Page 31 of Damián

“It’s still a commitment.”

“Can you stop being so annoying? It’s just a title.”

“If it is just a title, then we can have another one that’s not ‘boyfriend’.”

“Yeah, like what? Taco Masters?” I say, full of sarcasm, but the manchild laughs.

“That sounds much better,” he agrees.

“I’m being serious, Damián.”

“Me too… I’ve always wanted to be a Taco Master.”

“Seriously?… How the hell have you ever dated before?”

“I haven’t.”

“What?” Now that’s shocking. “Why?”

“I don’t date. I’ve never had a boyfriend, and I’m not starting now.”

“Not even a fake one?”

“I don’t do boyfriends.”

I sigh, annoyed at this whole conversation.

And even if I don’t want to admit it, I feel a bit hurt. Like, fuck him for acting as if being my fake boyfriend was such a horrifying torture.

“As you wish,” I say, beyond annoyed. “But since you are the one who fucked up my mission by not holding onto a damn phone, you’d better find another way to infiltrate my father’s business, a plan that doesn’t include me.”

I stretch my hand under the dash to turn off the signal jammer, but Damián catches my wrist, stopping me.

“Stop… fuck… just…” He rubs his hands over his face and groans. “Fine,” he mutters, sounding entirely unconvinced. “We’ll be boyfriends or whatever. Just one condition…”

“If it’s something childish, I swear—”

“It’s not, I promise… But, if we do it, all this, our new fake status and everything, never reaches my family. Understood?”

“Understood.” I nod back.

Don’t ask, don’t ask why…

It’s personal, Ollie, don’t ask…

“Why?… Is your family against you dating men?” I ask.

To my surprise, he laughs out loud. “The exact opposite. They would be so fucking ecstatic; they’d probably find us a church to get married in as soon as they hear I actually committed to someone.”

“They sound great.”

“They are. Which is why I don’t want them to feel hopeful and happy, only to break their hearts.”

“I promise you, it won’t reach your family.” Without thinking, my hand moves to squeeze his, and he must be as startled as I am because his usual grin drops and he just stares at me. “And I mean nothing will reach or touch your family, Damián.”

“Thank you.” He squeezes my hand back before moving away to grab his never-ending frappe. “By the way, how did you know I was at this grocery store?”

“Please… I am the primary informant for four agencies around the world. I know your favorite coffee, the name of your first pet, and even the fact that you buy the expensive organic eggs because you think they taste ‘happier.’ Finding you at your favorite grocery store isn’t exactly Mission: Impossible.”