Benecio
We made it three steps out of Dove's office before Danilo's voice cut through the music.
"Benecio."
I froze. My hand was still in Dove's. The coins on our hips chimed like a warning bell.
I turned around slowly. Danilo leaned against the doorframe like he owned the place, which, technically, he didn't, but he had that look. The older brother, I-run-the-ranch, don't-test-me look. He had his red solo cup in one hand and his black cowboy hat pushed back on his head.
Dove squeezed my hand. I could feel him shaking.
Danilo looked between us. His eyes were amused, but tired. The kind of tired that comes from flying at 5am because your little brother decided to vanish like a fart in church.
"So," Danilo said, drawing the word out. "Between you and Dove. Who's Shakira and who's Beyoncé?"
My brain short-circuited.
Dove stepped forward, barely a whisper. "I'm Shakira." .
