“Ptuh!How can you drink this?” He coughs, scrunching his face as he swallows the tart liquid. When the bartender brings over a shot of rum, he immediately grabs it and quickly tosses it back, chasing away the sharp tang of the whiskey with the sweet burn of the rum.
I laugh, knowing Gabriel has never been a fan of citrusy-tart drinks. “Get him a Bacardi and Coke,” I instruct the bartender as he places the other shot down beside my cocktail.
Gabriel makes a reach for it, but I quickly lay my hand on top of his. “You never drink like this, chulo. Tell me what’s going on?”
His jaw tightens, just barely, but I catch it. His shoulders look stiff, like he’s holding something in—or holding himself together. Even the way he moves feels off, like his body’s too tight in its own skin. I’ve seen him relaxed. I’ve seen him reckless. But this—this is different. This is Gabriel trying not tofall apart. And now, the alcohol on the table is starting to make sense.
Turning his hand over, he slots our fingers together, blowing out a long breath. His gaze lingers on our joined hands for a long moment before looking up—stunning gray eyes locking onto mine.
“I need to be here, Elijah.”
“You already said that,” I remind him. “Where are you staying?”
He shrugs, just as his Bacardi and Coke arrives. His hand trembles ever so slightly as he brings the glass to his lips. “I fucked up,” he says, and I wait, watching his throat work as he swallows. “I fucked everything up with Noah.”
A single tear escapes from his right eye. He lifts our joined hands to his face, lets the tear slip onto my knuckles, like a confession he doesn’t know how else to give.
“I fucked up,” he says again, voice breaking around the edges.
All I can do is sit here, holding the weight of that tear, of those words… of him.
“Oh, Gabriel?—”
“Don’t,” he whispers urgently, sliding his fingers over my lips, bringing my words to a halt. “Because I’m about to fuck up again.”
His mouth slams against mine, sudden and fierce, fracturing my guarded disposition. For a second, I’m stunned. Shocked beyond belief. And then I fall victim to the familiar feel of those lips pressing against mine, and all common sense takes a back seat. Our mouths move together with effortless urgency, lips dancing in perfect sync, as if they’ve spent a lifetime longing for this reunion.
His lips are like putty, becoming more pliable as I suck, bite, and lick the tender flesh, swapping saliva as our eager tongues push past our lively lips. My fingers dive into his hair at the backof his neck, threading through unruly waves, making him hum, and I tighten my grip on those silky strands, holding his mouth more urgently against mine—the paired sensation of hair and lips causing me to tremble all over.
“I need you,” he moans into my mouth, and I deepen our kiss, addicted to those rum-flavored lips. “Te necesito, Elijah.Te necesito.”
¡Carajo!
Those Spanish words slice right through my hyped-up state of arousal. I rip my lips from his, breathless and stunned. The realization of what just happened rocks me to my core.
“Gabriel…”
“Don’t,” he pleads, grabbing my hand as I try to pull away. “Don’t stop this… this…”
His forehead drops against mine, heavy, like he needs the contact just to breathe. His fingers trail down my cheek, slow and shaky, unbearably tender. “Give me one night with you, Elijah,” he whispers. “Please. Just one night.”
A pause. A breath.
“Te necesito,” he says again, softer this time.
And it ruins me.
Pulling away, I slap two fifties down on the bar and stand.
“Alex is coming tomorrow and?—”
“And we have tonight,” Gabriel cuts in softly, taking my hand before I can finish.
Gently, I lift him from his seat and begin walking, but my voice is firm, almost brittle. “There is no ‘we,’ Gabriel.”
His gray eyes darken like a gathering storm, the weight of my words crashing down on him. A single tear slips silently down his bronzed cheek.
Without hesitation, I reach up and brush it away.
