Page 44 of Damián

Ah! This culero!

“First of all, why do you even know that? And second, if we’re talking about sleeping around with everyone, you are definitely the bonobo at this table.”

I laugh, fully expecting him to throw a sarcastic comment back, but to my surprise, he doesn’t.

Instead, a deep-red blush creeps up his neck and cheeks, and hell, I don’t know what’s weirder: the fact that a guy with his Playboy reputation is blushing over a dumb joke, or the fact that I really, really like the way his face looks when he blushes.

But unfortunately, the blush vanishes almost as fast as it appeared, and his expression switches to his usual scowl.

“Favorite position?” I ask, deliberately trying to get the color back in his cheeks, and it works instantly.

“…Whichever lets me see my partner’s eyes,” he murmurs, looking away. “Is it actually true you’ve never dated?… before this, I mean.”

“Never. I’ve never had any interest in committing to one person,” I say, leaning forward. “Alright. My turn… When was the last time you had sex?”

Oliver freezes.

He stares at me for a split second before reaching out, grabbing his sake glass, and drinking it all.

What the fuck does that mean?

Was he seeing someone else at the Gala?

Is he seeing someone else now?

He sets the empty glass down. “How do you usually spend a normal day?”

He is clearly changing the subject, and for some inexplicable reason, it irks me.

A fucking lot.

“Every day is different. It depends on the ‘art’ I get commissioned to sell,” I reply, trying not to sound bothered that he didn’t answer. “Today I was woken up at seven a.m. by my four-year-old nephew in Spider-Man pajamas using my stomach as a trampoline. I had breakfast with my family, hit the gym, went to work, and then came here.”

“You’re a family man…”

“I am. Is that a problem?”

“No, it’s just…” He swallows before looking down. “Don’t you ever want kids? A family of your own?”

I pick up my sake cup and drink. Not because I don’t want them, but because I do. I would love to have a family of my own, but not with the price it comes with.

Like the pain of losing them like I lost my father.

Oliver glares at me for taking the coward’s way out, and I kind of like his glare, but I want to see him blush again.

“For what I’ve seen, most tabloids show you with both men and women. Which do you prefer?” I ask.

Instantly, the blush is back. Only this time, it’s much stronger.

Mierda…. I want to touch him, but this stupid table is in the way.

“Men,” he answers quietly.

Good.

I really like that answer.

“What are you…?” He bites his lower lip, his light hazel eyes darting up to meet mine. “…top or bottom?”