Chapter Three
Miguel was definitely not okay. When he’d seen Jared’s texts, he’d felt a mix of excitement and hesitation.
He should’ve never gone to that warehouse, but Miguel couldn’t let Diablo head there alone, especially after what the brother had been through in that place.
Now Jared wanted to play darts. The irony was not lost on Miguel. He just couldn’t bring himself to touch them.
“Chicken?” Jared teased.
The cheetah had no idea what Miguel had just gone through or the horror he’d witnessed. Jared stood there with a strained smile, gripping his arm, looking at Miguel like he was barely keeping it together.
He was thrilled to see Jared again, loved that he’d made the trip to see him, but the timing couldn’t be worse.
“I shouldn’t have come.” Jared dropped his hand and looked away. “Seems like I’m interrupting something. Just text me when you can.”
Miguel cursed under his breath as he watched Jared head for the door. His mind was still a mess, filled with images of those mangled bodies, the roar of the sportbikes, and that dart flying past his ear.
But he couldn’t let Jared leave thinking Miguel wasn’t happy to see him. Shit. Jared was all he’d thought about since that night.
Miguel sprinted after him, his boots thudding on the wooden floor. The heat hit him like a wall when he burst outside, sweat immediately forming on his forehead.
“Jared, wait.” Miguel caught up to him at his beat-up Honda Civic, gently grasping his arm just as he reached for the door handle. “I’m sorry, carino . I’m being an asshole.”
Jared turned, the setting sun catching gold flecks in his eyes. “What’s with you today? The Miguel I’ve been texting for a week isn’t the guy who just looked through me back there.”
His words hit harder than Miguel expected. Those eyes held him accountable in a way no one else’s could.
“Our conversations were always lighthearted. I looked forward to your texts.” Jared crossed his arms, keys jingling in his grip. “Now you act like I’m a problem you need to solve.”
Miguel blinked, genuinely caught off guard. Jared had looked forward to his texts? The admission settled somewhere beneath his ribs, warm and surprising.
“I had…a day.” He ran a hand through his hair, the afternoon sun baking the pavement beneath them. “Bad shit went down. But that’s not on you, and I shouldn’t make it your problem.”
Miguel forced himself to breathe past the tightness in his chest, to push back the reel of horror playing behind his eyes. Six bodies. Diablo’s face, blood from his busted mouth.
The dart.
Not now.
“Then why didn’t you just say that?” Jared’s eyes softened, anger giving way to concern. “Instead of making me feel like an idiot for showing up?”
“Because I’m not good at this.” He gestured between them. “Whatever this is.”
Jared bit his lip. “And what exactly is ‘this’?”
“You. Me. The fact that I’ve been thinking about you since you left.” The admission slipped out before he could stop it. “The way you laugh at my dumb jokes through the phone.”
“Look, I’m not asking for your life story,” Jared continued. “Just don’t act like I’m intruding. Every night we talk until one of us falls asleep. I thought—” He cut himself off, then glanced away. “Forget it.”
“When you thought what?” Miguel tilted his head, wanting to know more than anything what he was about to say.
“When I thought you might actually want me here.” He shrugged. “Whatever. Clearly I misread things.”
Miguel stepped closer, close enough to catch the scent of Jared’s cologne—something citrusy and bright that didn’t belong anywhere near the darkness clouding his mind.
“You didn’t misread anything, carino ,” he said, voice low. “I fight not to be the first one to fall asleep.”
Jared’s mouth opened slightly, eyes widening. “Really?”
“Yes.” The quiet admission hung in the air between them. Miguel ran a hand through his hair, suddenly feeling exposed under the blazing sun. “Really fucking do. I want you to stay. Please.”
Flashes of mangled bodies and blood-soaked concrete kept invading his thoughts. Miguel pushed them aside, forcing himself to concentrate on the kitty cat in front of him.
Jared studied him, as if searching for something. Whatever he found must have been enough, because his posture softened. “So what do you want to do? Because I’m not feeling the darts scene anymore.”
Relief flooded through Miguel. “How about pool instead? Or we could grab something to eat?”
Jared’s stomach answered for him with a loud rumble. His eyes widened, embarrassment flashing across his face.
“Kitchen it is.” Miguel’s lips twitched into the first genuine smile since this morning.
“Don’t make it weird.” Jared looked away, his cheeks flushing.
“Never.” He winked. “Cesar’s busy at the bar, but I can throw something together.”
They walked back inside, Miguel holding the door, his wolf snarling softly as Jared passed. Inside, he led Jared through the main room, and through the entryway into the tavern’s kitchen. The room was empty. Miguel turned up the lights, revealing jars of spices and hanging pots above a center island. Counters gleamed under fluorescent lights, and the air smelled faintly of grease and cleaning solution.
“You cook?” Jared asked, looking around.
Miguel snorted. “I didn’t say that. I can heat stuff up, but that’s about it.”
“Same.” Jared hopped onto a counter, legs dangling. “So, what’s your specialty?”
Miguel opened the fridge, surveying its contents. “Microwave burritos and cereal.”
“Gourmet.” He grinned. “I’m not much better. I once set pasta on fire.”
“How do you set pasta on fire?” Miguel pulled out eggs, cheese, and random containers.
“Forgot to add water.” Jared curled his fingers around the edge of the counter. Miguel was dying to step between the male’s legs and kiss him. “What are we making?”
“Let’s make an omelet.” Miguel placed the eggs on the counter with a thud then grabbed a bowl from the cupboard. “Simple enough, right?”
Jared leaned forward from his perch. “How hard could it be? Crack eggs, add stuff, cook it.” He slid off the counter, pretending to roll up the sleeves of his T-shirt. “Although, there was that one time I tried making an omelet that ended up looking like a crime scene.” He peered into the containers Miguel had pulled out. “Is that leftover chili? And... are those jalapenos?”
Miguel nodded. “Thought we’d make chili cheese omelets. Lots of protein. Plus, it’ll give it flavor. Chili works great with fries, so why not eggs?”
“That sounds suspiciously like you know what you’re doing.”
“Don’t get your hopes up.” Miguel cracked an egg into the bowl with more force than necessary, splattering yolk onto the counter and shell fragments into the bowl. “Off to a great start,” he grumbled, grabbing a dishcloth.
Jared’s nose wrinkled. “How old is this chili exactly?”
Miguel sniffed it. “Tuesday? Wednesday? Doesn’t smell too bad.”
“Famous last words.” But Jared was already grabbing a spoon, dropping a generous dollop into the bowl. “If we die, I’m blaming you.”
Miguel grinned, chest loosening for the first time since the warehouse. Jared’s presence pulled him back from the edge, giving him something else to focus on besides blood and death and darts flying past his ear.
“Maybe I should do that part?” He nudged Miguel aside with his hip. Their shoulders brushed, lingering a second too long before Jared reached for another egg.
“First time I’ve been pushed around by a kitten.” Miguel smirked, stepping slightly back to give Jared room.
With a blush, Jared cracked the eggs with surprising precision, fishing out the shell bits Miguel had left inside the bowl. “I worked at a diner for two weeks. Got fired for breaking too many plates, but I picked up a few things. See? Gentle touch.”
“Gentle isn’t really my thing,” Miguel said, voice dropping lower.
Their eyes met. Heat flickered between them before Jared looked away first, focusing intently on the eggs. He whisked them, adding a splash of milk he’d found. “Should we season this?”
“Obviously.” Miguel reached for the spice rack, grabbing bottles at random. “Garlic powder, nutmeg, cumin...”
“For an omelet?” Jared’s eyes widened.
“Trust me.” Miguel sprinkled generous amounts into the egg mixture, then added a handful of salt for good measure.
Jared sniffed the mixture, scrunching his nose. “Smells... interesting.”
“Interesting is good.”
Jared’s smile brightened the fluorescent-lit kitchen. “What else goes in an omelet besides eggs and questionable chili?”
Miguel opened the fridge, surveying its contents. “Cheese for sure. Maybe some peppers?” He pulled out a container of leftover bell peppers, sniffing them cautiously. “These might be okay.”
“Might be?” Jared peeked over his shoulder, close enough that Miguel felt his breath on his neck. “They’re either good or a science experiment.”
“Fine line sometimes.” Miguel dumped the peppers onto a cutting board. The slightly slimy texture made him hesitate, then he decided to err on the side of caution and threw them away.
Their arms touched as Jared leaned in, poking at the stray slimy pieces with a frown. Miguel caught another whiff of that citrus cologne, stronger now in the kitchen’s warmth. His wolf stirred, interested despite the day’s horrors.
“I’ve got skills,” Jared murmured when he moved away before expertly cracking three more eggs into the bowl.
“I bet you do.” Miguel’s voice deepened.
Pink crept up Jared’s neck. “Food skills. Get your mind out of the gutter.”
“Never said a word.” But he was definitely thinking it. Bending Jared over the chrome workstation as their lips met.
“Your face did.”
Miguel turned away, hiding his smile while grabbing a pan and setting it on the stove. He cranked the dial all the way around, the burner flaring blue-orange. “Hot pan, cold oil, right?”
“I think it’s the other way around?” Jared frowned. “Or maybe that’s just for stir-fry?”
Hell if Miguel knew. He was winging this. He’d never made an omelet in his life. Cooking eggs wasn’t in his wheelhouse. “Butter or oil?” he asked. Weren’t they interchangeable?
“Both,” Jared said decisively, still whisking his eggs as fast as a helicopter blade. “Go big or go hungry.”
Miguel laughed. “I like your style, kitty.”
Jared dumped salt into the mixture, followed by a handful of shredded cheese he’d found in a drawer. “This expired last week.”
“Cheese doesn’t expire, it just gets more... complex.” Miguel held out his hand. “Toss me the butter so we can get this meal going, gatito .”
Jared tossed the stick, and Miguel fumbled the catch. The butter skidded across the counter, leaving a greasy trail before dropping to the floor.
“Five-second rule?” Jared offered, clutching his bowl to his chest.
“More like five-minute rule in this kitchen.” Miguel scooped it up, tossed it in the trash, and caught the next one Jared threw his way. After slicing a chunk off the stick, he dropped it into the pan. It started smoking just as he poured in the oil. The mixture sizzled violently, spitting droplets that made them both jump back.
Miguel was pretty sure that wasn’t supposed to happen.
“That’s too hot!” Jared lunged for the dial, turning it down. “You’re gonna set the kitchen on fire.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Miguel grabbed a spatula, poking at the blackening butter. “Just adds character. Add your eggs in, carino .”
Jared poured the mixture into the pan. Smoke billowed up as the eggs instantly browned, then turned black. Miguel grabbed the pan off the burner, coughing as acrid fumes stung his nose.
“Maybe I should—” Jared reached for the pan.
“No, I’ve got this.” Miguel dumped the burnt eggs into the sink, where they hissed against the metal. “Round two.”
Fifteen minutes later, the kitchen resembled a war zone. Eggshells littered the counter, a puddle of what was once cheese spread across the stovetop, and something that might have been chili decorated the backsplash.
“How did you get egg on the ceiling?” Jared stared upward, amazement in his voice.
Matias walked in and glanced around the room. His head slowly tilted, lips parting, brown eyes a little too wide. Then he closed them, turned around, and walked out, muttering something under his breath.
“Maybe we should order take-out,” Miguel suggested.
“I’ll dial.” Jared reached for his phone.
* * * *
The back of the tavern was quiet, except for the distant drone of traffic and the occasional creak of the overhead branches. Jared flopped down onto an overturned milk crate, groaning loud enough to scare a bird pecking on the ground by the dumpster.
Three hours.
Three stinking hours of them scrubbing walls, mopping floors, and scraping what Jared was pretty sure was reanimated chili off the backsplash. It had taken Miguel an entire thirty minutes just to pry that egg from the ceiling.
All under Cesar’s death-glare supervision.
“I think I permanently smell like burnt eggs,” Jared muttered, pressing his hand into his lower back and wincing. “Pretty sure something vital snapped in there.”
Miguel chuckled, dropping down beside him with a grunt. “Welcome to manual labor, bebé .”
Jared shot him a sideways glare, but it lacked heat. He was too tired to be offended. “You’re not allowed to tease me when I’m dying.”
Miguel nudged him with his shoulder, a lazy grin on his handsome face. “Come here. I’ll rub it out.”
Jared hesitated just long enough to blush at the innuendo before shrugging and turning, presenting his back like a worn-out cat looking for pets. “Don’t judge me if I start purring.”
“Not a word,” Miguel promised, voice gentle and amused.
Strong hands found his lower back, the heat of his palms soaking right through Jared’s thin T-shirt. He let out an honest-to-god moan the moment Miguel worked his fingers into the aching muscles, the pain and relief tangling together.
“Damn, you’re good at this.” Jared’s head lolled forward, eyes rolling back in bliss as a stray breeze failed to cool them off.
“Lots of practice.” Miguel’s thumbs drifted in slow, firm circles, using just the right amount of pressure. “Had a friend who used to throw his back out lifting engines. I got pretty good at fixing idiots.”
Jared snorted, the sound more breath than laugh. “Good to know you’re expanding your clientele.”
His deep, rich laugh rumbled against Jared’s spine. “You’re my favorite idiot.”
Warmth unfurled in Jared’s chest, spreading like a sunset splashing across the sky.
They sat in a comfortable silence, Miguel kneading the worst of the ache. The vibe between them was mellow. No rush. No awkwardness. Just exhausted smiles and a surprising sense of closeness that just kinda happened.
When Miguel finally pulled his hands away, Jared almost protested. Instead, he leaned back against the brick wall, playfully tapping their knees together.
“I owe you a drink,” he said, his tone tranquil.
Miguel tipped his head back to stare at the sky. “You owe me a whole damn bottle, solecito .”
Jared grinned, eyes slipping closed. It would be so easy to fall asleep next to Miguel. He had a quiet presence about him that lured Jared into comfort. “Fine. But only if you promise not to burn down the tavern before we drink it.”
Miguel chuckled, his pinky caressing Jared’s thigh. “No promises, kitten.”
And somehow, despite the ache in his muscles and the lingering smell of industrial cleaner in his nose, Jared couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this content. His life seemed to be one chaotic mess after another. It still was with Miguel, but somehow, the wolf made it seem less jumbled.
The comfort of Miguel’s touch lingered along Jared’s spine. He shifted slightly, an unbidden purr escaping his throat.
“Careful, gatito ,” Miguel’s voice pitched just above a whisper, and filled with a hum of amusement. “Keep that up and I’m gonna start to think your kitty cat likes me.”
Jared dragged a hand over his face. “Don’t read into it. I’m just... relaxed.”
Honestly, he was the most relaxed he’d ever been, but needed to be cautious. The wolf was stirring up feelings Jared hadn’t experienced before. He wasn’t totally sure what was going on between them. Until he figured out where all this might lead, if it even went anywhere, he had to guard his heart.
“Sure you are.” Miguel’s thumbs pressed lightly into his lower back again, coaxing another lazy, involuntary rumble from Jared’s chest.
Sweat gathered at the nape of his neck, sticking his shirt to his skin. Even in the shade, the late afternoon sun baked the ground beneath them, the crate warm against his jeans. His muscles ached, but in a good way now. They were loose and worn out instead of bunched tight.
Miguel leaned back, squinting up at the sky again. “It’s too damn hot.”
Before Jared could comment, Miguel pushed to his feet with a grunt. “Stay put. I’ll grab us something cold.”
A slow grin tugged at Jared’s lips. Miguel didn’t have to do that. Both of them were wrecked after scrubbing every square inch of that kitchen. Each step Miguel took appeared stiff, but he still headed inside without a single complaint.
Jared rested his head against the bricks, the sky a washed-out blue with wispy clouds. His sweaty shirt clung to his damp skin, but he didn’t care. There was something about this moment—this whole stupid, perfect mess—that made him want to stay right here forever.
A few minutes later, Miguel returned, the back door creaking shut behind him. He had a bottle of water in each hand, the liquid sparkling under the sun. He tossed one to Jared, who caught it against his chest with a relieved sigh.
The cold felt so damn good on his heated skin, but his throat needed it even more.
“Lifesaver.” Jared twisted the cap off and guzzled half the bottle in one go. The arctic coolness hit his stomach, making him groan in relief.
With a grunt, Miguel dropped beside him, stretching out his long legs. “Can’t have you passing out on me, solecito .”
“You’d miss me too much.” Jared smiled around the mouth of the bottle.
A cocky grin surfaced. “Nah. I’d just steal your car.”
“Good luck figuring out how to get in and out of it.” He chuckled, nudging his arm against Miguel’s.
For a moment, they just sat there, sipping their water and letting the crazy vibes buzzing between them breathe.
Then Miguel set his bottle down and shifted closer. His touch was so soft that it barely stirred the air between them.
Jared turned, meeting eyes the color of blueberries. He felt fluttering in his stomach and the hammering of his own heart.
They leaned toward each other, excitement and fear and adrenaline drawing them in. Miguel’s lips were warm, a bit chapped from the sun, but soft in all the right places. His fingers trailed down Jared’s throat, then cupped his neck, as if Miguel was holding him steady. He tasted like cold water and summer heat, and smelled like every wish Jared had ever whispered.
When they finally eased back, he smiled at the satisfied grin on Miguel’s face and the glint of sun reflecting in his tender gaze.
“You definitely purred, guapo .” Miguel’s thumb swept lazily over Jared’s throat.
He laughed, low and breathless, not bothering to deny it.