Cubanita Read Online Free PDF Page B

to be nervous about. Andrew’s funny, he’s cool, he’s…
    Mi vida, por qué te estás enredando en algo nuevo ?
    What? Who said that? Great, now I’m hearing Mami’s voice again. Shoo, go away!
    â€œSpends half her day on the Internet, then bakes?” I ask, trying to focus on Andrew’s explanation. I won’t go any farther than that. What if he’s kidding again?
    â€œYeah, she runs a home business. She takes Internet orders, then bakes the meanest Key lime pies you’ve ever tasted.”
    â€œReally? We’ll just have to see about that. My mom makes a killer Key lime pie too.”
    â€œYour mom? But you make her out to be this flag-waving Cuban lady who’d, if anything, be making flans, not Key lime pies.”
    â€œOh, but she does. Don’t get me wrong. She makes a killer flan, too, but I bet you my mother’s Key lime pie is better than your mother’s Key lime pie.”
    He fakes injury, looking around to see if other coffee-sippers are listening in on the challenge. “Yeah? Well, I’ll have her overnight one tomorrow, then we’ll find out who’s the real Queen of Key lime.”
    â€œFine.” I cross my arms with a grin.
    â€œFine.”
    â€œYour mother doesn’t stand a chance.” I offer my most childish competitive spirit.
    â€œAnd yours doesn’t stand a shance .” His lips press together and his eyes open wide, as he awaits any flying objects that may suddenly come his way.
    Oh, so now he’s mocking my mom? “That’s so not funny,” I tell him, dead serious.
    His expression changes to one of deep concern. “What’s not?”
    â€œWhat you said.”
    â€œWhat? The shance thing?”
    â€œYes.”
    His eyebrows draw together. “But you made fun of your mom’s accent yourself! So now I can’t make fun of her?”
    â€œNo. I can make fun of her. You can’t.”
    â€œYou can’t be serious.”
    No answer.
    He watches my face carefully. “Isa, I’m sorry. Really. I was only messing with you.”
    No answer.
    He tilts his head and looks me dead in the eye. I stare back at him, meeting his scowl with my own. Then, I can’t help it, and the corners of my lips turn up. He grins big, pointing a long finger straight at my nose, and almost immediately I fall apart. “You almost had me!” he cries.
    â€œDammit! I can never hold a serious face!” I throw thenapkins at him again, and again, and again. “Jerk! Jerk! Jerk!”
    â€œYou almost had me!” he repeats, and in a surprise move, leans in and gathers my hands in his, humming to himself, pleased.
    Okay, this is weird. Nice, but weird. So this is what another guy’s hands feel like after two years of holding Robi’s. Actually, it’s more than nice, it’s butterfly-inducing. I can handle this. We’re just holding hands, no big deal. I lean forward, feeling my arms squeeze my chest, creating a great display of boobage.
    He’s going to get the wrong impression, my mother’s voice echoes in my brain. What the hell? Someone get her out of here! “Shut up,” I murmur softly.
    â€œExcuse me?” Andrew’s eyebrows sneak up.
    â€œNothing.” I smile.
    He glances around, looking for anyone to whom I might be directing my order, then decides it’s no one. “You’re freaking me out, you know that?” But he smiles again, and I know he’s really kidding. Grabbing his paper cup, he downs the rest of the macchiato. “Let’s go somewhere.”
    It’s not really a suggestion. It’s a declaration. I shrug an okay, toting my half-drunk mocha frap in one hand, hanging on to Andrew with the other.
    â€œHere, take these back to your mom.” He pushes the Starbucks napkins toward me on the table. “They’re not from Wendy’s, but they still work the same.”
    I laugh again.