I sigh, give the dress one last glance, then finally pull it on. It hugs every curve, the fabric soft and clingy, with a deep scoop in the back and a slit up the thigh. My heels add three inches to my height and make me feel so damn sexy. When I step out of the bathroom, Anna and Mari both go silent for a beat.
“Shit,” Anne breathes. “You look dangerous.”
“You look like you’re about to ruin his whole life.” Mari grins.
I glance at myself in the mirror. I mean…they’re not wrong.
We’re just finishing last-minute touch-ups—Anna reapplying her lipstick for the third time, Mari spraying perfume on all of us—when the knock comes at the door.
Anna practically squeals. “They’re here!”
“Act casual,” Mari says as she grabs her clutch. “Like we didn’t just spend two hours contouring.”
“Too late,” I mutter, suddenly very aware of the pounding in my chest.
Anna opens the door, and the guys file in—Seb in a black button-down and jeans, Andres in a sleek navy blazer, Nathan in all black with a cheeky gold chain. And then…Mateo. Black jeans, a dark olive-green shirt that clings to his strong arms, sleeves rolled, and cocky smirk in place. Damn, that man is fine as hell.
His eyes land on me, and he stops moving. Completely. He just stares.
“Damn,” Andres mutters under his breath, nudging Mateo. “You okay, bro?”
Mateo doesn’t answer. He just keeps looking at me like I’m the only one in the room.
“Hi,” I say, voice barely above a whisper.
He blinks, finally catching himself. “Hi.”
Mari leans toward Anna, stage whispering, “He’s broken.”
Anna giggles. “Mission Accomplished.”
Mateo steps closer, his voice husky and low. “You look…” He shakes his head slowly. “Chula, you look like trouble.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. “Maybe, I want to get in trouble with you,” I say, leaning in whispering in his ear. “And you don’t look so bad yourself.”
Mateo’s breath catches, and I swear his eyes darken just a little. His lips part like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans in, his mouth brushing the shell of my ear.
“You better be careful, chula,” he murmurs, voice low and full of promise. “Because if you keep talking like that, I won’t make it through the night.”
I pull back just enough to meet his eyes, heart pounding. “Then let’s see how far you make it,” I say, walking past him toward the door.
And I don’t even have to look back to know he’s watching every step I take.
The bar is alive with lights and bass and bodies moving in every direction. Our group takes over a booth near the back, drinks already flowing before we even sit down. Anna orders a round of tequila shots, Andres finds the wine list, and Seb somehow convinces the bartender to make him something called holiday jungle juice.
Mari slides into the booth beside Seb, her hand resting naturally on his thigh, and within minutes they’re leaned in, heads pressed together, whispering and laughing like they’re in their own little bubble. On the other end, Anna’s chatting animatedly with Nathan and Andres, her arms flying, cheeks flushed from her second cocktail.
Mateo’s next to me, his knee brushing mine. The heat between us has been building all night, like a spark waiting for the right breath of air to ignite it. I sip my drink and scan the crowd, pulse already syncing to the rhythm. The music thumps through the walls, but then—oh yes—then the beat changes. An old-school reggaeton track drops. The beat from “Prrrum” by Cosculluela begins to fill my ears. My eyes snap to Mateo’s.
He doesn’t even get the chance to ask. I grab his hand. “Come on.”
He grins. “Let’s go, chula.”
We weave through the crowd, the music getting louder with every step. The moment we hit the dance floor, I turn, press my back to his chest, and start to move. His hands come down on my hips like they’ve always belonged there. Firm. Possessive.
We move together like we’ve done this a hundred times. The bass thrums through us, and I roll my hips, pressing into him, and I feel him. Every breath. Every shift. Every thought he’s not saying.
His mouth is near my ear, my breath heavy. “You’re going to kill me.”
