Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Nero chuckled, rolling closer to the edge of the bed so he could stare at Miguel from above. His eyes were swollen, and red, and his skin shone with sweat, but he still grinned like a manic hyena. “No, Miguel, it totally happened. You’ve been quite the gentleman when you took me out for spaghetti and gave me that last meatball.”
Miguel squinted, rubbing his aching knee. “I bet we also found ourselves sucking on the same piece of pasta. Give me a break.”
Nero’s brows rode up, and he wagged his finger Miguel’s way. “You remember! Aw, Miguel, you’re such a romantic.”
“You can tell my wife one day as we all laugh about it,” he said, to re-establish himself as a straight man, even though both he and Nero knew it was a load of bullshit. He shook his head as he fought gravity in an effort to get up. The bits and pieces of last night popped up in his head like some kind of delightful nightmare. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d got so drunk. Or had had so much fun for that matter.
Guilt ate at him like a family of starving rats as he kneeled, attempting to get his bearings while the room spun around him like a carousel at top speed. He shouldn’t be enjoying himself when his father and sisters lay in a cold grave, waiting for him to unleash their vengeance on Raul Moreno. It had been eighteen years, and still, he’d proven himself a disappointment.
Nero moaned. “Typical. Marries a woman but what he really wants is to put on a costume and fuck a man in the bushes.”
“I did not put on a fucking dog costume.” He was ninety percent sure about that. “And I did not fuck you,” he added, though he did turn around to check his zipper. The only things missing from his body were boots and his gun.
“You did,” Nero said with light-hearted conviction, like someone discussing reality with a drunk, which Miguel definitely was in this situation. “You put on the costume and mounted me from behind, and did that whole speed thrusting thing—”
Miguel’s face heated up as he raked his brain for memories. He was to blame for looking into Nero’s eyes and putting his arm over the guy’s shoulders when he didn’t need to. But wouldn’t he remember Nero’s body against his? Sweaty skin on his lips, Nero’s moans, and his dick buried deep—
“There was no thrusting!” He grabbed his stomach when his innards twisted in a painful bout of nausea.
“Ouch.” Nero scowled and squeezed his arm. “Got you worse than me, huh?” he asked, shaking his green head while sitting up.
“I’m never drinking with you again!” He rose but had to collapse into Nero’s throne-style armchair when his head swirled with pain.
“Oh, don’t be like that. We had fun. You know we did,” Nero said, sliding his feet to the floor and massaging his temples while his eyes remained fixed on Miguel.
And he wasn’t wrong. Miguel wasn’t the kind of guy who enjoyed having fun, but last night had been bliss. He even had to hide his laughter at one point to not lose the stupid bet with Nero.
They didn’t fuck, Miguel was sure of it, but he had touched the guy willingly and liked it.
“It was… a way to pass the time,” he said, rubbing the back of his head against the plush upholstery of the ‘throne’ while his hands laid on arm rests covered in shimmery gold paint.
Nero grabbed a bottle of water from the nightstand and threw his head back, swallowing gulp after gulp. In the morning sun, the unevenness of the skin on his torso and stomach was impossible to miss, and the large-surface scarification made him appear as if the caimans inked in his flesh were real and about to launch themselves at Miguel. And the golden rings in his nipples? Miguel shouldn’t stare at them at all.
But despite his broad arms and firm muscles, Nero appeared too small for that massive bed, as if there was another person missing next to him.
“Gonna hire you as my tango teacher,” Nero said and put the bottle against his forehead.
Heat flashed through Miguel’s face, and he was unable to face Nero anymore, focusing on the coffins adorned with skulls tattooed on his own hands instead. This was what he was now. Death and destruction, not fun.
“I’m not any good unless your brain’s soaked in tequila,” he mumbled, questioning what had pushed him into fraternizing with Nero last night. He’d told the bastard far too much about himself, and likely didn’t remember it all. He couldn’t have revealed his revenge plan, could he?
Nero snorted. “Sure you aren’t, junior tango champion.”
Miguel rested his face in his hands. "I told you that, didn't I?"
Nero seemed ready to continue when the ringtone that Miguel had already learned to associate with Raul Moreno erupted in his pocket.