If you stopped throwing paint on our flags only because you met me, or if we’re doing this just because you want to change, no sé si…”

Riff scoffs, shaking his head. “I knew it. I knew Valentina said something to you, and that’s why you were all out of it today. Everything you’re sayin’ right now, that’s her talkin’. You know it ain’t true.”

This is not an answer. “What would you be doing, Riff?”

He rubs the back of his neck, and I cross my arms, waiting.

When he finally looks up, it’s as if he’s reluctantly reconciled himself to giving in. Riff chews his lip, his eyes looking at everything in the kitchen except for me.

“My whole life, the Jets were the only way to be. There was nothin’ else out there, even if I was lookin’ for it—and I wasn’t. They were somethin’ in nothing, and that was enough. Then when Tony killed that kid, everything just…” Riff swallows hard. “My head was splittin’ open; I needed to get out. But I was scared. To know for sure there ain’t no one and nowhere better for me to be. So, I stayed with my guys, ‘cause they had nothin’ else, too.”

He steps forward, taking my hand.

“I thought I was done. I was stupid and a chicken, and I’d be payin’ for it the rest of my life. I was ready to die like that. But when I saw you, when I met you… I knew there was someone else out there, just for me. I didn’t change ‘cause of you, and you didn’t show me I was doin’ wrong—I saw that already. You gave me somethin’ to run to.”

My heart is glowing a soft, sweet warmth. All of my doubts are fading into shadows. I rest my hand on Riff’s chest, and the blues of his eyes shine even brighter.

“You were stupid,” I murmur in agreement.

He grins. “Why ain’t I surprised that’s the only thing you picked up on?”

“And you’re still stupid.”

“Sure,” he nods. “But now I ain’t gotta choice, doll. You make me stupid.”

He curls a lock of my hair around his finger. Everything around him blurs out of focus, and I realize just how far gone I am. If this isn’t worth it, then nothing else in the world could be.

“Los dos somos idiotas. We’re both idiots.”

Riff smiles, like he already knew this was true. His lips touch mine, and we exhale identical little breaths, as if we’ve been waiting to touch each other for years.

*****************************************************************************************************

THURSDAY

Golden sunlight is streaming through the windows, warming up the whole café. I’m wiping down the counter, humming a non-existent tune to myself and counting down the minutes before I can make my way to Doc’s.

Even if Valentina tries to corner me again, seeing Riff yesterday has totally invigorated me. She needs to know he’s worth it for me, too, if she’s ever going stop trying to convince me otherwise. If I stride into Doc’s with confidence today, if I take whatever she tries to throw at me and deliver a calm and controlled rebuttal, there has to be a point where Valentina will finally accept that she has to give up.

And after that’s finished, Riff and I can find somewhere to be together. Not the park, if it’s crowded again. He mentioned having an apartment before—maybe we can go there? Ideally, anyplace where we could keep touching each other like we did in the café would be perfect. My skin starts to warm, thinking about the coolness of the countertop, his hand on my thigh, his lips on mine. The way Riff kissed me yesterday makes me seriously question his commitment to taking it slow. I know my own patience is wearing thinner and thinner with every second I spend with him.

The front door swings open, and I snap out of my daydream. “Anita? ¿Por qué estás aquí?”

She tries to smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Her face is noticeably gaunter than it was this morning, and she looks strangely drained, even though she’s only working the night shift today.

“Aren’t you finishing soon?” Anita asks, dodging my question.

“I still have twenty minutes. ¿Está todo bien?” She’s barely ever come to the café while I’m working.

Her lips tighten. “It’s…It’s about Luis—”

Not this again. I’ve already told Anita the details about Nardo’s stupid comments to me. She accepted them all with annoyed disbelief, followed by an incredibly unconvincing attempt at neutrality. If anything, she should have told Nardo he was being an idiot by now. Did she really come all the way here to lecture me, when she knows exactly why I turned Luis down?

I roll my eyes. “What is it now? If Nardo told you to talk to me, I’m going to—"

“No, Y/N,” she cuts me off brusquely. “El papá de Luis falleció".

My mouth falls open. “What? How? When did this happen?”

“We only heard this morning, after you left. They were both working in Garaje Torres last night. He said his chest was hurting, y se derrumbó. Luis took him to the hospital, pero it was too late.”

There’s painfully tight knot in my stomach. I can’t imagine Luis trying to save his father, how desperate and frightened he must have felt. How alone he must be feeling now. My heart clenches thinking about how kind and understanding he’s always been to me, even when he’s had no reason to.

“Luis told me his papá was the only person who came here with him. He doesn’t have anyone now.”

“He’s not alone,” Anita frowns. “Nardo and the boys are at his apartment now. We’re all meeting there soon, so don’t be scared if no one’s home after you finish work.”

“Espera, I should be there, too!”

She raises a single eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Por supuesto. Garcia’s in the kitchen, I’ll ask him if I can bring some food with me.”

“It would be nice, but I didn’t think you’d want to.” Anita pauses. “After you and Nardo…”

“He has nothing to do with this,” I say firmly. “I want to see Luis—he’s still my friend.”

Anita narrows her eyes as if I’m being incredibly naïve, but she doesn’t protest. “Nardo is very upset. Not just because of this.”

“I’m not talking to—"

“You’re not talking to him, I know, I know. Por Dios, ambos son tan dramáticos. Why can’t you just forget about it?”

“He started it,” I grumble.

Anita tilts her head at me. “Does that really matter anymore?”

I barely resist the urge to bang my head against the counter. Two days of silent treatment is a bigger grudge than I’ve held against Nardo before, but his grating condescension has never left such a sour taste in my mouth. Of course it’s silly to still be annoyed at him when something so terrible has happened. But that doesn’t make the idea of forgetting about it any more appealing.

Whatever happens with Nardo, though, the first thing I need to do is tell Riff I can’t meet him anymore. Otherwise, I have a feeling he’ll be standing listlessly outside Doc’s for the whole day, waiting for me to show up.

The lie slips out of me effortlessly. “Te veré en casa, but I need to stop by Doc’s. I’m asking Valentina about getting a job there.”

“You still haven’t done that?” Anita’s eyes flicker to my neck, lingering on Riff’s chain.

“It’s not because of…what you said,” I add hastily, before she can start to prod. “I just needed Nardo to remind me I have a duty to work more for our familia.”

Anita smirks. Even if she wants us both to get over it, I know she’s on my side.

*****************************************************************************************************

Confidence is the only thing that will stop Valentina from sequestering me in her living room before I can talk to Riff—even if I have to fake it. Shoulders firmly back, I stroll towards the front door of Doc’s, swinging it open without pausing to look inside. A vaguely familiar male voice rattles my courage, but I force myself to keep walking. I make a beeline for the first thing my eyes land on: the pinball machine.

“We’re still here, Riff, and you can’t be pretendin’ like we’re not.”

I peer over my shoulder. Diesel’s face is contorted in disbelief, too caught up in his tirade to notice me or anything else around him. Thankfully, he’s the only Jet in the store. There’s a dim light coming from the cellar, and if today is my lucky day, Valentina will stay down there until I get a moment to catch Riff alone.

He’s standing opposite Diesel, stacking packets of chewing gum next to an assortment of chocolate bars. My gaze lands on him just as his eyes snap away from me.

Riff’s cheeks are at least two shades paler than usual. He flashes a tight smile. “I know what pretendin’ is and this ain’t it.”

“You can work for that old witch all you want,” Diesel says, gesturing to the cellar. “You’re still command.”

“You want it? It’s yours, buddy boy.” Riff slaps him hard on the shoulder. “I’m givin’ it to ya.”

Diesel shoves Riff’s arm away. “Cut the crap. You’re the one who stepped up after Tony, not me. ‘Cause you knew we needed you just like we needed each other.”

“I know what I did,” Riff says sharply. “I did it ‘cause I thought it was me or no one. But that ain’t true. The Jets can keep on goin’ fine without me—else I’d stay, ‘cause you’re blood to me, and you know that ain’t pretend. Womb to tomb.”

“Sperm to worm. So, be there tomorrow.”

It’s a plea verging on an order, but Riff shrugs it off. “I’m steppin’ down.” His eyes drift to me, and his shoulders tense. If I distract him too much, he could noticeably fumble. I whip my head back to the pinball machine. I’ve never touched it before, but I run my hand over the glass as if it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

There’s a brief pause before Riff continues: “There’s no point in me stayin’. I’m beat, Diesel. I ain’t got it in me, not for a long time.”

“That’s what I’m saying! We gotta chance to end it, together. Tomorrow, at the docks—"

“I’m workin’—”

“Midnight at the docks tomorrow. I told the guys you’d be there.”

“Makin’ promises you can’t keep.” I can hear the smile in Riff’s voice. “Sounds like you’re steppin’ up already.”

“I’ll do it if you won’t.” It’s a low promise that tightens my chest. “Bernardo ain’t gonna know—”

My hand slips off the glass, hitting a button. The pinball machine explodes in a reverberating, violent vibration, hurling bright pink and yellow lights. I jump back, heart pounding.

“You spyin’ on us, senorita?” Diesel’s stare is boring into my head before I even turn around to face him. Riff is totally rigid. He’s looking at me as if he wants to shove me out the front door.

“It ain’t spyin’ just ‘cause you didn’t see her,” he says stiffly.

Diesel pays him no mind, continuing to leer. “I’ve seen you before.”

“I think you’re confusing me for someone else,” I retort faintly. Riff shoots me a glare. I can practically hear his voice, telling me to get out.

Diesel grins like he’s impressed I responded. He points a finger at me. “Gold dress. Dog Days Dance.”

The air seems to still around us. My skin freezes over, and I hold my breath, staring at Diesel as blankly as I can manage. The pinball machine is buzzing in my ears.

Riff sounds miles away. “Now you’re just runnin’ outta things to yak about.”

I don’t dare to look at him, but there’s a barely contained threat in his voice. It feels like a reminder and a warning, that however much Diesel may throw his weight around, there’s a limit to how far he can push. And that limit is fast being reached.

Diesel’s grin falters. “You’re not done with us if you’re still tryna tell me what to—”

A call from the cellar grabs all of our attention. “How many times did I tell you Riff, don’t clean that machine!”

There’s a slow thudding sound on the stairs before Valentina emerges, straining under the weight of a cardboard box. She stops in her tracks, barely glancing at me before she zeroes in on Diesel.

“You buy something, or you leave,” she says curtly.

Diesel throws Riff a look. This is who you’re working for?

Almost in response, Riff takes the box from Valentina’s hands. “Or you plannin’ on talkin’ some more?” he asks, unsmiling.

Frustration flickers across Diesel’s face. There’s no sense of failure in his eyes; if anything, they’re hardened in their determination. “I’m done talkin.” He nods at me and heads for the front door.

Valentina shifts her gaze to me as the door slams shut. She looks entirely devoid of energy. There’s no fight left in her sunken eyes anymore, no more questions left to me ask me. Her voice is still terse, though.

“Tú también. Buy something or get out.”

I grab the closest thing I can see, a packet of salted peanuts, and rush towards the cash register. Riff sets the cardboard box on the ground before he slips behind the counter. He snatches the bag from my hands.

“That was stupid, Y/N. Next time there’s a Jet in here, don’t come in.”

He glares at me, but his annoyance is like a blunt knife. There are rounded edges to his irritation, dulled by genuine concern. All the menace he had with Diesel has vanished, almost disconcertingly fast. I don’t understand how he can shift so quickly.

Valentina barks a laugh. “If you really want her to be safe, you’ll stop talking to her.”

“I tried, but she didn’t want me to,” Riff replies easily. I wonder how many of these exchanges they’ve had in the past few days.

Valentina huffs in response as she bends down, pulling out a few green pill bottles from the cardboard box. I rummage through my bag until I find some loose change.

“What was Diesel talking about, Bernardo and the docks?”

Riff opens his mouth to reply when Valentina jumps in again. “No. None of this in here.”

“I’m just talkin’ to a customer. Ain’t that allowed?”

She narrows her eyes. “Huh. Four shifts and now you’re an expert on jobs.”

“I only need one minute, por favor,” I say. Valentina’s lips purse together when I speak. The disappointment and exhaustion on her face makes my stomach shrivel up, compressing it into a raisin. She turns her back on us and starts stacking the bottles with unnecessary force.

I drop my voice to a whisper. “I can’t stay today.”

Riff nods like he expected this. “Someone died,” he says simply.

I stare at him, dumfounded. “Wha—how can you know that?”

“No Sharks on the streets. Diesel saw it, too. Only happens if one of you dies—overnight, and no one’s workin’ or fightin’ anymore, not for a couple days.” Riff pauses. “It’s nice.”

My forehead wrinkles with bewilderment. I don’t have the time now to dissect all the layers of that observation or Diesel’s comments, but there’s no way I’ll forget to bring it up when I see him again.

“It’s Luis’s father.”

“Oh.” Riff slides the coins from my palm to the counter, one by one. “That’s…that’s sad.”

“We’re all going to see him now, but can we meet tonight—on my fire escape?”

“You sure? Won’t you wanna be with your family?”

I pause to ponder his question. “I know I’ll want to see you.”

Riff smiles widely and forces it down as if he’s realized it may not be the most appropriate thing considering the circumstances. His face grows stern again.

“I’m serious, Y/N. You can’t be talkin’ to the guys like that, it’s not safe.”

“But you were here, too,” I whisper.

“That don’t make a difference.” He softens though, and I can tell he’s a little pleased at my words. Our hands brush as Riff passes over the packet of peanuts. All the warmth in my body concentrates on the inches of my palm where his fingers are lingering on mine.

Valentina slams a pill bottle on the counter next to me, and we both jump back. There’s a resolute decision in the set of her jaw. My stomach plummets, expecting the worst. It’s true that my confidence plan spiralled away out of my hands, but she didn’t physically drag me out of Doc’s today. That must be a good sign, right?

“Y/N. I can’t think about this anymore. He terminado con todo, no tengo más energía. I’m finished.” Valentina exhales a heavy breath. “You two keep hiding, fine. But not in here. It’s too much for me.”

My heart is shrinking, guilt clamming up my throat. “Perdón, I never meant to—”

“Don’t apologize,” Valentina says, not unkindly. “But I don’t want you inside my store again.”

*****************************************************************************************************

Aníbal and Braulio barely manage to dodge when Anita pushes open the front door to Luis’s apartment. The living room is half our size, but it’s absolutely crammed with people. Standing up, sitting on the armchair, balancing on the armchair arms, cross-legged on the floor; everywhere I look, there are Shark girls and Shark boys, engaged in a continuous hum of chatter. The small kitchen table is overflowing with trays and pans of food covering every square inch, filling the room with comforting aromas.

I scan the room and make a beeline for Luis. He’s flagged by Flaco and Nardo. I ignore my brother as I touch Luis’s arm. His eyes are lined red, shadowed with dark grey circles, but there’s an unexpected warmth to his smile when he sees me.

“Lo siento mucho, Luis. No puedo imaginar cómo te sientes, pero if there’s anything I can do to help—”

He cuts me off with a hug. There’s a faint smell of alcohol on his breath when he pulls away. “Gracias por venir, Y/N.”

I can feel Nardo watching me as I pull out a small parcel of baked goods from my bag, as well as a newly purchased packet of salted peanuts. “I’m sorry, it’s not a lot…”

“Don’t say that. Es más que suficiente.”

Something about Luis is throwing me off. He’s far more normal than I expected. When my mother died, I could barely bring myself to stand upright. He must still be in denial, and I can imagine the alcohol is helping with that.

A voice behind me calls Luis’s name. He flashes me a hollow grin. “Everyone wants to talk to me!” We sidestep past one another, and I watch him warily as he walks into a cluster of Sharks.

I’m trying to figure out how I can navigate past all these people to the kitchen table, when Nardo catches my hand.

“Y/N—"

“We don’t have to talk,” I reply quietly.

“I want to. It’s good you came.” His face is solemn and annoyingly sincere.

“Well, don’t get the wrong idea about it, por favor.”

Nardo instantly hardens. I pull away, tiptoeing and shuffling my way to the stacked table. The bag of baked goods balances perfectly on top of a tray wrapped in foil. I’ve barely squished the peanuts next to a pan of mofongo when Rosalia’s voice soars over the hum of chatter.

“Y/N, get over here!”

She’s in a huddle with Anita, Estella, Sebas, and Tino. I push my way over to them, and her face contorts with concern.

“That Jet in Doc’s, did he try anything with you?”

My mouth dries up. Did Rosalia see me and Diesel through the window? “How do you know about that?”

She looks at me like I’m crazy. “Remember, I warned you he was working in the store, el martes?”

Oh. “Por supuesto, I…I forgot you told me that. I was late for the café, so I didn’t go inside.”

It’s one more addition to all the lies I’ve thrown into the air. Everyone is staring at me, Anita included.

“Y/N never pays attention to the Jets,” she says with a strained smile, covering up for my stammer. The lies are hurtling through my mind now, impossibly fast to keep track of. I definitely didn’t tell Anita I saw a Jet in Doc’s today.

“Debes prestar atención,” Sebas warns me. He wraps his arm around Rosalia. “You don’t go there anymore. You need anything, tell me. I’ll get it for you.”

“Nardo needs to know,” Tino pipes up. “We should go tomorrow, see which gringo it is.”

My vision wavers into a blur. All this time, I’ve only been thinking about the Jets. What’s going to happen to Riff once Nardo finds out? Will they wait for him outside the store, and shove a nail in his ear? Would he fight back? The smell of mofongo is sickening now.

“How could Valentina do this?” Estella says to no one in particular.

Sebas curls his lip. “What do you expect? No es sorprendente. She married a gringo.”

The girls murmur in agreement, and my stomach churns with guilt. Valentina was only trying to look out for me. I’ve already drained her to the point where I’m banned from the store. Now everyone’s going to think she’s traitor—more so than they already do. All because of me.

I barely notice Anita grabbing my arm, pulling me away from the huddle. “You didn’t say anything about seeing a Jet today,” she murmurs.

My mind is splitting into a thousand pieces, forcing me to run on autopilot. “Valentina didn’t tell me about that. Recuerda, I told you all she said is she doesn’t need me.”

“Y el martes, with Rosalia?”

The lump in my throat is unbearably heavy. “I was meeting…I was meeting someone, and I just forgot she told me that, Anita, ¿bien? Yo, no sé qué más decir ..."

I bite my lip to stop myself from crying, and Anita’s eyes fly open. “¡No te enfades! I’m sorry, muñeca, forget I asked anything.

She rubs my arm, and it makes me feel even worse. Somehow, in a room full of people I know and love, there’s only person I need to see right now. And that’s only possible if I keep hiding and keep lying.

“So much is happening,” I say feebly.

“I know. I’ll take you home, un segundo. Nardo!” Anita guides us both towards him, navigating around the crowd.

He frowns at me immediately. “Y/N, ¿estás bien?”

I only nod in response. Anita and Nardo exchange concerned glances. “We’re leaving soon,” she says.

Nardo’s brows are still firmly furrowed. The worry in his eyes is suffocating. “I was going to stay here tonight, pero if you’re working late, I should be home.”

“No, no, don’t do that for me,” I jump in. “Estar con Luis.”

“¿Estás seguro? If you want me to stay, I’ll stay.

I shake my head. “Luis needs you. He shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

“He’s never going to be alone, muñeca. We’re taking care of him.”

First, Anita corrected me this morning, and now Nardo is doing it. They’re both right, though. Looking in this room, at all the people and all the food they brought, at Nardo who’s staying here overnight, how can I say Luis is alone?

“I believe you,” I reply. Nardo’s face softens. There’s an apology in his eyes, even if he won’t say it. And I definitely don’t feel deserving of stubbornly holding onto the moral high ground anymore.

Anita smiles at this silent reconciliation, like she’s planned it all along. She cranes her neck and waves someone over. It takes seconds for Luis to sidle up to us, a blissfully numb expression on his face and a beer bottle in his hand.

She touches his arm. “If you ever need to get out of here, for dinner or for the day, come over whenever you want. Siempre tienes una cama en nuestra casa.”

Nardo gazes at her with so much affection that I have to look away. “Anything you need, hermano,” he says, emphasizing it like he’s already said some iteration of this hundreds of times already.

Luis murmurs his thanks too quiet for me to hear—a small mercy, so I don’t have to feel even more twisted up than I already do.

I watch as he takes a swig from his beer bottle. He smiles when he catches me staring. “It helps,” Luis says, and I believe him.

*****************************************************************************************************

I’m pacing on my fire escape when Riff clambers up. “Everything’s fine,” I declare pre-emptively as soon as he gets to his feet.

“Well, that’s convincing.”

Seeing him is paradoxical, a painful relief. “It’s the truth.”

He leans down, kissing me chastely on the cheek. I can sense his apprehension. “If you wanna talk about it—”

There’s nothing I want to do less. “No.”

Riff’s lips press together, but he doesn’t challenge me. Instead, he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a squished Milky Way. “I got you somethin’—I paid for it,” he adds hastily,

“You’re very sweet.” I try to smile as I take it from him. My gaze drifts to his pocket. The idea hit me on the walk home, but it certainly seemed far easier to execute in theory.

“Do you have…uh…the, uh…” I rub my forehead and steel myself. “Do you have something to drink?”

Riff stares at me like he’s wondering whether he misheard me. His mouth opens and closes without saying anything. I would rather drop the idea than have to repeat myself, and I’m about to tell him to forget it when he reaches into his pocket.

He pulls out the flask, handing it to me with a forced casualness. When I unscrew the lid, restrained concern deepens his voice. “You ever drank before?”

The flask is as full as it was when I held it in the library. Memories of sparkling strawberry punch flicker through my mind. I nod and bring the flask to my lips.

Spicy flames burn down my throat. Whatever it is, it’s bitter, unpleasant, and strong enough to strip paint. I grimace and take another swig.

Riff’s eyebrows shoot up. “Y’know, it ain’t a good idea to drink when you’re sad.”

“Who said I was sad? I didn’t know him.”

He looks unsure of how to respond.

“I didn’t.”

“Alright.” He’s watching me warily, like I’m a bomb on the verge of exploding. “Where do you wanna go?”

I bite back my laughter; as if we have so many options. Hiding in a car. Hiding behind a tree. Hiding in a library. Hiding in a kitchen. My original plan for today seems so ridiculous now — going to his apartment, or anywhere else quiet with a locked door where we could be together. Instead, I went to a wake.

“I want to go to the docks,” I decide.

“Doc’s at night ain’t a good idea. And after what Valentina said—”

“No, the docks. That’s where you’re meeting Diesel tomorrow, verdad?”

“I don’t know if I…” Riff watches me take another sip, and he sharpens. “Take it slow, Y/N.”

I snort. Not that phrase again. “I’ll meet you outside,” I say as I turn towards the window.

“The guys are always at the docks. It’s too risky.” He’s frowning at me like I’ve completely lost my mind.

“Then we’ll go somewhere else,” I shrug.

“Can’t you just tell me what’s wrong?”

There’s a helplessness in Riff’s eyes that makes me want to cry. I blink hard and shake my head. “Nothing’s wrong.”

He tries to touch my arm, but I shrink away from him. “I’ll meet you outside,” I say, clutching his flask in one hand and my Milky Way in the other.

*****************************************************************************************************

We’re standing on the edge of a wide, wooden deck, stretching out before us in an unending path. The wind is rippling through waves underneath the wood. It’s too dark to make out the shape of the water, even though a weak streetlight behind us is doing the best it can to shed some light. This is exceedingly underwhelming.

“The docks are very ugly,” I contemplate out loud.

“I told you already, this ain’t a dock,” Riff replies gently. “It’s one of the old piers.”

“Si tú lo dices.” There’s a radiating warmth in my heart, blurring my sadness. I’ve significantly lightened the flask during my walk here, trailing a safe distance behind Riff. I take another gulp; even the burning has softened to a light tingle.

“If I had a gang, I’d bring them somewhere nicer than this.”

Riff raises a single eyebrow. “And how much d’you know about gangs?”

“I’ve seen the bruises on my brother’s hands. Cuts on his face, cuts on your face. I saw you and Luis fight outside Doc’s.”

“That was nothing,” he says dismissively. I take a few steps forward and Riff mirrors my movement. “Stay close, don’t walk out too far.”

I roll my eyes. "Eres tan condescendiente".

“Thanks.”

“It means you talk to me like I’m a kid.”

“Only if you’re actin’ like one.”

I glare at him and bring the flask to my lips. Riff jumps forward, yanking it out of hands.

“¿Qué haces?” I protest.

He holds onto my wrist and turns the flask upside-down over my palm. I gasp as at least four cold gulps worth of alcohol trickle through my fingers.

“You’re done,” Riff says firmly.

I narrow my eyes and wipe my hand on his t-shirt, scrunching it between my fingers. He doesn’t protest, but there’s a hint of a crooked smile on his face. It’s irritatingly attractive. I drag my open palm against him, ensuring that I’m making his shirt as damp as possible. My brows furrow with suspicion. How is his chest so firm? He feels confusingly, deceptively strong.

Riff’s breathing picks up, but I don’t pay him any attention. My hands rove over him in fascination, pressing scientifically over every inch of skin under his t-shirt fabric. I shift my gaze to his arms, and twin memories of a dizzying morning weeks ago hit me full in the face. The way his muscles rippled as he knocked down the O’Brien sign with my broom outside Café Rosa, and the way I replayed that sight in my head more times than I could count. And now, I’m running my hands over his chest.

My heart clenches dangerously as I realize what I’m doing. What Riff is letting me do. I drop my hands and steal a glance at him. He meets me with a heavy blue gaze that shines in the dark, sweeping goosebumps over my skin. I press myself closer into Riff; he’s as unmoving as a brick wall. It emboldens me enough to touch his shoulder and stand up my tiptoes. Riff remains frozen in place. His eyes are desperately searching mine. They dart down to my lips and stay there when I tilt my face up.

Our lips are almost touching when he pulls away like I’ve scorched him. “Not tonight,” he says unsteadily, shoving the flask into his pocket.

I drop back onto my heels with a whine. “Why?”

He looks at me sideways. “You really needa ask me that, doll?”

Riff is distractingly out of breath, but I still scowl at his words. Doll. Muñeca. “Don’t call me that.”

“Y/N?” he offers.

I scrunch up my face. “Es demasiado distante. Too formal.”

“Alright, I’ll work on somethin’ else. Eat your Milky Way.”

It takes a second for me to register the change in topic. “I already ate it when I was following you.”

Riff groans like I’m refusing to meet him in the middle. He rummages in his pocket and hands me another chocolate bar. “Eat this too.”

“But if that’s yours, I don’t want to take it.”

“No, I want you to have it. You need to eat.’”

I reluctantly unfurl the wrapper and take a bite. It’s squashed and melty—there’s a smudge of chocolate on my finger and I lick it off. Riff’s gaze lingers on me for a second before he swivels away, staring up at the night sky. Above us are shadowed, skeletal shards that I hadn’t noticed before, curving inwards like a metal ribcage. It’s as if been swallowed by a dilapidated iron whale.

Riff turns back, consciously avoiding my eyes. He outstretches his hand to take the now-crumpled Milky Way wrapper. I prod the doe-eyed, coquettish girl tattooed on his forearm. He jumps away from my touch.

“Is that your old girlfriend?”

“It’s my mom,” he deadpans.

I stare at him aghast, and his laugh warms me up. “I’m kiddin’. Wow, you’re really out of it.”

“I’m not out of anything,” I retort lamely.

He gives me a strange look, a blindsiding shift to concern. “Are you gonna tell me what happened today?”

I can tell he’s been holding onto the question for a while, waiting for a moment to spring it on me. I groan and walk away from him. “No me vuelvas a preguntar eso,” I call out.

The first two steps I take are not particularly noteworthy. On the third step, though, my foot does not meet wood. It plunges into a dark nothingness. My stomach drops and my scream lodges halfway in my throat.

Riff grabs my arm, yanking me back. “What the hell are you doing?!”

There’s real terror in his eyes, and I stiffen like a startled bird. He’s holding onto me so tight that my arm starts to twinge. The question is one I’ve been asking myself today. I have no idea how to answer it. Instead, I reach up and touch his bottom lip with my index finger. Its mesmerizing soft. Riff inhales shakily, and it fills me with a woozy sense of power. I trace along his lip in an unbreaking curve.

Riff clenches and unclenches his jaw. “I’m takin’ you home.”

I perk up. “We’re going to your home?”

He lets out the deepest sigh I’ve ever heard, and I wonder what’s stressing him out so much.

*****************************************************************************************************

“Someone’s watching us,” I mumble. The streetlights are glowing like a second, flickering set of stars in the sky as we speed along an empty sidewalk.

“There’s nobody here,” Riff replies. His hand hasn’t left the small of my back since we left the docks, propelling me forward.

“No, I can tell. My neck feels...funny.”

“Yeah? What does it feel like?”

I know he’s humouring me, but I don’t care. “It’s like needles in my skin.”

Riff chuckles, and it makes me want to kiss him. He pulls me to a halt and I’m about to ask what’s he doing when I look up. We’re at our apartment building—my apartment building.

I peer through the front doors; there’s no one in the entrance. Riff watches me warily as I fumble in my pocket for my keys.

“No te preocupes, I can walk,” I brush him off. “It’s just a few flights of stairs.” He’s blowing in the wind, tilting to the left. I sway my head to meet his gaze, and he pulls me upright. My keys fall from my hand as I flop myself forward into the warmth of his chest. Riff’s arms tighten around me. He smells like lemony cigarettes.

*****************************************************************************************************

“This is the last stairs. Staircase.”

Riff doesn’t acknowledge me. I consider telling him he’s being rude. He’s been frantically whipping his head back and forth with every step we climb.

“No te preocupes,” I grin. “If anyone sees us, say you were stalking me.”

Riff looks at me stony-faced, and I gulp. “That’s not funny.”

“That’s not funny,” he agrees.

We reach the landing, and I’m filled with a renewed energy. I drag him across the hallway to my front door. It takes a few tries for him to get my key in the lock, but I don’t interrupt his process. When I finally stride inside, Riff hesitates by the doorframe. His gaze tentatively flickers around the kitchen, taking in his surroundings; the table with four chairs, the bananas and oranges on the counter, the basket of dried clothes on the floor.

I’m not so far gone to be ignorant of what I’m doing. This isn’t just my bedroom. It’s my family’s home, and I’m letting Riff inside without any of them knowing. It’s a deception that I can mitigate right now.

“Close your eyes.”

He does it without question. I hold Riff’s hand and slowly navigate him to my room. When we pass by Nardo and Anita’s bedroom door, I lock eyes with Nardo and giggle. There’s a poster stuck on their bedroom door, created for one his matches last year. He’s practically growling in the illustration, which feels oddly fitting.

Once I slam my own bedroom door shut, Riff’s eyes flicker open. I sidestep the plants on the floor with a nimbleness that surprises me. He follows closely behind, sitting next to me after I collapse onto the mattress.

He picks at the bedsheet. “Who sleeps on lace?”

“Anita—my sister, she made it for me. She’s working late today.”

Riff nods slowly and kicks off his shoes. I sit up, shuffling nearer to him. We’re finally in some decent light again, and I take advantage of it greedily. Seeing him up so close, I feel like I’m studying the map of his face. All the scars and marks, each of the faded brown freckles on his neck.

I touch the half-moon scar on his cheek. Riff sits perfectly still. His eyes follow me as I trace over the curve, memorizing its shape.

“That was one of the Kings,” he says, strangely unnerved. It can’t be a happy memory; he’s holding his breath, like he’s hoping I won’t ask any questions.

There’s a smaller jagged mark above his eyebrow. I touch it and Riff relaxes. We’re back on steady ground. “That was Diesel.”

I try to connect the meandering dots in my mind. There was something about Diesel, a question or answer about him that’s totally escaping me now. A different question pops up in its place. “Why would Diesel hurt you?”

“He’s like my kid brother. Didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

“Nardo would never hurt me.”

“’Cause you’re his kid sister. It’s different.”

“My brother is a good person,” I say accusatorily.

Riff pauses. “I believe you.”

We stare at each other in a heavy silence. He’s being uncharacteristically quiet, but his steady gaze is deepening the mellow warmth between us. The heat of it flares up my skin.

I start unbuttoning my cardigan. Riff lets out a strangled yelp. “Don’t do that!”

“But it’s hot,” I say, genuinely confused.

He scrambles off the bed and slides the window open. The air doesn’t feel any less stuffy.

“That made no difference,” I inform him as he sits back next to me. When I reach for the top button again, Riff lurches forward, putting his hand over mine.

“C’mon. Help me out here.”

It’s a strained plea. My eyes drop to both our hands, resting on my cardigan. A fresh wave of giddiness rushes over me, like I’ve just chugged down three of Riff’s flasks. I look up at him hazily. He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. His fingers stiffens on top of mine.

I press closer, and our hands fall away from my cardigan. My knees edge to either side of him until I fall unceremoniously onto his lap. Riff inhales sharply. He reaches instinctively for my back, resting his hand there for a second before he snatches it away. Strands of hair are falling into his eyes, now widened and blazing blue. I push his hair into a swoop, away from his flushed pink forehead. Riff’s fingers dig into the mattress.

Every part of me needs to feel his lips. I curve my arms around his neck, leverage I need to press deeper. His jaw clenches. My heart flips when his hand finally jumps to my waist, holding me there. I touch his neck lightly, and his pulse pounds against my fingers. He groans when I smile, which makes me smile even more. There’s only the faintest hint of inhibition in Riff’s eyes now, a paper-thin barrier between his lips and mine.

“You done?” His breath is soft and uneven on my nose.

I nod, change my mind, then shake my head no.

Riff’s hand presses harder against my waist. I’m ready, waiting for him to pull me into him.

Instead, he slides me off his lap. We groan simultaneously, like we’ve hit each other over the head with a hammer.

“Just…go to bed,” he says, sounding entirely drained. He rakes an agitated hand through his hair, ruffling it even more. “Go to bed, Y/N.”

I point a firm finger at him. “No soy tu Jet. You don’t tell me what to do.”

He gently pushes my hand away, smiling a little. There’s a pink, healing scar on his forearm that flashes across my vision. A damp recollection floats to the surface. A red gash in the rain.

I frown, my body cooling to a chill as I sew together loose threads of memories.

“That night in the storm, outside Doc’s. You told me Luis did this.”

Riff doesn’t reply. He reads my face for what feels like an eternity, gauging the best way to respond.

“He threw somethin’ at me,” he says finally. “A brick or a rock.”

My mind is sizzling like a burnt-out bundle of wires. “Oh.”

“It wasn’t a rumble—it was after that kid, the Puerto Rican kid got jumped.”

“By the Jets.”

“By the Jets,” he says.

I don’t know why my eyes start to sting. He’s talking faster now, picking up steam like he’s grateful for the change in subject.

“Action gotta nail in his ear, so this was really nothin.’ And I deserved it too, even if I didn’t know they were gonna do that. After everything I did, he shoulda hit me with a…”

Riff trails off. His face contorts in terror as I roughly wipe away a tear with the back of my hand.

“I’m sorry, don’t stop, I—"

His hand shoots out, grabbing onto my arm. “What is it? What happened?” Accumulated worry is spilling out of him. It’s like I’ve cut something loose. Riff’s eyes are frantic, brows knitted together. “I’m an idiot, I shouldn’t have talked about that fight—"

The tears are falling fast now. “It’s not that. I can’t …” My whole body is shaking with heaving sobs.

He touches my cheek gently, like he’s afraid he’ll make me cry even more. “Tell me,” he says, insistent and firm. There’s something reassuring in his steadiness, even though I can tell he’s struggling to maintain it.

The words take hold deep in my heart and find their way up. “I don’t want you to be my secret.”

He stares at me, perplexed.

“I don’t want to lie and hide— estoy harto de, I’m sick of hiding. I need to be with you. And it’s not fair.” I inhale a shuddering breath. “I’m not… choosing you over my family, or anyone else. It’s not a choice if I can’t control it.”

Riff strokes my cheek with his thumb, waiting until he’s sure I’m finished. He’s still frowning, puzzle pieces clicking into place behind his eyes. “This is why you’re so upset?”

I nod.

The crease between Riff’s eyebrows slowly disappears into nothingness. All the angles of his face seem to soften as his lips curve upwards. He smiles and he looks so adorable that it distracts me momentarily from my self-righteous anger. Only momentarily.

I push him back, grab a pillow, and chuck it at his face. He dodges it easily. “Don’t smile!”

“No, I know it ain’t funny, I just…” He stammers off, still grinning at me. “Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s ain’t funny.”

“You already said that.” I try to frown but it’s frustratingly difficult when he’s beaming like this.

Riff shakes his head at me. “You just make me happy.”

Now, I’m scowling. “Aren’t you listening? We need to figure this out! And after Valentina today, I can’t meet you at Doc’s anymore. We have to meet somewhere else tomorrow, and if its Needle Park or the library again, I’m going to—"

I’m gesturing wildly and Riff grabs onto my hands. “But we’re gonna figure it out. ‘Cause you want to. ‘Cause this is worth it.”

His smile hasn’t faltered for a second. “It’s your fault,” I say, an accusation with no weight to it. “You made me like this. I can’t go back now.”

“Alright, I’m sorry,” Riff replies. He doesn’t sound the least bit remorseful. “I…” His mouth snaps shut.

“What?”

Riff’s expression is suddenly unreadable. “You’re not gonna remember any of this,” he says slowly, like he’s just realized it. Like he wishes it wasn’t true.

My curiosity is officially piqued. “Yes, I will. Tell me.”

Riff’s eyes break away from me, darting around my bedroom. He stares at my money plant. “Tomorrow, can you meet on 72nd Street, at the subway station? Uptown side. I wanna take you somewhere.”

“Yes,” I say, drawing out the single syllable. “But what were you really going to say?”

He makes a strangled noise. “Alright, go to bed.”

The way he shuts down so quickly makes me laugh. My interest grows even more. “¡Espera, espera, dime! Now I need to know.”

“Nope.”

I push his shoulder, but he doesn’t move. “Tell me, Riff.”

“Go to sleep, girly girl,” he drawls.

A bubble of laughter escapes me. “What is that?”

“I gotta call you something,” he says, taking mock offence. “There’s no winning with you.”

“No, no. I…like it.”

Riff’s eyes start to sparkle. “Really?” His crooked grin reappears, and it sparks my self-righteous anger again. So, he’ll still tease me, even though he’s refused to kiss me twice tonight.

I glower at him. “¿Sabes qué? Good night.”

I flop onto the bed, facing away from him. Riff laughs as he lies down. His arm falls over me and I push it away. He doesn’t move a muscle. I pat behind me, find his hand again and put it back.

Riff pulls me closer, kissing my shoulder over my cardigan. I sigh and squirm against him. He should be too tall, too lanky to fit me this well. Instead, he’s reassuringly warm and safe; I want him to wrap around me entirely. His hand moves away to my hair, twirling and untwirling ringlets around his finger.

“I’m not tired,” I mumble. Riff shakes a little like he’s holding in laugh, but he doesn’t respond. He keeps twirling and untwirling, twirling and untwirling.

*****************************************************************************************************

A cold breeze brushes against me. My eyelids flutter open, and I look out at my open window. Riff’s hand isn’t on me anymore. I squirm around, panic flaring. He’s rolled over onto his back, looking scarily still—his chest is barely moving. His nose twitches, and I wonder if he can sense me watching him.

There’s a delicate patterned imprint on his left cheek, an unavoidable consequence of sleeping on these lace pillowcases. I touch the mark gently. His eyes are still closed, but his lips break into a smile. I pull away with a gasp.

“You’re awake!”

“Your sister’s comin’ home any second,” he murmurs, sounding hoarser than usual.

I prop myself up on my elbow. “I’m fine now,” I say with conviction. “You can kiss me.”

“You’ve only been sleepin’ twenty minutes.”

“So what?”

Riff’s eyes flutter open, piercing through my bleariness. “So, you’re lying.”

My elbow wobbles traitorously, and I collapse headfirst into my pillow with a huff.

His voice is playfully consoling. “If we don’t do everything today, we gotta reason to see each other tomorrow.”

I pout into my pillow. “You still need a reason to see me?”

Riff is silent for so long that I jerk my head up to make sure he’s still here.

“I don’t need a reason,” he says quietly.

The bedsheets ripple as I squirm around to face him. “Don’t be sad.”

“I’m not.” He has strange, faraway eyes, even though he’s looking right at me. I miss how happy he was twenty minutes ago.

I bob forward and kiss his nose, a sneak attack. That makes him grin. We lay there for a while, quietly looking at each other, neither of us feeling itchiness of the lace bedding. His chest is rising and falling normally now, a reassuring sight.

My eyelids start to dip. I fight against the drowsiness, just so I can keep looking at him. Riff smiles softly like he knows what I’m doing. He strokes the imprinted lace pattern on my cheek, lulling me back to sleep. I want to protest, but every fiber of my being is enjoying the feeling too much, stopping me from stopping him.

“No me dejes,” I whisper. Riff pulls me into him, and I bury my face into his neck. I drift away contented, knowing he understands me.

*****************************************************************************************************

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