Page 18 of Loco

“Or,” he continued, smirking now, “you stay with me.”

I hesitated, chewing on the inside of my cheek. Staying with Roque should have been my last resort, yet I hadn’t minded it as much as I thought I would. Actually, I kind of enjoyed it.

After a moment, I sighed. “Fine. But if you snore again, I’m smothering you with a pillow.”

His grin widened. “Duly noted.”

With that settled, we spent the next hour packing up more of my stuff to take back to his place: clothes, toiletries, and whatever books and essentials I could grab. Roque walked past as I stuffed a duffel bag, holding up a scarf.

“You sure you want to wear this back to the house?” he asked.

I glanced up. “Yeah, why?”

He smirked. “Because it’s currently covered in dog slobber.”

I sighed. “Of course it is.”

He chuckled, tossing it onto the pile before picking up one of my bags and heading for the door. I followed him, pausing only once to glance back at my house, ruined bathroom, frozen pipes, and all the work waiting for me.

Yeah. I wasn’t moving back in anytime soon.

And honestly?

I wasn’t all that mad about it.

I pulled the scarf from between his fingers and wrapped it around my neck as I turned to face the door where my bags were waiting. I could cope with some dog drool for another five minutes. It beat freezing to death outside. But just as I went to walk forward to pick up some bags, the thick fabric slipped from my shoulders, drifting to the ground before I could catch it.

“Ah—” I bent down to grab it, moving too quickly, too carelessly?—

And backed right into Roque.

A sharp inhale. A low, barely restrained groan.

My breath hitched. Heat shot through me as I realized exactly where I’d pressed against him.

Oh, hell.

I went rigid, my fingers clenching around the scarf as I straightened far too quickly, my heart hammering. But it was too late, the damage was done.

And worse, my mind betrayed me.

It reminded me of all the things I liked about him—the things I tried not to think about. The deep, smooth timbre of his voice that always sent a shiver down my spine. The roughness of his hands, the strength in his arms. The way he moved, all confidence and power, like nothing could shake him.

The way he looked at me sometimes, like he saw through every damn wall I put up.

I swallowed hard, forcing my breath to steady, shoving those thoughts down where they belonged. It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t.

But when I finally dared to glance up at Roque, his jaw was tight, his eyes dark and unreadable. And for one stupid, reckless second, I thought maybe—just maybe—I wasn’t the only one struggling with this.

Lying in bed,I stared up at the ceiling, my mind restless despite the quiet around me. The room was dim, the soft glow from the streetlights outside casting long shadows against the walls.Roque’s steady breathing filled the space, a slow, rhythmic sound that should’ve been comforting.

But it wasn’t because tonight had felt normal. Too normal.

We’d made dinner together, moving through the kitchen like we’d been doing it forever: Roque chopping vegetables, me stirring the sauce, our bodies brushing in the small space between the counter and stove. It was easy, thoughtless, like second nature.

Afterward, we let the dogs out and played with them in the yard. I laughed when they nearly bowled me over, landing in the grass with a breathless huff. Roque had just shaken his head, pretending to be unimpressed, but I caught the smirk he tried to hide when I scooped up the cat and set him in my lap later.

We’d sat on the couch, watching a movie, his body stretched out next to mine. My legs curled beneath me, my fingers buried in the cat’s fur. His warmth was close, so close, but not quite touching.

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