West Side Love Story

Book Preface

The heavy bass thumping through strategically placed speakers around the rooftop club’s indoor section pounded to the matching beat of Mariana Capuleta’s throbbing headache and the syncopated strobe lights blinding her. Of course, it didn’t help that the guy gyrating his pelvis into her backside had ignored the not-interested glare she’d given him. Twice. Nor did the girl on Mariana’s right, repeatedly hip-bumping her to the bom bom bom rhythm of Maluma’s latest hit.
“Ay, watch it!” Mariana yelled, ducking under the elbow of the husky guy flailing in front of her.
He flashed a smile, his chin jutting to the song’s beat as he moved closer. He eyed her black, formfitting tank dress, his interest snagging on the amount of leg the midthigh hem exposed. She resisted the urge to tug down the material, which hit a couple of inches higher than she preferred. That’s why she rarely borrowed from her shorter, petite-framed sister’s closet. But earlier tonight, when Mariana had stopped by Cat’s place after finishing her shift at the hospital, her younger sister had guilted Mariana into slipping on the stretchy dress to ring in the new year together.
“You rarely do anything fun,” Cat had accused, before throwing her ace on the table. “C’mon, girl, you know you don’t want me to go alone.”

Ahhhh, the little sneak knew Mariana’s weak spot. Since their teen years, she’d often been Cat’s—or any of their sisters’—wingwoman. The responsible one making sure her younger siblings stayed safe.
That’s why, instead of a quiet night of The Great British Baking Show streaming with a glass of cabernet, Mariana found herself a human pinball bouncing off her much more excited . . . more inebriated . . . fellow revelers.
The elbow flailer–turned-ogler licked his lips as he gave her body several once-overs, paying particular attention to her cleavage. Hunger glinted in his eyes. Biting his lower lip, he hip-swiveled closer, arm extended to place his beefy hand on her right hip.
No Oye, wanna dance? from this guy. Like everyone else out here, he took it for granted that braving the packed dance floor signaled her willingness to partner with anyone who approached her regardless of whether they struck her fancy.
Before she could put her palm on his shoulder to maintain some distance between her torso and his sweaty one, a young woman wearing a backless, sparkly halter dress slid in front of Mariana. Draping her arms around the guy’s shoulders, the woman plastered herself against him. The guy’s hand slid from Mariana’s hip to the girl’s. Grinning, he ducked his head to greet her with an openmouthed kiss. Seconds later, the couple bumped and grinded in a sensuous groove that would have had the nuns at Mariana’s old junior high breaking out their rulers.
The DJ mixed into a popular J.Lo song, and the crowd swelled around Mariana in a claustrophobia-inducing crunch. She coughed, gagging under the cloudy mix of perfume, cologne, and perspiration.
Dios mío, at twenty-nine she was getting too old for this scene.
Then again, it had never really been her scene no matter her age. More like Cat’s. Who had managed to get lost somewhere in the melee. When the blonde beside Mariana resumed her go-to hip-bump move, Mariana threw in the towel. Water and then fresh air were in order before she asphyxiated from the cloying atmosphere.
“Excuse me. Perdóname,” she repeated as she pushed her way through the crowd. Lifting up on her toes, she craned her neck, searching for her sister’s gold dress near the restroom area. Between the swarm of bodies, the glare of the strobe lights, and the blasts of fog billowing from the DJ stand, finding her pint-size sister proved a fruitless endeavor. This place had to be pushing the fire-code limit.
The line to order from the bar was three people deep, so Mariana wove her way to the far end, closer to the glass doors leading to the outside terrace.
“Water?” she called to the barback. She mimed taking a drink and mouthed the word at his raised-brow inquiry.
“Hey, mamacita, lookin’ good.”
The thick drawl and beer breath wafting along her cheek had Mariana ducking to the side. Mr. Dirty Dancing with the pelvic thrusts on the dance floor had followed her. Great.
She shook her head and waved him off with a flutter of her fingers. “Not interested.”
“C’mon. We were having fun.” His drunken slur garbled the words into one long string of syllables.
Despite the dim lighting, she noticed his glassy, bloodshot eyes, the constricted pupils dotting their centers. A sweaty sheen blanketed his flushed cheeks and pale face. Classic signs of inebriation she’d noted countless times over the years as an ER nurse.

“Lemme buy you a shot.”
“No thanks. I’m good.”
He listed to the side, falling against a tall, broad-shouldered man who

stood with his back to them. The man pitched forward, amid complaints from others around them. Thankfully, the woman standing belly to the bar in front of Mariana turned, holding aloft two plastic cups with lime wedges teetering on their rims. As the woman eased by, trying not to spill her drinks, Mariana shifted to take her place. Pointedly ignoring the drunkard and the commotion he’d created behind her.
Rather than take the hint and get lost, the jerk made the mistake of palming her butt cheek.
Fuming, she spun around to plant her hand on his chest, stiff-arming him away. “Back off!”

Glassy eyes wide with shock, the jerk stumbled backward.
“Hey! I’ve been looking all over for you!”
Mariana blinked at the friendly greeting from the tall, broad-

shouldered, and—now that he faced her, she noticed—really hot guy the drunkard had bumped into. His wide mouth curved with an amiable smile that had laugh lines crinkling the edges of dark eyes. Eyes that, unlike those of many around them, appeared clear. Lucid. And if she wasn’t mistaken, they currently telegraphed an are-you-okay message at her.
She shied away as he reached an arm out, then realized he did so to take her cup of water from the barback.
“The rest of our group’s outside. Wanna go find them?” The stranger tipped his head at the expansive windows overlooking the patio. An invitation, rather than an expectation that she would readily follow.
The drunkard started to complain, but the newcomer’s features hardened into a fierce glare. The muscle in his jaw ticked as he rocked forward on the balls of his feet in a ready-to-pounce stance should the inebriated guy try a dumb move. Apparently not so sauced that he’d lost all ability for rational thought, the handsy jerk slunk away.
Intrigued—maybe even slightly charmed, though she could have dealt with the jerk herself—Mariana tilted her chin up to find her handsome savior staring at her. His worry-tinged expression softened the angular features of his deeply tanned face in a compelling combination that had her unable to look away. The sincerity in his dark eyes spoke to her. Calmed the pulse she hadn’t even realized was racing.
He tipped his head toward the patio again. Another polite invitation for her to join him. Intrigued, she nodded. His lips curved in a tempting smile, and he shot her a flirtatious wink a second before dipping his shoulder to forge a path through the crowd. Mariana grabbed on to the back of his sports coat, creating a two-person chain that allowed her to stick close to him, as if doing so were natural.
Moments later, he pushed open the double-paned glass door, holding it and stepping slightly aside for her to exit first. Her bare shoulder inadvertently grazed his chest as she squeezed by. The friction sent pinpricks of awareness shimmying across her collarbone. A fresh breeze rushed over her, dispelling the oppressiveness of inside and gifting her with a hint of his woodsy, slightly spicy cologne. Desire curled in her belly. It spiraled lower with unexpected intensity, and she nearly dropped the cup of water he handed her.