51. Santiago #2
“Looking at how pretty you are.”
He smacked my chest. “You’re so hopeless.”
Rubbing the spot he’d hit, I grinned like a fool, taking in every detail of his appearance. From his eyes to his lips and his hair that stuck out in all directions—
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
“What question?”
I pushed a lock of stray hair away from his face. “What’s your natural color?”
“I’m blond.”
“No way,” I snorted. “You’re telling me I’m dating a fuckin’ blond?”
He hit me. Again.
“Hold your horses, boy—”
I laughed, ready to say something else, when he suddenly did the unbelievable and cuddled at my side, using my arm as his pillow like it was the most natural thing for him to do.
“I owe you an apology, Santiago,” he said softly, keeping his hand on my heart. “About a lot of things, but mostly, for misjudging you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I thought you were no different from the rest, but it turns out you are.”
Confused, I covered his hand with mine, pressing it to my chest. “Okay?”
He snuggled closer. “You’re my exception, Santiago.”
I still had no clue what he meant, but from the look on his face, Ari was more interested in going to sleep than explaining himself.
Besides, it sounded like he meant good, and having him nestled in my arms was more than enough for now.
Kissing the top of his head, I closed my eyes and fell asleep with my heart so fucking full, I feared it would burst.
* * *
Unfortunately, morning came sooner than ever before. But when I opened my eyes and found Ari was still in my bed, cuddled by my side like the baby fox that he was, I couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear. Squeezing him in a tight hug, I kissed his head, but all he did was grunt in response.
He smelled like sleep, and so I sniffed him, taking my morning dose, when he shoved me away.
Clearly, he was in no mood for morning sex, and getting the message, I let him go and got up to cook him breakfast. After last night, he had to get some calories into his system and regain his strength, especially if I planned on burning said calories later.
I glanced at him one last time before leaving my room and closing the door behind me.
After taking a quick shower and brushing my teeth, I went over to check on Nacio.
His room stood empty, and his bed looked like no one had slept in it.
Assuming he’d crashed at one of his friends’, I went to the kitchen.
While at it, I shot my brother a text, asking where he was.
Surprisingly, the kid answered immediately, letting me know he’d be home in a few hours.
I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d stayed up all night.
And while not a fan of the idea, if that was what it took for him to get over Tess, so be it.
I considered running to a small shop that sold the best bolas de fraile in Miami.
No joke, their dulce de leche was to die for.
But knowing Ari didn’t have much of a sweet tooth, I gave up on the idea and went over to see what we had in the fridge.
Thankfully, I’d gone grocery shopping earlier this week and still had some good ingredients left.
I was actually a decent cook, if not a great one, and confident in my abilities, I took out some eggs, ham, cheese, and veggies and got to work.
About forty-five minutes later, my frittata was baking in the oven, while I was working on a fresh avocado salad to go on the side.
I was in the middle of chopping a red onion when I paused.
Did Ari even like onions? And what about peppers?
I hoped he did since I’d put a bunch of them in the frittata.
It was strange how, on one hand, I felt like I knew him, but on the other, I realized I didn’t know him at all.
It was the simple things, shit like whether he enjoyed peppers in his food or if he preferred his eggs scrambled over fried.
You know, the small details you catch up on while in a relationship.
But I guess I was getting ahead of myself, considering that until not too long ago, the man hated my guts.
Not to mention that so far, we basically did our best just to survive, so it wasn’t surprising that I had no clue how he liked his eggs in the morning.
“Something smells good,” Ari hummed, and I turned from the cutting board to see him standing at the entrance to the kitchen, wearing my freakin’ sweats while passing on the shirt.
“Cookin’ you some breakfast.” I smiled and did my best not to pounce on him. “Hope you’re hungry.”
“Starving, actually.” He moved to stand beside me and leaned back against the counter.
“How did you sleep?” I asked, trying not to stare at his V line too hard.
“Amazing, if you’d believe it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes. Honestly, I can’t even remember the last time I slept through the night.”
I’d noticed it before, but the guy hardly ever slept.
Whenever I crashed at his place after we fucked, I would always wake up to an empty bed, even if it was in the middle of the night.
I wouldn’t be surprised if he suffered from nightmares, and while I wanted to ask, I also didn’t want to ruin the mood.
“So what are you cooking?” He looked around, picking up a strip of bell pepper I’d sliced earlier.
So you do like peppers.
“Frittata and some salad.”
He scooched closer, peeking at what I was doing. “Didn’t know you could cook.”
Adding the chopped onions to the bowl, I grabbed my avocado and sliced it in half to take the seed out.
“I do.”
“I can’t cook at all.”
Peeling the skin, I smiled. “Then it’s a good thing you have me.”
“It is.”
His words, as simple as they were, moved my heart, and I glanced at him. Only he was focused on the avocado, probably unaware of what this single moment—him being here with me—meant.
“Do you mind if I take a shower?” he asked.
“Of course not. I even turned on the boiler so you’d have hot water.”
He placed his hand on my shoulder, giving me a slight squeeze before kissing my cheek. “Thank you.”
He then left, and thank God for it, or else he would have seen how bad I was blushing. Seriously, I had to pause and take a breath to calm down.
Twenty minutes later, Ari was back in the kitchen, but sadly, he was no longer in my joggers, instead wearing his jeans and T-shirt from last night.
“Your house is rather cozy.”
I scoffed, putting the glass salad bowl on the table. “That’s okay, you can say it’s tiny.”
“It is, but it’s still lovely.”
I side-eyed him, then returned to the sink to wash some of the dishes left before the food would be ready.
“I mean, compared to your big-ass penthouse, at least you can’t get lost in here.”
“I don’t own that house. My boss does.”
I paused, cursing myself because I already knew this. “Shit, I’m sorry—”
“That’s okay.” He smiled, but I still felt like shit. “By the way, is your brother not home?”
The oven’s timer went off.
“He went out with some friends, trying to get over his breakup and all,” I said, turning off the timer and grabbing a towel so I could take out the frittata pan.
“So they broke up?”
With the pan in hand, I shut the oven’s door. “Yeah. About fucking time.”
“When?”
Leaving the pan to chill on the stove, I turned to face him. “After your party. Thinking about it—” I put the towel away. “—why did you invite her?”
“Well…” He walked over to me, stopping with his sneakers nudging my feet and his hand on my waist. “You sounded distressed when you talked about them, so I thought I’d help.”
My brows rose as his words sank in. “Wait, you planned it?”
Was it hypocritical of me to suddenly feel guilty?
“I did.” He tilted his head, eyes watching me. “You’re upset?”
Breaking our stare, I coughed. “Well… No, not really, it’s just that, I don’t know. I feel like it’s wrong.”
He let go of me and walked over to the table, where he began arranging the plates and cutlery I’d left there. “If in the end, the result is what you wished for, who cares about the how?” He turned to face me. “Where do you keep the glasses?”
I pointed at the cabinet and watched him walk over there.
“I care.”
He huffed, picking out two glasses. “Well, that’s just a shame.”
“I guess we see things differently,” I said while he fixed the glasses to align with the plates.
“You don’t happen to have napkins, do you?”
I shook my head.
“Oh well, it is what it is, then.” His lips curled up. “I’ll write myself a mental note to buy you some. I recently got a new linen set for my kitchen. I’m sure you’ll love them. The place I got them from also offers matching hand towels.”
Grabbing the pan, I placed it on the table. “You don’t actually care for shit like that, do you?”
He eyed me, one brow raised. “Why, of course I do.”
“You’re a weirdo.”
“A weirdo with good taste.” He gave me a naughty look that made me bite my lip.
“You’re damn right about that.”
We both sat down, and I served him first before cutting myself a slice.
“It smells amazing,” he said after I handed him the plate. “Pass me the salad, please?”
I did, loving how easily we fell into this domestic lifestyle.
“By the way—” He sucked his thumb clean. “—I spoke with Sinclair.”
He handed me back the bowl, and I grabbed it with both hands.
“What?”
He picked up his fork. “Dion’s guy? You’ve met him before.” He took a bite. “Mhmm, that’s delicious. Anyway, I talked to him yesterday, and they were willing to move the fight to tonight.”
In a second, the bubble burst.
And as if struck by shock, I still held on to the damn bowl.
“So, that’s what this was all about?” The words barely left my mouth.
“What do you mean?”