Page 151 of Raspados & Regret

I push away from the counter. “Sorry. That was a shitty thing of me to say.”

He looks down at the bowls. “My tía took me in when my mom couldn’t be bothered to keep track of me,” he says quietly. “I don’t think she’s built for throwing me away. Even if my choice in who I lo—want to be with would disappoint her.”

Holy shit, did he almost say “love?”

My chest cracks open, and I step toward him.

Fabián doesn’t move.

“But?” I ask.

He swallows. “But I still didn’t know what it would feel like to have her look at me in church and know that being who I am is against everything she believes.”

His eyes lift to mine.

“Last night she still looked at me like I was me. But who's to say how she’ll feel on Sunday when I walk her into Mass?”

Oh.

Fuck.

I wasn’t prepared for that.

Not after my mother’s wink and Anita’s emojis and Ricky canceling Pride Month over a bumper. I’m not prepared for Fabián standing in his kitchen with soup steam between us, telling me he’s worried that the woman who has raised him like a son won't love him when it comes to her faith.

So I do what any emotionally stable adult would do. I cross the kitchen and kiss him, and he catches me immediately.

Bowls are now forgotten. A spoon clattering softly against the counter. His hands go to my waist, and mine go to his neck. The kiss starts gentle because the moment is gentle. Then his fingers dig in.

Then mine do too.

Gentle dies an honorable death.

The albóndigas sit steaming on the counter while Fabián backs me into the fridge. A magnet digs into my shoulder blade. His mouth is hot and hungry and familiar now in a way that sends something possessive through me. Yesterday his mouth was discovery. Today it is memory. Proof. Practice. Want sharpening into knowledge.

“You taste like mint,” I whisper.

“I brushed my teeth after I showered; I’ve been drinking coffee like all day.”

“For me?”

“No, for my other boyfriend.”

I bite his lower lip, and he groans.

“Careful,” he whispers as he starts kissing down my neck.

“Or what?”

He grabs my jaw. “Or I’ll make you shut up.”

My whole body goes liquid.

“Promises,” I whisper.

His eyes darken, and then he kisses me harder, his hand sliding from my jaw to my throat. He stops immediately, and his fingers just rest there, lightly. My pulse jumps under his palm.

We both feel it.