“I know.” That’s what I’ve been doing—letting her be. “It came up because Glory was getting nosey, that’s all. She was asking if I’m seeing anyone, but I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

Sophia’s expression is thoughtful. “There’s a paralegal at my firm who’s single…” she begins.

The rest of my sisters groan. “NO!”

“What! He needs to settle down and start a family.”

“Sister, he’s barely out of diapers.” Rosaria laughs. “Besides, I have someone at the club where I take yoga—an instructor—who’s really smart and athletic.”

“What about a teacher?” Camila puts in. “I could see him dating a teacher. Do we know any?”

“I think Aunt Gabriella has a cousin whose niece is a kindergarten teacher…”

“No!” I shout, overwhelmed. “No. Just stop. I don’t want any of you setting me up. Do not send a woman to my house with food, do not send a woman to the stadium to meet me in the parking lot, do not bring a woman to Easter Sunday.” All things they have done in the past, their high-handed matchmaking overstepping the bounds on more than one occasion.

It’s embarrassing as fuck.

They all exchange glances, and if my brain isn’t playing a trick on me, Ana actually appears…worried.

“Oops,” she mutters as I follow the direction of her eyes as they shift to the door. At the same time, we glimpse a young woman hovering in the doorway of the Mexican restaurant, clutching a purse in her hands.

“Oh shit,” Mariana mutters. “You’re in trouble.”

“What?” Ana says. “How was I supposed to know?” She puts down the plate she’s holding. “Listen, Mateo, that’s Lillian. Be nice to her—she’s a sweet girl.”

When am I not nice? I want to shout, frustration eating me up inside.

“You invited a stranger to a family gathering!” I can’t help pointing this out—not that it matters since they’ve done this sort of thing before. It’s like my family is out to strap me with an arranged marriage, constantly throwing women in my path one way or another. No venue or occasion is off limits with them.

No matter how many times I’ve given them my limits.

Sisters do not listen.

And my mother? Her job is easy with the six girls doing her dirty work. She gets to come off as a saint, idly standing by as her spawn torture her son.

Make no mistake, if I didn’t have any sisters, it would be my mother and my aunts trying to set me up on dates. The girls make her life so much easier…

“You should go over there and bring her back here to join us,” Ana tells me.

“Me? I didn’t invite her!”

“She’s your guest.”

Oh my god—why are they like this?

“No, she’s yours. I’m going up to the bar—I’m going to need a stiffer drink.”

“Mateo José Espinoza, you will do no such thing!” Ana gasps, yanking me back, pulling my sleeve.

“Why are we all so loud?” Rosaria wonders out loud, finally sitting down to fill her plate with snacks. “It’s no wonder only half of us are in relationships. We’re like heathens.”

“Speak for yourself.” Ana’s chin tilts up. “I don’t need a relationship to be happy.”

This earns her a snort from the youngest. “Things people say when they can’t find a boyfriend. It’s only a matter of time before Mami pays someone to marry you.”

“Mind your own business, Glory.”

If anyone in the room thinks it’s odd that we’re all bickering, not a single person has said it. In fact, barely anyone is paying attention to us, which just goes to show how riotous this bunch is.

“Ana, go get that poor girl. She looks terrified,” Mariana—as the oldest and bossiest—orders. “And Mateo, just pretend to be interested.”

That’s a horrible idea. “I’m not giving anyone false hope.”

My sister shrugs. “Maybe you’ll like her.”

Maybe, but I doubt it.

Lillian Whatever-Her-Last-Name-Is appears to be the opposite of the kind of women I usually date: sweet, demure, adorable. Like a preschool teacher, or someone who works with the elderly or volunteers on the holidays.

Lillian looks intimidated by me, continuously toying with a stray lock of hair next to her ear, hair done in a low ponytail, blonde and silky. She twirls it aimlessly around her forefinger, and I doubt she’s aware she’s doing it.

When you’re an athlete, you learn to pick up on tells pretty quickly—especially those of a pitcher. Lots of glances to the base coaches. Shuffling their feet. Constantly stretching and loosening their shoulders. Squishing the brim of their ball cap.

This is Lillian’s tell.

She’s doing a great job keeping the smile on her face as my sisters accost her, berating her with interview-style questions, now the center of attention instead of myself.

Thank God.

She has blue eyes, and they keep looking at me. Long lashes that are definitely real. Pink lips.

Floral dress.

I can see she’s brought a gift for our aunt, even though she doesn’t know her and has never met her, which is incredibly thoughtful but unnecessary, and if this is the kind of woman my sisters think I want to date, I’m royally fucked.