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Watching Jess peel an orange is a little like watching a pack of feral dogs tear into a kill, and Lupe can’t pull her eyes away.
Jess punctures the peel with both thumbs and sends juice spilling over her palms, down her forearms, onto the table. She pulls the peel away from the fruit, discards it on the table top, and licks the juice off her hands. Lupe stands frozen in the doorway as Jess glances up at her, lips still pressed against her own palm.
She lifts her mouth away from her hand slowly, pulls a wedge apart from the rest of the orange, and holds it out to Lupe. “Want some?”
Lupe blinks, centers herself, and considers it. “You’re gonna taste like citrus for days,” she says. She grabs the orange slice and takes a seat next to Jess.
A wide, confident grin spreads across Jess’ face. She breaks off a wedge for herself and pops it into her mouth. “I could taste like pine sap and I’d still get laid more than you.”
Lupe scoffs. “You fucking wish.”
“Sounds like betting words to me, Striker.”
“Do you even have money left to bet? You give Bev half your paycheck every week in pants fines.”
Jess smiles wistfully. “And it’s worth every dollar. A butch in pants holds some serious power, my friend.”
“I know the power of a butch in pants,” Lupe grumbles, and then, too late, she realizes what she said.
To the credit of Jess’ one track mind, she doesn’t seem to notice the possible implication of Lupe’s words. She’s too busy digging the seeds out of the center of the orange, plunging her fingers into the fruit’s flesh and sending juice cascading onto the table again.
Lupe shoves the slice of orange Jess gave her into her mouth, buying time for her brain to refocus. The orange slice bursts between her teeth, tart and sweet, and all she can see are Jess’ fingers as they break the orange apart into its last three pieces. The way they maneuver each slice, one by one, into her mouth. The shine of juice on her fingertips until she licks it away.
And fuck, Lupe doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing.
She’s not catching feelings for her best friend. She wouldn’t. She can’t.
They’re brothers—hermanos—and they have been since day one. The moment they locked eyes across the field at try outs, they knew they’d found their people. Two nights after moving to Rockford, they found Vi’s bar and tested the waters there together. Almost every night since, they’ve gone there and talked each other up to the girls inside. They compare notes, cover for each other if one gets back earlier, and it’s the most cared for Lupe has ever felt.
Being friends with Jess is the most chosen Lupe has ever felt.
She’ll be damned if she lets herself do something stupid that could ruin all of this.
Lupe holds her hand out across the table, waiting. Jess raises an eyebrow.
“I thought you were betting me who could get the most girls,” Lupe says. “Or have you come to your senses and chickened out?”
The grin returns to Jess’ face and she smacks her hand into Lupe’s, squeezing it tightly as they shake. “You’re on.”
“This week only and you can’t count someone you’ve already slept with.”
Jess nods, releasing Lupe’s hand and standing at the table. “Winner gets?”
Lupe stands to be eye level with Jess and offers a shrug. She hadn’t thought this far ahead. “Cleats cleaned by the loser?”
Jess tuts and shakes her head. “Not a sweet enough pot, Garcia. Try again.”
“Well, you’re the picky one. You decide.”
And Lupe knows by the shit eating grin spreading across Jess’ face that giving her this much power was a mistake. She’s made a critical misstep, and there’s no going back now.
“Loser has to cook the winner breakfast. And no oatmeal bullshit. Actual breakfast.” Jess is positively glowing.
Lupe groans. “Come on. Why does it have to be something domestic?”
“Cause you hate it, and you’re gonna lose,” Jess says happily. She claps a hand against Lupe’s back and heads out of the kitchen.
“You better brush up on your egg cracking skills,” Lupe calls after her. “I like mine sunny side up!”
All she hears is Jess’ laughter carry across the living room and up the stairs, growing fainter until Lupe is alone in silence, the taste of citrus lingering on her tongue.