“Mi vida. Mi amor. Querido,” Javier teased, picking up Bowie’s arm, kissing his fingers, the back of his hand, his bandaged wrist, before working his lips up to his shoulder with much noise and enthusiasm until Bowie was a giggling mess beneath him. Javier wanted to bottle that sound. “Gomez knew what was up.”
Bowie reached up and cupped Javier’s face, gently guiding him down until he slanted his mouth over Bowie’s, tongue slipping inside, tasting toothpaste.
Javier rolled on top of him, settling between his thighs. “Is this okay?”
“You’ve had me in a struggle snuggle for the last hour. You know it is.”
Javier bracketed his forearms on either side of Bowie’s head, dipping down to kiss him once more, until one kiss became two, and two became ten. Javier never tried to take it further, even though it was clear from Bowie’s hard cock pressed against his belly that he’d be more than okay if he did. Javier just wanted to hold him and taste him. He pressed his forehead to his. “Promise me you’ll never die without me.”
“I promise. We’ll both die together of old age, hand in hand, like something out of a Nicholas Sparks novel.”
“I’m going to hold you to that.”
Bowie bit his bottom lip before saying, “It would be a lot easier to keep my promise if you’d stop killing people.” Bowie’s cheeks turned pink as Javier propped his chin on his fist to examine his face. “I’m just saying.”
“So, you want me to officially retire. No more jobs.”
“Well, no more jobs that require you to kill people, no.” Bowie’s face contorted comically before he said, “Wait. You do know how to do something else, right? Anything? You had to have jobs in prison.”
Javier appeared to think about it. “I’m great at industrial laundry. I make a mean license plate. Oh, and I can rock a headset like nobody’s business.” At Bowie’s quizzical expression, Javier said, “Customer service. We’re who you’re talking to when you call to complain that your package was late or damaged.”
“Maybe you can just be a house husband.”
“And how are you going to keep me in the lifestyle I’ve become accustomed to?” Javier asked.
“Wait? Are you saying you’re not rich?” Bowie deadpanned. “I’ve changed my mind.”
Javier smiled. “Seriously, angel. What do you want to do? Are you going to go back to the company?”
Bowie shook his head. “No. I’m done with the company.”
“Are you done with LA?” Javier asked.
“Before my kidnapping, I might have said yes. But I had a lot of time to think about my future while I was tied to that chair.”
“And…”
“Is my dance studio still on the table?”
“Is that what you want? To go back to LA and open a studio?” Javier asked, brushing Bowie’s hair off his face.
Bowie nodded. “Yeah. If that’s what you want.”
“I want you to be happy,” Javier said.
“I’m happy wherever you are. I could be happy in Mexico, if that’s what you wanted.”
Javier thought about it. Mexico was his home. It was where his family was. His mother. Even if she didn’t remember who he was anymore. But Mexico was dangerous for him. Histíohad enemies. He had enemies. Bowie would be a much bigger target there long term. Besides, he liked volunteering for Pam’s organization. “No, angel. I think LA’s better for us…for now.”
They laid there for a long while, neither of them able to sleep but both too tired for anything more than lazy kisses and quiet conversation.
“Do you really think they’ll blame us for Giordano’s death?” Bowie asked after a while. “The older one, I mean? Do you really think she set us up?”
Javier gave a quiet chuckle. “Did she seem like a criminal mastermind to you? Besides, Nicky has us covered, alibi-wise. We’re fine.”
Bowie gave an exaggerated sigh. “Well, that’s good. Now we’re back to being on the hook for just two murders and an attempted murder. Awesome.”
Javier let his fingers trail languidly over Bowie’s belly. “They’ve got nothing on us, angel. Unlike the Russian doll, Iama criminal mastermind—”
