Betty

“I straighten and stretch my neck side to side. ‘I really need to hit something.’
Rafa’s mouth quirks. ‘I know what you need.’
‘In your dreams.’ I know where this is going: it’s been the same banter for about five decades now. Usually he saves it for an audience.
‘In my dreams, Gabe, you end up slick with sweat and moaning.’
‘I have food poisoning?’
He laughs, a beer halfway to his lips. Condensation drips from the bottle. He’s completely at ease here: three-quarter cargoes, frayed t-shirt, bare feet. ‘I’m just saying that if you need distracting, I’m your man.’
‘If I wanted to go places everyone else has been, Rafa, I’d take a trip to Disneyland.’
He leans in closer. ‘Yeah, but don’t you want to know why everyone loves Space Mountain?”
― Paula Weston, Burn