13. Alejandro
Alejandro
We say our goodbyes sometime after two in the morning, but none of us are tired. Not really.
Bee’s laughing at something Mateo says, the sound bright and real, and I don’t think she realizes how much it means to me to hear her like this. Open. Light. Even if just for now.
I was so scared I'd lose her again.
Niko grins and slaps my shoulder. “She’s fun. Bring her around more.”
“Yeah,” Carlos adds. “Like to practice. You gonna invite her, or are you gonna keep pretending you’re not obsessed?”
Bee’s eyebrows rise, a little surprised. “Practice?”
Diego cuts in before I can. “Yeah, we scrimmage Wednesdays. You should come. He’ll never ask, he’s too chicken shit—”
“Not true,” I mutter, and Bee smirks.
“I’d love to,” she says, almost shy but trying not to be. “You guys are fun.”
“See?” Diego nudges me. “She likes us.”
I shake my head, grinning. “Alright, enough. Let me get her home.”
They all wave, shout their goodbyes, and we walk back to the car.
Bee slips off her heels the second she slides into the passenger seat, tossing them onto the floorboard with a sigh like she’s just shed an entire identity.
Her sundress rides up as she folds her legs, and it hits me this is probably the dress she chose to wear to church, to her father's lunch.
It's too bright for a club. Too delicate for the way she looked grinding on me hours ago. But on her? It worked.
It all works.
I start the engine, letting the bass of the music fill the silence before I turn to her. “My place or yours? We’ll get your car in the morning.”
She turns her head, eyes meeting mine, no hesitation in her voice this time. “okay then. Mine.”
The word hits like a challenge.
I grip the wheel and ease us out of the parking lot, my knuckles flexing with the effort of keeping everything in check. The roads are quiet, traffic thinned. South Beach lights flicker in the rearview.
She adjusts in her seat, back straight but legs parted just enough to tempt. I don’t look over, not directly. But I feel her watching me. Her sundress shifts with every breath, the hem riding a little higher, like it knows what it’s doing.
My hand drifts from the gearshift to her thigh.
She doesn’t stop me.
Her skin is warm. Smooth. My fingers slide just a little farther. I brush the edge of her inner thigh, where the hem of her dress gives way to bare skin and then higher still.
She exhales, quiet but loaded.
“You’re really doing this while you’re driving?” she says, voice edged with disbelief and heat.
I smirk, eyes still on the road. “What can I say? I multitask.”
She tilts her head, voice velvet. “You sure you can handle both the wheel and me?”
I glance at her thigh, then back at the road. “Wanna test me?”
Her chest rises when my pinky slides beneath the edge of her underwear. Just a ghost of a touch. But enough to feel it—how wet she already is.
Fuuuck.
I flex my grip on the steering wheel with my other hand, the tension climbing into my shoulders and down my spine.
“You sure you’re sober enough to drive?” she whispers.
“Absolutely,” I say, my voice lower now. “You make it hard to focus, but I’m good.”
My fingers tease the edge of her underwear again before slipping away entirely. A promise, not a delivery.
She groans, frustrated. “You’re cruel.”
“Am I?” My voice dips, softer now. “Feels a little backwards, don’t you think?”
She glances at me, confused. “How?”
I finally look at her—just a beat, just enough. “You’re sitting there in that dress, looking like that, and I’m supposed to focus on the road?”
She snorts. “Looking like what? Sweaty and exhausted?”
I shake my head slightly, fingers grazing her skin again. “No, carino. Like something I’ll spend forever trying to deserve.”
I drag my hand back down her thigh and place it on her knee, grounding both of us.
We don’t speak for a few blocks. Just breathe the thick air between us.
Every time we hit a red light, I feel her eyes on my hands—on the way I clench the wheel, the way my jaw locks. I know what I want. She knows, too.
And that sundress? That damn sundress is going to be a puddle on her bedroom floor before she can say my name again.
When we pull up outside her place, the quiet feels too loud.
I kill the engine, but neither of us moves.
I turn toward her, leaning one arm on the center console. “I meant what I said earlier. About not letting you go.”
She looks back at me, lips parted, dress rumpled and legs bare, her chest still rising like she hasn’t caught her breath since we left the club.
“I know,” she says. “And I don’t want you to.”
I reach over, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, letting my knuckles drag down her jaw. “Then we’re gonna do this right. Starting tonight.”
“Starting in the car?” she teases, but her voice is shaky.
“No, Bee. I’ll leave you begging for the bedroom.” My hand grips her chin, holding her gaze like I might never let go. “We’ve done everything backwards,” I murmur against her skin. “I should’ve asked you before now.”
She looks up at me, all flushed lips and hopeful eyes. “Asked me what?”
I meet her gaze, no games left in me. “To be mine, Bee. Officially.”
Her eyes are wide, but she doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t flinch.
“We were kids before. I want to love you like a man now,” I whisper, leaning forward to brush my lips against hers, my grip still firm on her chin.
She doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t wait. Her mouth crashes into mine, fierce and certain, her hand sliding into my hair like she’s been dying to do this all night. Maybe longer.
“No running away this time,” she whispers against my lips.
“I’d have to be dead to leave you.”
Her voice is rough silk, her kiss demanding, and I’m gone the second her fingers tug at the back of my neck. I drag her closer over the console until she’s straddling me in the driver’s seat, her dress hiking up to her hips as she settles into my lap like it’s hers.
And maybe it is.
Her mouth takes and gives and takes again, like she’s reclaiming every second we ever lost. My hands find her hips, fingers digging in as she rolls against me.
Heat floods through my veins, hot and consuming.
She grinds down again, and I groan into her mouth, my head falling back against the seat for just a brief second.
“Fuck,” I hiss.
“You started it,” she says, voice all smug as she rocks into me again.
“Bee.” Her name’s a warning. A plea. A praise.
She moves, knowing exactly what she does to me. Like she wants me begging her for more.
Her fingers dip beneath the neckline of my shirt, dragging the fabric down until her lips find the curve of my neck. She kisses, then bites, not enough to break skin, just enough to leave a mark. Her claim.
“You really think I’m gonna make it inside if you keep doing that?” I ask, gripping her tighter.
“That depends,” she murmurs, hips pressing into mine again. “Do you want to?”
I grip her harder. “Of course I want to.”
“Then prove it. Don’t lose control.”
She leans in again, her lips brushing mine, and it takes everything in me not to lose it right here, right now. But I won’t take her like this. Not when I can give her more. Not when she deserves better than a cramped front seat and a rushed finish.
I slide my hands down to the backs of her thighs and lift her, shifting her off me and back onto the passenger seat. Her brows furrow, lips parted, confused and aroused all at once.
“You’re kicking me off you?” she asks, voice a little incredulous.
I grin, thumb brushing her cheek. “Only so I can worship you properly.”
She blinks.
“I want to lay you out on your bed, Bee. I want to kiss every inch of you until you forget what hurting feels like. I want to take my time showing you how much I love you—how much I’ve always loved you.”
Her expression softens, mouth falling open, and I watch her eyes go glassy in the dim car light. She nods slowly, like she’s afraid if she speaks she’ll cry.
So I say it again.
“I want to make love to you. Not just fuck you. Not just get lost in you. I want to show you what you are to me. And I want you to feel it, everywhere.”
Her breath comes out shaky, but her smile blooms softly.
“Okay,” she whispers. “Take me inside then.”
I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more than I want her right now.
But I want all of her. Not just her body—I want her boldness back, her fire, her confidence.
I want the girl who used to slam lockers and talk shit, who used to dare me to catch her and then run barefoot through the halls like she owned the place.
So I say the only thing that makes sense. “Come on, Killer Bee. Show me if you’ve still got it.”
Her eyes spark. “Still got what?”
I open the car door and grin through the window at her. “Legs.”
She gasps, mock-offended, and shoves her door open. “You’re not serious.”
“Oh, yes, hermosa.” I round the hood, slow and steady, stalking like a predator. “I’m hungry and ready to chase.”
Bee squeals— squeals —and takes off toward her building, sundress fluttering around her thighs. She’s barefoot, heels long forgotten, and laughing so loud the sound bounces off the empty street.
I give chase, playful and ridiculous, growling low in my throat as I catch up.
“Better run, Bee. I bite.”
She yelps and nearly trips on the sidewalk. “You are not seriously going—Alejandro!”
I nip at her shoulder, barely brushing her skin with my teeth as she fumbles with her key. The second it clicks, she darts inside, giggling, cheeks pink.
I follow her up the stairs, still pretending to be the world’s most unhinged guard dog. “This is what you get for looking that good in a church dress,” I growl dramatically. “I’m unwell.”
She stops at her door, spinning on her heel to face me, chest rising and falling like she ran a marathon. “You’re a menace.”
“You bring it out of me,” I say, voice softening as I take the key from her hand. “You always have.”