Ariel Beckham.
“They look like they hate each other.” Hannah whispers beside me.
“Ramirez is smoking hot!” Brody chimes in, leaning back smugly.
I glance over at them—Ramirez and Michael, locked in some tension.
“No, Michael is way cooler!” Noah pipes up, dropping the bag of ice onto our table, we are a few feet away from the older group.
“You don’t even know him,” Lucia sneers at her cousin, rolling her eyes. Through it all, I can’t shake the way Ramirez’s eyes lock onto me, how he saw through my frustration. He knows I’m upset, and I hate that he can read me so easily. But even worse, I hate that I couldn’t hide it from him.
What do I even want from him? I told him I want nothing to do with him, made it clear, but then he disappears for a few days, and I end up like this? Anxious
