The umbrella over the sidewalk table was a threadbare red canopy, its frayed edges fluttering in the thick, humid night breeze that carried the sizzle of onions, the tang of cheap beer, and the faint sweetness of Reyna's coconut shampoo every time she leaned closer.
Her knee pressing deliberately against mine under the table, warm through denim, her eyes locking on mine as she slid the dented tin cup across the wobbly surface, condensation slick between our fingertips, the contact lingering, electric.
Neon from the liquor store bled pink and green across the cracked plastic plates, strobing over her face, catching the gold hoop in her ear, the tiny scar on her lower lip, the way her dark hair clung to her cheek when she laughed, low and husky, the sound curling into my chest like smoke.
