Page 28 of Loco

Ihad not a single regret about the shift in our relationship. Not one.

In fact, I was fully embracing it.

This morning, I’d woken Roque with my mouth wrapped around his cock, and judging by the way he’d groaned my name like a prayer and a curse combined, he’d woken up very happy. He returned the favor once he regained motor control, dragging me to the edge of sanity with that infuriatingly skilled tongue of his.

If I’d had my way, we wouldn’t have left that bed all day. We’d have stayed tangled in the sheets, skin to skin, living on kisses and slow touches, soaking in the newness of this thing between us.

But, of course, reality came knocking. And, like always, it didn’t wait for an invitation.

We spent the rest of the morning checking on my house—thankfully still standing—then shoveling snow, knocking iceoff the gutters, and checking the essentials back at his place. Roque’s generator was still running, but we kept the heating at the bare minimum to conserve fuel. The fire in the living room had become our central hub for warmth and comfort, and honestly, I didn’t mind. There was something grounding about sitting close, wrapped in a blanket, dogs curled up nearby, with the snowstorm still rattling against the windows like it had a grudge.

Once we were back inside, I had to get to work. I had emails to answer and phone calls to make. Then, obviously, there was the insurance stuff I had to sort out and a quick catch-up with Jacinda, my sister, Evie, and some other friends. I checked in with my family to reassure them I hadn’t frozen into a popsicle. All of it was necessary, but not all of it was fun.

Roque had taken a phone call about an hour ago and vanished into the smallest of his spare rooms, the one he’d converted into a makeshift office. The second he answered, I saw the change in his face—tension, sharp and instant. His jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed at whatever was said on the other end of that line. He hadn’t come back out yet, and judging by the closed door and the silence that followed, it was something serious. Or at least seriously irritating. I knew better than to interrupt him when he was like that.

So, I stayed in the living room, keeping to myself, surrounded by warmth and fur and the low crackle of firewood. I let the dogs curl around me—Lynyrd on my left, Skynyrd pressed against my thigh, and Dog lying with his head on my foot like some noble guardian. Their presence was oddly comforting, and they’d made themselves my unofficial supervisors as I worked on what I’d begun to callmy secret project.

It wasn’t exactly part of my day job in the hair and beauty world—but maybe it could be classed as an extension of it. It was a little offshoot that’d started from a video I filmed for Delicious Divas. In it, I’d had a homemade hair mask slathered on while I painted my nails and explained why I used each ingredient. It was casual, unscripted, and just me being me.

I didn’t expect it to go viral.

What caught everyone’s attention, weirdly enough, wasn’t the hair mask. It was the nail design. I’d been messing around with some detailed line art, a little celestial theme with stars and moons—and that small design had blown up in the comments.

Soon after, a nail company reached out. They specialized in false nails—something I didn’t even wear, to be honest—but what made them different was the quality. Their reviews were excellent, even for the glue they used. I might’ve been skeptical, but their pitch was solid, and the opportunity was too good to ignore. So, I’d started designing sets for them—edgy nails, some soft and elegant, and others just plain fun. Bright colors. Textures. Themes. I loved the creative freedom.

But the actual passion project came from another unexpected message—a pet shampoo brand.

The hair mask ingredients I’d been using were pet-safe, and they were intrigued by the idea of developing a line of grooming products using similar formulas. Now, I was helping them create a full range—shampoos, leave-in conditioners, moisturizers, and balms for dogs and cats. Everything gentle, low-scented, and safe for their skin and fur. Something that could soothe dry patches, make coats shinier, and help pets that struggle with allergies or sensitive skin.

And when we finally launched the line, Lynyrd, Skynyrd, and Dog were getting the full VIP treatment.

For now, they just sat beside me in their usual spots, big eyes watching me work like I was crafting something life-altering. Maybe I was. Perhaps it wouldn’t change the world, but it could make a difference. And right now, that felt like enough.

I spared a glance toward the hallway where Roque had disappeared. Whatever was going on with him could wait a little longer. We’d talk when he was ready.

Until then, I had work to do—and a trio of fluffy assistants making sure I didn’t forget who this next venture wasreallyfor.

“You know,” Roque said casually from the doorway, making me squeal and nearly leap out of my skin, “when we were fifteen, Kemble and I stole his brother’s car and tried to drive to Florida.”

I twisted around to stare at him. “Youwhat?”

The tension from his earlier phone call still clung to his shoulders, but the corners of his mouth twitched as if he couldn't help but grin at the memory. “Yup. Middle of winter—not as brutal as this,” he added with a nod toward the frosted window, “but we were sick of being cold and figured the beach sounded like a solid plan.”

I blinked at him, stunned. A teenage runaway adventure, and now he was a cop. The irony hit me like a slapstick punchline.

Reading my expression, he chuckled. “Yeah, I know. The irony, right? Anyway, we made it about an hour down the road. Neither of us had the faintest idea what we were doing, and then we got a flat tire somewhere outside of town.”

“Let me guess,” I said slowly, “you changed it yourselves?”

Roque laughed outright. “Not even, a police officer stopped to help us. Thought we were just some clueless kids—which, I mean, we were—but he changed the tire and sent us on our merry little way. Ten minutes later, the engine started smoking like a chimney.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t die.”

“Pfft,” he snorted, stretching his legs out in front of him like he was getting comfy. “We weren’tthatreckless.” The wince that followed suggested otherwise.

“So, what did you do? How’d you get home?”

He shook his head, a bit sheepish now. “Kemble’s brother kept spare change in the ashtray, so we walked about a mile until we found a payphone. Both of us were shitting ourselves about who was going to make the call, so we settled it with a game of rock, paper, scissors to see whose parents we’d call. I lost.”

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