Page 109 of Raspados & Regret

The fan clicks in the corner.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

My body aches, my mouth feels absolutely bruised, and my sheets smell like him.

And I’m in trouble.

Not cute trouble.

Not TikTok trouble.

Not “I’m going to flirt with the hot mechanic until he crushes a paper cup” trouble.

Real trouble.

Somehow, in the middle of all the family beef, public bickering, crop tops, black shorts, and an entire comment section screaming kiss, kiss, kiss, I became Fabián Salcedo’s first.

Not his first kiss or his first bad idea.

His first man.

I press both hands over my face.

“Nope,” I whisper to the room. “It's too early to spiral, Lalo.”

The room doesn’t care—it saw everything.

I think about the way he looked at me last night when he admitted he had never done that with a man. The way his voice changed and how he watched me like wanting me might rewrite him from the inside out. How he kept waiting for shame to show up and looked almost confused when pleasure got there first.

I’ve been wanted before.

Plenty.

By men who knew exactly what they wanted from me. Men who liked my mouth, my thighs, my attitude, my body, my mess. Men who didn’t flinch at wanting another man because they’d already fought that war or never had to fight it at all.

Fabián is different.

Fabián wanted me like it cost him something. Like every kiss had to pass through however many years of silence before it reached his mouth.

That should make me careful.

Instead, it makes me stupidly, dangerously soft.

My phone buzzes and I almost fall off the bed.

Unknown number.

For half a second, I stare at it.

Then I smile like a complete idiot.

Unknown

Made it to church.