Trece #2
“If I were dancing with you, you’d know it.” Fuck! Why did I just say that?! Que, stupida! How dumb! His eyebrows hit the top of his forehead so fast that his whole head jerks up. Oh, Diosas.
“Show me,” he asks with his damn dimples. With that look, he probably gets whatever he wants from whoever he wants. Not from me, though. I fucking refuse.
“I’m not showing you shit.” Pff, as if. I slink past him and try to shut the door behind me, but his big-ass body blocks it.
“Then teach me.” What is he bored?
“You’re kidding, right?” Are all men this dumb, or is it just this one?
“Do I look like I’m joking?” That’s the last thing you look like, hockey boy.
“You look like someone who's clearly suffering from memory loss.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Uh, why does he look so shocked?
“Did you forget that it was literalmente my job to teach you things?” I can see when his brain connects the dots. The realization on his face is priceless.
“Remember how that turned out? Yeah, I thought so, cabrón ,” I remind him as I sit on the couch and pull off my boots aggressively. ?De repente tienes demencia? Does he suddenly have dementia?
“I owe you an apology for all that, Ed,” he says as his voice takes on a tone that’s full of guilt. His eyebrows join together over his laser-focused eyes, and the ferocity on his face is a sorry ass attempt to convince me that he means what he says.
Especially when he didn’t actually say anything at all. His words don’t match the serious look on his face, and it makes me fucking mad that he’d bullshit his way through an opportunity to come clean about what he did to me.
“Is that your version of saying you're sorry? Try again. Like you mean it this time. Otherwise, you should just turn your ass around and leave.” He conveniently diverts his eyes and stares at the fucking floor.
“ Sí, eso es lo que pensé. (Yeah, that's what I thought). Don’t waste my time, pendejo . Not until you find your fucking balls and can apologize like a grown-ass man for the shit you pulled.”
“Edison, I’m –” just as he opens his mouth to spew more bullshit, his phone alarm starts blaring. What time is it? Why the fuck would he be getting up so early? Don’t athletes need to sleep so they can chase the ball better?
He reaches into his pants pocket to retrieve it, and I watch him as he swipes his thumb over the screen to silence the annoying sound.
I get really fucking heated when he stares at his phone, checking his messages, leaving me on the hook for a fucking apology that clearly won’t ever come.
I feel hot again, like my heart’s an erupting volcano and lava is coursing through my veins, melting me from the inside out.
“Forget it, I don’t give a shit what you have to say anyway, Hunter.
Just go, I’m fucking tired and looking at you is making my eyes burn.
” He doesn’t move a fucking muscle. Why doesn’t this man ever listen?
Do his ears work? I’m starting to get really fucking aggravated.
He pockets his phone, and when his eyes catch back up to mine, he looks genuine as hell.
“No, I need to get this out. Looking at you now, I realize I’ve had my eyes closed for way too long.
That I’ve made mistakes that no apology can ever make up for and that I feel so fucking guilty, but that’s not all I feel when it comes to you, Ed.
” I’m stunned by his sincerity and the emotional bloody droplets that drip from every word that he cuts out of his mouth.
“What else do you feel?” I question, genuinely curious for a fucking explanation. Did I really hear him right? ?Qué quiere decir? What does he mean by that?
“I feel everything when it comes to you. Fucking everything. You got me feeling bat-shit crazy and everything in between. You’re like some demon that’s moved from your residence in hell to live in my heart.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means I like you, like, I really fucking like you. I don’t feel anything for anyone, ever. But then you came along and changed all that. And it runs fucking deep, Ed. You run straight through me.”
His words are so powerful that they push me over the edge. I’ve reached the point of no return, a threshold full of skyscraper-high emotions and the kind of exhaustion that has you questioning your sanity while considering a seventy-hour psych hold.
I must be clinically insane. It’s the only explanation I can come up with for why I’m standing up.
I feel light on my feet as I stomp over to him.
He looks down at me with this little smile on his face, his eyes crinkling as he smirks and says, “What do you think, Ed?” Really, Diosas?
The dimples, veins, and abs weren’t enough? ! He’s got game like that, too?!
I’m thinking that I don’t know what to think. My heart’s in total control right now, kicking in like a generator to make up for the power outage that my brain is currently experiencing.
I can feel them swirling inside me like a hurricane as it tears down my defenses. The momentum of the storm that he’s caused can’t be contained. He’s a category five making landfall.
This is out of control, and so am I when I reach for his stupid-hot face, pulling him to me so I can kiss the shit outta him.
It’s the first time I ever wanted to kiss someone.
The second time someone has ever kissed me.
And both times it was with this fucking idiot.
Y se siente increíble. And it feels incredible.