honor, I would have asked him if he was dying or something.
On the other hand, it wasn’t as if Sacha knew how ruthless he was. “I should have smothered him with a pillow when I had the chance, I swear.”
Sacha cracked a big smile as I tore off another piece of cinnamon roll and ate it. “You said he’s only a little older than you?” I nodded. “You’re the youngest?” I nodded again. “I’m the youngest of five by a lot. It’s a baby thing. They still call me Sasquatch.”
My mouth gaped for a second before I remembered there was bread inside of it. “Sasquatch?”
“Sasquatch,” he confirmed. “They’ve called me Sacha maybe twice in my entire life. The rest of the time is ‘that damn Sasquatch’ or just ‘Sasquatch.’”
“Girls or boys?”
“Four sisters.” He shook his head as if having a flashback of going through something traumatizing with them. “They were the same way with me as Eli is with you.”
“They used to take craps and purposely not flush the toilet?” I asked with a snort.
Sacha grinned, raking a hand through the longer hair at the top of his head. His tattoos popped against the pale skin beneath the wide bands of ink striping the length of his arm. “Just as bad; they’d leave their tampons all over the place. When I was really young—my oldest sister is almost fourteen years older than me—they’d put dresses on me and tell me that our parents named me Sacha because I was really a girl.”
Somehow I managed to hold back the snort rising through my nose and keep my features even and serious as I asked, “What you’re trying to tell me is that you’re not a girl?”
He stared at me. “Remember when I told you I thought you were funny? I changed my mind. You’re not.”
All I could do was just smile despite the pain that shot through the lower half of my face.
The effort he was putting into not laughing was completely obvious, especially as he raised his dark eyebrows. “Don’t think I didn’t hear you call me Sassy either before you pushed me on the ground.”
What was I going to do? Deny it? “Ask me how many regrets I have?” I didn’t wait for him to answer. I made a circle with my thumb and index finger and held it up for him to see. “Sassy Sacha.”
Before he could reply, a voice I was way too familiar with filled the empty Dallas venue. “GABRIELA!”
“It’s my mom, run,” I whispered under my breath as I leaned to the side to spy the woman who never let me forget how hard it had been to carry twins for almost nine months. On one side of her were my dad, Rafe and two nieces. On the other side of my mom was Eli with his arm around her, our oldest brother Gil and my other niece.
I put my hand up and waved, mentally bracing myself for the shit storm that usually went hand in hand when the entire Barreto family was together. Insults, wedgies and yelling were essential parts of a family that was half Brazilian and half Italian.
“You don’t remember you have a mom?” my mother yelled over at me as the whole family kept walking across the venue in my direction.
“Like I could forget!” I hollered back at her with a weak smile.
She visibly shook her head at the same time my dad flashed me a grin and a silent wave. While my parents were great and you could tell that they loved each other, a lot of times, I wondered how they made things work for them the last thirty-eight years. Mom and Dad were polar opposites who frequently disagreed on everything from what car they should take to church, to whether the lawn could go another week before it needed to get mowed or not.
Rafe’s two daughters screamed, “Aunt Gaby!” a second before they took off running. I made sure that Eli saw my smirk at our niece’s reactions since we were always arguing over whom they loved more.
Izabella and Heidi, four and six-years-old, shrieked until they were five feet away when they suddenly stopped… and gawked.
It wasn’t either one of them who
On the other hand, it wasn’t as if Sacha knew how ruthless he was. “I should have smothered him with a pillow when I had the chance, I swear.”
Sacha cracked a big smile as I tore off another piece of cinnamon roll and ate it. “You said he’s only a little older than you?” I nodded. “You’re the youngest?” I nodded again. “I’m the youngest of five by a lot. It’s a baby thing. They still call me Sasquatch.”
My mouth gaped for a second before I remembered there was bread inside of it. “Sasquatch?”
“Sasquatch,” he confirmed. “They’ve called me Sacha maybe twice in my entire life. The rest of the time is ‘that damn Sasquatch’ or just ‘Sasquatch.’”
“Girls or boys?”
“Four sisters.” He shook his head as if having a flashback of going through something traumatizing with them. “They were the same way with me as Eli is with you.”
“They used to take craps and purposely not flush the toilet?” I asked with a snort.
Sacha grinned, raking a hand through the longer hair at the top of his head. His tattoos popped against the pale skin beneath the wide bands of ink striping the length of his arm. “Just as bad; they’d leave their tampons all over the place. When I was really young—my oldest sister is almost fourteen years older than me—they’d put dresses on me and tell me that our parents named me Sacha because I was really a girl.”
Somehow I managed to hold back the snort rising through my nose and keep my features even and serious as I asked, “What you’re trying to tell me is that you’re not a girl?”
He stared at me. “Remember when I told you I thought you were funny? I changed my mind. You’re not.”
All I could do was just smile despite the pain that shot through the lower half of my face.
The effort he was putting into not laughing was completely obvious, especially as he raised his dark eyebrows. “Don’t think I didn’t hear you call me Sassy either before you pushed me on the ground.”
What was I going to do? Deny it? “Ask me how many regrets I have?” I didn’t wait for him to answer. I made a circle with my thumb and index finger and held it up for him to see. “Sassy Sacha.”
Before he could reply, a voice I was way too familiar with filled the empty Dallas venue. “GABRIELA!”
“It’s my mom, run,” I whispered under my breath as I leaned to the side to spy the woman who never let me forget how hard it had been to carry twins for almost nine months. On one side of her were my dad, Rafe and two nieces. On the other side of my mom was Eli with his arm around her, our oldest brother Gil and my other niece.
I put my hand up and waved, mentally bracing myself for the shit storm that usually went hand in hand when the entire Barreto family was together. Insults, wedgies and yelling were essential parts of a family that was half Brazilian and half Italian.
“You don’t remember you have a mom?” my mother yelled over at me as the whole family kept walking across the venue in my direction.
“Like I could forget!” I hollered back at her with a weak smile.
She visibly shook her head at the same time my dad flashed me a grin and a silent wave. While my parents were great and you could tell that they loved each other, a lot of times, I wondered how they made things work for them the last thirty-eight years. Mom and Dad were polar opposites who frequently disagreed on everything from what car they should take to church, to whether the lawn could go another week before it needed to get mowed or not.
Rafe’s two daughters screamed, “Aunt Gaby!” a second before they took off running. I made sure that Eli saw my smirk at our niece’s reactions since we were always arguing over whom they loved more.
Izabella and Heidi, four and six-years-old, shrieked until they were five feet away when they suddenly stopped… and gawked.
It wasn’t either one of them who
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