“Fuck you," Alex growls. He shoves back his chair and walks away."That's the old Alex I used to know! I understand that language loud and clear," I call after him.”

“I don't deserve you. You know that, querida, don't you? (Alex)”

“Didn't you learn anything from my mistakes?" he asks.Shit, when Alex was in the Latino Blood back in Chicago I worshiped him. "You don't want to hear my answer to that.”

“Nothin'," Alex says. "We'll talk later, chica. It's not a big deal." "Don't chica me, Alex," his bride snaps. "I think she's gonna deck him," Ben murmurs, amused.”

“Alex took a piece of my heart with him when he left.”

“Don’t try and make me feel better, Alex. I hate you.”“I hate you, too.”

“Where's my cell phone?" I ask. "And please put a shirt on." He reaches down and grabs my phone off the floor. "Why?" "The reason I need my cell," I say as I take it from him, "is to call a cab and the reason I want you to put a shirt on is, well, because, urn . . ." "You've never seen a guy with his shirt off?" "Ha, ha. Very funny. Believe me, you don't have anything I haven't seen before." "Wanna bet?" he says, then moves his hands to the button on his jeans and pops it open. Isabel walks in at that exact moment. "Whoa, Alex. Please keep your pants on.”