Chapter Ten
Revel
I’m about to spend the entire fucking day alone with Cece, so naturally, I’m awake before my alarm like a kid on Christmas with a hard-on and significantly worse intentions.
Training has my body used to mornings this early, but usually it takes Andre threatening cardio to drag my ass out of bed. Today, all it takes is the thought of four uninterrupted hours trapped in a car with a mouthy little menace who swears she can’t stand me.
By the time I pull onto her street, the sky is barely starting to lighten.
Her lilac Honda Civic is sitting in the driveway with its trunk open, the back seat packed with enough equipment to make the suspension look nervous.
I park my bike beside it, lock my helmet to the handlebars, then start unhooking the whole ridiculous setup I MacGyvered onto the back seat.
The coffee’s wedged inside an insulated carrier beneath a cargo net, breakfast is crammed into my tail bag, and Guacamole’s stupid little gift is tucked between them like precious fucking cargo.
Turns out I can transport half a café across Tampa on a sport bike when Cece is waiting at the other end.
It’s five fifty-six when I knock.
Something crashes inside, followed by Cece swearing and Guac letting out a screech like a tiny bald pterodactyl.
The door swings open a few seconds later.
Cece stands there in tiny black shorts and an oversized T-shirt hanging off one shoulder, her thick hair twisted into a messy knot. There’s a faint line of mascara beneath one eye, and she looks sleepy, annoyed, and so fucking good I forget to say anything for a second.
Her eyes drop to the coffee carrier in my hand, then lift to mine. “Holy shit. You actually made it on time.”
I press a hand to my chest. “Damn, Mama. Have a little faith.”
“You’re Revel. Being late feels very on-brand for you.”
“Yeah, well, Miami and four hours alone with you felt worth setting an alarm for.”
She snorts and reaches for her drink. “Careful, that sounded almost responsible.”
“Don’t spread it around. I’ve got a reputation.”
She takes a sip and lets out a quiet little moan before she can stop herself. “Ay, fuck. Okay, this is perfect. Thank you…for the coffee. Don’t get used to it.”
“Too late, Mama. I’m framing the moment.”
“Puta, please.” She hides the tiny pull at the corner of her mouth behind another drink just as Guacamole squeezes past her ankles.
He’s wearing a tiny black sweater with mini avocados on it, and the second he spots me, he marches onto the porch like a bald little security guard inspecting the delivery.
I crouch and hold my hand out. “Morning, little man.”
Guac rubs his face against my fingers, so I reach into the bag and pull out a tiny plush taco packed with catnip.
Cece stares at it. “What the fuck is that?”
“Something to keep him busy while I steal his mom for the weekend.”
“You are not stealing me.”
“You’re right, kidnapping sounds hotter.”
“Ay, you’re lucky you brought coffee, cabrón.”
“See? He gets catnip, you get caffeine, and I get you trapped in a car with me for four hours. Everybody wins. Plus I didn’t want him feeling excluded.”
“That is bribery.”
I lower it toward Guac. He bites the taco, yanks it from my hand, and carries it inside.
“Looks like it worked.”
Cece watches him disappear, offended. “He doesn’t even play with the toys I buy him.”
“Maybe you have bad taste.”
“I mean, I did sleep with you, so apparently.”
My grin spreads as I let my eyes drag slowly down her body and back up.
“Sleep? Pretty sure there wasn’t much of that happening, Mama.
Mostly just you moaning my name and finally giving in to all that shit you’ve been fighting.
” I lean against the doorframe, not even trying to hide how hard I’m eye-fucking her.
“Not that I’m complaining. I enjoyed every fucking second of it. ”
“Ay, cállate.” She steps aside and points toward the kitchen. “Put the food down. I still have to get dressed.”
I let my eyes travel over her slowly. “Thought you were dressed.”
She looks down at herself. “Do I look ready?”
“You look fucking delicious.”
“I look homeless.”
“Hot homeless.”
“Pendejo.”
She turns and walks away before I can answer, but I catch the small smile she tries to hide.
A few minutes later, her bedroom door opens again and she comes down the hall pulling a fitted black tank into place.
The shorts are gone, replaced by gray leggings that fit her like they were designed specifically to ruin my morning.
Her hair falls smooth over her shoulders now, both hoops are in, and her makeup is fixed.
She catches me staring and slows. “Are you going to eye-fuck me all weekend?”
“Most definitely.”
“Great. Love that for me.”
My cock twitches as my gaze drags over her again, the memory of how good she felt hitting me hard enough to make the next four hours seem like a terrible fucking idea.
Also the best one I’ve had all week.
“Not my fault you’re hot, Mama.” I meet her eyes again. “Or that those leggings are about to make this drive difficult.”
She grabs her coffee and heads for the door. “You’ll survive.”
“Not comfortably,” I mutter, adjusting myself before following her outside.
“That sounds like a you problem.”
I fold myself into the passenger seat and immediately regret every insult I’ve ever made about her car. The cooler jammed behind me means I can’t slide back far enough, leaving my knees damn near touching the dashboard.
Cece starts the engine, glances over, and smirks. “Comfy?”
“Is that a serious question?” I look down at the way I’m wedged into her front seat, all six-three of me folded up like bad luggage. “I can’t feel anything below the waist. My knees are basically in the glove box.”
“Good. Maybe your dick will finally stop making decisions for you.”
I look down at myself, then back at her. “Nah, Mama. He’s resilient.”
“Ay, qué pena.”
“You’d miss him.”
“I really wouldn’t.”
“Liar.”
She backs out of the driveway with one hand on the wheel while the other turns the music up. I reach toward the radio, and she slaps the back of my hand without even looking.
“You’re testing me,”
“I was turning it up.”
“You were about to touch my playlist.”
I grin and try again just to be an asshole. She catches my wrist this time and shoves it back toward my lap.
“Hands to yourself, pretty boy.”
“You know that’s never been my strong suit.”
“Oh, I know.” She rolls her eyes, but the corner of her mouth lifts.
The first hour passes in a mix of coffee, breakfast, and arguing over everything that exists inside the car.
She says I’m blocking the air vent. I remind her the seat was designed for a twelve-year-old.
I try on her sunglasses. She tells me I look like a douchebag, and I scoff, telling her they look better on me.
Little by little, she relaxes.
Her shoulders drop. One knee turns toward the console. She starts tapping the steering wheel in time with the music, then singing quietly beneath her breath.
I lower the volume.
She stops and looks at me. “Why did you do that?”
“Wanted to hear you.”
“I wasn’t singing.”
“Sounded like singing.”
“I was breathing.”
“In tune?”
“Shut up.”
The next song comes on, something loud with a fast Latin beat, and she gives in before the chorus. I join her with the wrong lyrics and enough confidence to make up for the fact that I have no clue what I’m saying.
She looks horrified but laughs. “That isn’t even close.”
“Sounds right.”
“You’re not speaking Spanish.”
“Music is universal.”
“Universal? You sound like you’re fucking choking.”
I keep going until she breaks, laughing hard enough that she has to press her lips together and focus on the road.
That laugh hits me straight in the chest.
I stop singing and look at her.
She catches me. “What?”
“Like hearing you laugh.”
The air changes for half a second. Her smile softens, and she looks back at the road without a comeback.
I turn the music up before she can retreat too far.
We stop for gas outside Fort Myers, and Cece reaches for the handle before I catch her wrist.
“Nah, Mama. I’ve got it.”
She looks from my hand around her wrist to my face. “I can pump my own gas.”
“I know you can.” I take the nozzle from her anyway, then slide my card into her palm. “But I’m trying to impress you, so let me have this.”
Her mouth twitches. “By pumping gas?”
I nod toward the store. “Go grab some of those mango Monsters you like. And whatever else you want.”
She starts to hand the card back. “Revel, I don’t need—”
“Cece.” My voice softens, but the teasing drops out of it. “I know you don’t need me to do anything. I want to.”
That stops her.
She studies me for a second, eyes moving over my face like she’s trying to figure out where the joke is but quickly realizes there isn’t one.
Then her fingers close around the card. “Fine.”
I grin. “See, I knew you liked being taken care of.”
“Ay, don’t ruin it.”
“Get me a water while you’re in there, Mama.”
She turns toward the store, glancing back at me with a look I can’t quite read. “Anything else, príncipe?”
“Yeah.” I let my eyes drag down her leggings. “Take your time walking there, Mama. Let me enjoy the view.”
“Pendejo.”
She flips me off and keeps going, but the smile she’s trying to hide makes me grin as I turn back to the pump.
Halfway through filling the tank, I glance toward the windows and spot her inside near the coolers.
Some guy is standing beside her, saying something that makes her smile.
He’s tall, tan, and dressed like he’s heading to the beach instead of a gas station, with messy dark hair and sunglasses hooked into the collar of his shirt.
Not her polite smile either.
A real one.
My jaw tightens before I can stop it, which is stupid. She’s buying drinks in a gas station. He’s probably asking where the bathroom is or some shit.
Still, I watch him lean closer while she tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, and suddenly the pump is moving way too fucking slow.