Page 9 of Caught Looking
“What if this is just him being curious, J? What if he ends up having a falling out with his family—or worse, losing them? He’ll hate me.” My tongue was dry and I had to press my heels into the cool marble floors just to keep from panicking again.
This time it seemed like I finally stumped J’s positivity rant. He let out a long breath, and when he spoke his voice was soft. “I hear that, bruh. Losing him for good would be worse than never having him fully. Still, you have to let Hatuey decide that for himself. You need to talk to him. Tell him what’s worrying you, because keeping him at arm’s length might push him away too.” It was easy for Juanpa to say; I knew from what he’d told me that Priscilla’s family was as obsessed with them getting together as his family was. It simply wasn’t the same for us. Just the thought of putting Hatuey in that position twisted me in knots.
And of course instead of accepting J’s good advice, I lashed out. “Are you taking notes for yourself, Juan Pablo? Or are you just calling me to feel better about your own bullshit?” Redirecting was my friend, and maybe if I picked a fight with J I’d get my mind off the mess I’d made of my whole damn life.
His answer was not what I expected, though. “Yeah, actually I am. I started seeing a therapist a couple of weeks ago, because at least I’m smart enough to know there’s shitIneed to fix for Pris and me to be great. And if I ever get a chance with her again, I’m not going to waste it.”
Those last few words clawed at me. I was wasting this chance. J was right, this was more than just the promise I’d made to Hatuey’s dad—it was my fear that he wouldn’t choose me. I hadn’t let myself believe this thing with Hatuey was anything more than him being impulsive so I didn’t have to find out. If I let myself go to a place where this was a real chance…no. I was not going there, I knew fucking better than to believe in fairytales.
Just as I was about to answer J, the door to the villa opened and an animated conversation between Hatuey and the housekeeper of the villa drifted in. My focus and my body automatically shifted in his direction. I could talk shit until I ran out of words, but my brain and my body still responded to him like he was the fucking sun.
“Yo quiero mango Banilejos, Yenni!” My heart pounded at the smile I heard in his voice when he asked for the Dominican mangos he always craved when we were in the States. A laugh from the housekeeper was the only response, and I wondered if she was already falling for him too. He walked in, and when he saw me an unguarded smile appeared on his face, for just a second, before wariness replaced it. “Yenny’s going to try to find me some mangos.” He bravely tried for a smile, but I could see that he was worried I was going to reject him again. I hated, fuckinghatedthat I’d done that.
“J, I gotta go.” I ended the call with Juanpa’s final plea to “get my head out of my ass” in my ear as Hatuey gave my phone a very unfriendly look. He had his running shorts on, chest bare and slick with sweat. Everything I’d ever wanted standing in front of me, and I couldn’t make myself take it. But the smile from a second ago had slid off his face and was replaced by an expression I couldn’t quite identify. It was like he was trying to take my temperature from ten feet away.
He took me in, from my very unruly bedhead to the usual random team T-shirt and shorts combo I slept in to my bare feet. I was perched on one of the chairs in the kitchen overlooking the patio leading to a private pool, but Hatuey was not interested in scenic views. He looked like he wanted to murder my phone.
“What did Juan Pablo want?” His icy tone wasn’t exactly surprising. Hatuey wasn’t a fan of Juan Pablo. My best friend had always been pretty aloof when it came to the guys I’d dated, but with J he’d been as close to openly hostile as I’d ever seen him with anyone. Even after our short fling had long fizzled out.
“I thought he was done chasing after your dick.” He practically spat the words as he came in closer, heated eyes roaming over me as if he was making sure his property was all still there.
Something twisted and feral crawled around my chest and my lungs filled with air at seeing him like this. Territorial and possessive. I wanted to show him where all my focus was. Pull him by the waistband—shove him up against the glass that looked over the Atlantic Ocean—and fuck him until I’d slaked off this absurd fantasy that had wormed into my brain this week.
He was so close now that I could smell the sweat and salt from the beach on him. “Is the sand good for running?” I asked, knowing I’d get a rise out him by ignoring his question.
Still he didn’t move, and I knew he wouldn’t until I gave him an answer. I had to bite down hard on the grin that was threatening to appear on my face, because even though I knew this was the road to perdition, I still reveled in seeing him jealous of Juan Pablo. “He just wanted to hang out. I told him we were away for the weekend.”
“Right, like I don’t know whatthatmeans.” His jaw ticced, and again, every dirtbag instinct in me was pushing to the surface at once. It was ugly how happy seeing him practically snarling with jealousy made me.
“There’s nothing happening with me and J.” By now he was standing just inches from me. Towering over me for once, and he looked like my every fantasy. Beautiful, furious and ready to pounce.
“But there could be. You’ll go back to New York on Sunday and pick up where you left off. Like nothing happened,” he said, voice shaking. Fists opening and closing at his side, like he was keeping himself from grabbing me. “You’ll act like everything’s the same.”
The need in my belly was burning my self-control down to ashes with every anguished word out of Hatuey’s mouth.I wanted to howl in frustration at the guilt gnawing at me. I wanted to say,Nothing is the same, and you know that night was everything to me.
But when I opened my mouth, I made it worse. “I’ll act like my best friend and I slipped up but don’t want to risk things going badly.”
Hatuey’s fingers weren’t what you’d expect. He was tall, and slim, with brown skin that looked like dark, flawless wood. He looked more like the image of a tortured poet than a politician, but his hands were rough. The pads of his fingers a little scratchy from all the years he played tennis and baseball. I braced for what I knew was coming when he reached me. Once he was close enough to touch, he ran his fingers over the side of my face, his expression intense and haunted.
“I hate that you won’t let us have this. I hate that you don’t believe in me.” His voice was tight, needy. There was no mistaking the desire there. And maybe Juan Pablo was right—it wasn’t up to me to decide for both of us.
“Of course I believe in you. But this is madness, Hatuey.” I said weakly as I placed a hand on his flank, feeling the clamminess of his skin.
What if you change your mind? What if you stop wanting me?
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask it. To tear my chest open and let him see I was terrified, but his lips were so close and I’d held back for so long. He leaned into me, the T-shirt he’d been holding in one hand tumbling to the floor as his arms encircled around my neck. Our lips touched and I listed from the power of our mouths coming together. I imagined that we were inventing a whole new way to speak. Where words were superfluous and we communicated like this, mouth to mouth, tongue brushing against tongue.
“I can’t get enough of your kisses.” Hatuey had never been one to hold back, while I kept everything close to my chest; he pronounced his every desire for the world. “Your mouth.” The two words were a full sentence. A statement of fact. “How did I never notice it’s the most perfect thing in the world?”
“Stop saying shit like that, Hatuey.” I mumbled as I pressed my mouth to his.
“It’s true, it’s perfect.” He protested. “And now I can’t stop wanting it.”
I sucked in a breath, chest expanding with the air I was holding there while his mouth and tongue branded my skin. A nip on the blade of my collarbone, a gentle lick on the shell of my ear, soft lips on the tip of my nose. I should’ve stopped all of it, but my hands were on their own discovery expedition.
I slipped them into his shorts, my fingers grazing his cleft as he worked on sucking on my tongue. The memory of his heat, of how he felt, fueling my lust. I rubbed my thumb over his hole as he pressed his hard cock to my thigh.
“I want in again,” I garbled out as I fingered him. “Hold you open while I fuck you with my tongue.” I could’ve had him right there. He moaned, ass clenching on my finger.
