Page 29 of Damián

I gesture vaguely toward the SUV behind me, and Damián’s eyes flick to the car, then right back to me.

“I can throw it away if you don’t want it,” I say, moving my hand away, but Damián stops me.

“No need. I like it, and I am surprised.”

I hold out the drink, but before he can take it, I remember we have an audience.

If we want my family to believe I have a boyfriend, Silvio and Franco need a show. I step right into Damián’s space, my free hand reaching up to grab the collar of his t-shirt, and I pull him in to kiss him.

I swear to God, I meant it to be a peck.

Just a quick, tiny press of lips, but it turns out Damián doesn’t do pecks.

Instead, he places the paper bag on the hood of my car and pulls me against his chest. His mouth finds mine, completely swallowing my surprised gasp.

With one hand, he holds me in place while his other hand slides up to cup the nape of my neck, his thumb stroking my skin.

The taste of him, the feel of his tongue exploring my mouth, and the noises he makes turn me into something I’ve never allowed myself to be: a complete mess.

My fingers grip his shirt as my knees turn to liquid. We kiss for a bit more, and he doesn’t let go until way too long past what could ever be considered “fake.”

When he finally pulls back, his chest is heaving slightly.

His light brown eyes look dark, and a wicked smirk tilts his lips. “To what do I owe the pleasure, guapo?”

“Get in the car,” I manage to breathe out. “I want to take you somewhere.”

“Sure, give me a second.” He takes the bag from the hood of my car and walks to a red motorcycle parked near the entrance.

I climb into my Escalade and beg my body to calm down, as I watch Damián through the window. He unlocks a black chain from a matching red helmet, flips it over, and tucks the grocery bag safely inside.

Then, he does the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen… He pats the gas tank and whispers something to the bike.

What the hell is he doing?

Damián opens the passenger door, sliding in and twisting all the way around to put the helmet and bag in the backseat.

“Did you just say goodbye to your motorcycle?”

“Of course.” He puts on his seatbelt as I pull into traffic. “How else is my baby going to know I’m coming back for her later?”

I burst out laughing, and when I glance over, Damián is just staring at me, his mouth open in surprise.

“Why are you looking at me like that? You’re the weirdo explaining his schedule to a piece of metal.”

“Agree to disagree,” he smiles, taking a slow sip of his frappe. “And why are y—”

“Why am I taking you to this place?” I interrupt, giving him a hand signal to mind what he says, and he nods. “Because waiting two more days to see you was too long.”

“Wow, you missed me that much?”

“You could say that.”

“So… where is this magical place you wanted to take me?”

“Are you always this impatient?”

“Worse,” he grins around the straw of his frappe.