Page 8 of Tangled in Red

Before Brett could grab the trays, Diablo reached past him and lifted them away. He wasn’t about to let Brett lift a fucking thing if his arm hurt that much.

“I’ll get the drinks,” Brett offered, but Diablo was already on it, putting the cup and bottle on one of the trays.

Brett didn’t say a word, just followed Diablo to their table. Once he sat down, Brett gave him a look. “It’s sore, not broken. I’m not helpless.”

“Goddamn right you’re not.” The chair creaked under Diablo’s weight as he sat across from Brett. He passed him his tray and drink, the plastic scraping over wrought-iron. “Maybe I was just trying to impress a cute redhead.”

“When you say stuff like that—” Brett’s cheeks were flushed, his face a vibrant red. “I never know how to handle it, Diablo. If you haven’t noticed by now, my flirting game is pretty much like tripping over rocks. I’m more likely to blush my way into first-degree burns than come up with something clever to say to a hot guy.”

I see you. I know what you’re not saying. And I’m still right here.

Diablo leaned in, resting his elbows on the table. “I’m not looking for smooth or clever, sweetness. Your beautiful blush tells me so much more than words ever could. The way your breath catches, your genuine excitement, and how you edge closer to me when we’re together. That’s what draws me to you, Brett.”

Diablo definitely had a thing for redheads. There was something about the way those fiery locks popped against pale skin, with freckles scattered like sin, and green eyes like summer leaves, that really did it for him. Though, he knew not every redhead rocked those green eyes, especially not dark ones.

But it wasn’t just looks that grabbed Diablo’s attention. It was Brett’s innocence and his wild enthusiasm, like everything was some amazing discovery waiting to be found.

It was the awe-struck way Brett gazed at him from across the table, completely unaware of how dangerous Diablo’s life truly was. He’d gone from loathing himself for what he’d become to anticipating Brett’s calls and texts.

Brett looked at him like he was the interesting one, but really, it was Brett who had Diablo hooked. Everything about the redhead captivated him.

“You’re attracted to my worst qualities?” Now Brett stared at him like Diablo’s screws had fallen out and were rolling around in a drawer somewhere. “Except for how you pull me in. That’s not a bad thing.” Heat crept up his neck as he glanced at his tray, like he’d just remembered there was food in front of him.

“We’ll have to agree to disagree on what you think your worst qualities are, cariño. Eat up. Cold fries aren’t very appetizing.”

Brett didn’t argue and started eating while Diablo finished everything on his plate. It was an unofficial crime to waste Mama’s food. The burgers were juicy enough to make anyone moan, and the smoky wings almost had him growling.

“This is the best chicken I have ever tasted.” Brett took another bite, his eyelids fluttering. “That’s two new obsessions in one day.” He licked his fingers then wiped them on a napkin before grabbing a few fries. “I’m full, but I can’t seem to stop eating. What did she put in this food to make me stuff myself?”

Diablo gestured to his own plate, now just bones and leftover juices. “I’m suffering from the same mystery, cariño. Every time I come here, I leave questioning my life choices. Why do you think I ordered so much?”

“Because you’re a growing boy,” Brett teased. “Better hope you don’t grow much bigger.”

That was a loaded statement if Diablo had ever heard one. As he grinned, he tapped his booted foot against Brett’s under the table. “I have no doubt you can handle me, pajarito.”

Brett’s eyes widened as his foot returned a tentative pressure that sent heat crawling through Diablo. Not a blush—he’d never blushed a day in his life—but something equally dangerous.

“Handling you might require specialized training.” Brett’s voice dropped lower than Diablo had heard before.

The sound traveled straight to his cock. It seemed his shy little bird wasn’t so timid after all. Interesting. “Offering to get certified?”

Brett’s laughter cut through the evening air, genuine and unguarded. Diablo watched the way his shoulders relaxed, how his hands gestured with animation as he described some hospital mishap involving a balloon bouquet and an elderly patient’s dentures.

Fuck, he was beautiful when he wasn’t trying to disappear.

Evening settled around them, string lights flickering on above the tables. The customers had thinned, leaving just them and a couple at the far end of the patio. Twilight painted Brett’s red hair in copper tones, his freckles standing out against pale skin that caught the glow of nearby neon lights.

Brett’s fork scraped across the plate as he scooped up the last bit of coleslaw. “You’re terrible,” he said, though his grin said otherwise.

Diablo watched those slender fingers wrap around the plastic fork, mesmerized by the contrast between Brett’s pale skin and the freckles dotting his knuckles. Every bite, every lick of sauce from his fingertips, Brett made something as simple as eating look like an art form.

“I’ve been called worse,” Diablo chuckled, pushing his empty plate away. “Finish your food before I steal it.”

Brett raised an eyebrow. “After what you just consumed? Where would you even put it?”

“One of my many secrets.” Diablo leaned back, stretching his legs under the table until his boot accidentally brushed against Brett’s ankle. They both seemed to enjoy the connection.

Brett blushed even more as he popped the last fry into his mouth, chewing like he was keeping a few secrets of his own.

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