Young Love Dies Hard: The Young Brothers, Book 1 by Nikki Lane (old books to read txt) 📗

“Okay.”

He headed toward the toiletries while I made a beeline for the shoes. I perused the aisles, trying to find a pair that wasn’t covered in glitter or topped with an obnoxious flower. I pulled out a pair of six-inch stilettos with a clear heal and silver straps that crisscrossed over the foot. They looked like something I’d wear to work. Who the hell would want to wear these outside a strip club?

I shoved them back into the box when two more people joined me in the aisle. The girl had a tight grip on her boyfriend’s hand as she used the other one to pull out a pair of shoes. I stole a few glances as they murmured to one another, talking so close their lips almost touched. He said something that made her laugh and then their lips really did touch. It was just a quick peck, but his hand grazed the side of her cheek. You had to be blind not to see the affection in that gesture.

I wandered to the other side of the aisle. After considering three different flip-flops, I was still undecided.

“The blue ones.” Jacob stood behind me, hands full of body wash, razors, and a loofah.

I looked down at my feet. “You think so?”

“Definitely.”

“Has it been fifteen minutes already?”

“Twenty, actually.”

“Sorry.” I put Aunt Meg’s sneakers in the shoebox and left the flip-flops on.

“No big deal. Figured I’d find you here.”

“Why is that?”

“Girls, shoes, just a lucky assumption.”

I smiled and he followed me to the register.

“Sure one pack of razors is going to be enough?” I asked.

We waited in line behind a young girl with a cart full of diapers and baby food. A fussing newborn was strapped to her chest and an impatient toddler was begging her for a piece of candy from the large selection.

Jacob looked down at his purchases. “Thought it was time.”

Without thinking about it, I reached out and brushed my free hand over his cheek. “I like the scruff. It suits you.”

His complexion reddened a little, and I pulled my hand away.

As we walked back to the truck, plastic Target bags in hand, a small breeze carried a savory smell along with it. It made my empty stomach grumble, and I darted my gaze around the rest of the strip mall, trying to find its source.

I walked a few steps in the direction of the smell until coming upon El Coyote. A Mexican flag was illuminated in the front window along with a faux oversized cactus plant with a sombrero resting on it. Spanish music pumped through the little speakers situated on either end of the window.

“Hungry?” I asked Jacob.

He gave the front of the building a onceover. “Kind of looks rundown.”

“Those are the best places.” An older Hispanic couple walked in—a good sign. “Come on,” I said with a smile. I didn’t bother to wait for an answer before heading inside.

The dining room was dimly lit with tea lights and industrial looking lamps hanging over each table.

The hostess greeted us with a warm smile and led us to a booth. The room was bustling with laughter and clinking glasses. A live band was tucked in the corner.

We sat down, and I placed my Target bag in the corner of the booth.

The waitress came right to our table. “Can I get you two something to drink?”

I scanned the menu. “Hmm, margarita?”

She smiled and nodded then looked to Jacob.

“Water’s fine.”

“Okay, I’ll give you a few minutes to look over the menu.”

I peered at Jacob as he considered what to order. He adjusted his glasses, and I had deduced over the last few days that it was a nervous tic.

A few minutes later, and the waitress reappeared with my margarita and Jacob’s water. We both ordered the fajitas, and she sped off to another table.

“So, tell me what you’ve been up to.” I dipped a chip into salsa.

He shrugged. “High school, college. Worked on a farm for a few years.”

I leaned back in the seat. “How are your parents and brothers?”

“Good. Noah’s in college back home. And Caleb is working for my dad’s real estate company. He helps run the west coast branches.” He took a sip of water. “Are you still doing the ballet thing?

“No.”

“Really? That’s all you used to talk about. I thought it was your dream to become, like, top ballerina or something.”

“Prima Ballerina.”

“Yeah, that.”

“It didn’t exactly work out.” I had quit when I started to worry that it was too much of a financial burden on Aunt Meg and Uncle Jim.

The waitress came back with two sizzling plates, and I inhaled my food—including the margarita.

“What’s with the undecided major thing?” Jacob stabbed at his plate and shoveled a forkful of food into his mouth.

“It’s a decision I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life. I want to make sure it’s the right one.” I took a sip of my margarita.

He gave me a disapproving look. “Don’t you have to claim a major by your junior year?”

“I’m close,” I said, cocking one eyebrow. “We can’t all be overachievers, can we?”

“There’s a difference between being an overachiever and being highly motivated.”

I rolled my eyes and held up my glass a little higher. “Well, I’m highly motivated to finish my drink.” I took another long sip.

The band started to pack up, and the dining room crowd dwindled.

“We’ll be closing the dining room soon, but there’s more music at the outside bar,” she said when she came to clear the plates. “Can I get you another margarita?”

“Sure,” I said. “Why not?”

“I can bring it to you outside. You can leave your bags with me, if you want, until you’re ready to leave.”

I slid out of the booth, the margarita sending a warm contentment all the way down to my toes. Jacob looked at his cellphone—to check the time I assumed because it hadn’t rung.

“You up for it?” I asked him.

“Sure,” he said.

Outside, the patio was lined with paper lanterns and packed with people. There was nowhere to