Page 4 of Sweet Pucking Revenge (2-Hour Quickies #6)
Maggie
“One more habanero in that guac, and this friendship ends in tears.”
"Scared, Dorian?" I drop another pepper into the molcajete, the stone pestle moving in smooth circles like my abuelita —my granny—taught me.
"Terrified." He perches on the granite counter of his kitchen, designer jeans and coral silk shirt somehow pristine despite the cooking chaos around us. "Though not as terrified as I am about what your father would say if he saw you cooking instead of having staff do it."
"Papá's not here." I taste the guacamole. Perfect kick. "Besides, I need the distraction. My AI systems are running simulations, and watching progress bars is like watching paint dry. One of the perks of being an independent consultant—I can work anywhere, in my own time."
"You know I love you, but when you talk computers, my brain takes a nap..." He steals a chip. "All I know is AI stands for artificial intelligence—and I’ve dated plenty of men whose intelligence was the artificial part."
I laugh. "Remember when you asked Siri to play Bad Bunny and she understood 'bath buddy'? I make computers smarter than that. Teaching them to think, learn, predict..."
"Like robot overlords?"
"More like really good pattern recognition." I check my Cartier watch—5:30. “But AI is so much more than that. I’ll give you a class some other time. Now, speaking of patterns, how's your latest career adventure?"
"Please." He fans himself with a kitchen towel. "An Aquarius never settles. Last month I was reading auras, this month I'm studying astrology with this absolutely cosmic woman, Nova—"
"And next month?"
"The stars haven't revealed that yet, darling." He eyes my Saint Laurent blazer and Hermès scarf. "Though I'm considering styling. That outfit? Perfection."
I start cleaning up. "Kyle's taking me to Le Cirque tonight."
Something flashes in Dorian's eyes, but his smile stays bright. "Special occasion?"
"Maybe." I try to contain my excitement. "He's been hinting..."
"About proposing?" Dorian's voice is carefully neutral.
"I think so. He keeps talking about our future, the resort..." My phone chimes. "That's probably him now."
Kyle: Baby, emergency. Sis in hospital again. Rain check? Love you
I stare at the text, my excitement deflating. Dorian reads over my shoulder and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like "pendejo."
“How do you know to curse in Spanish?”
“I know more than you think. Never think I’m just a beautiful face with the body of a Greek sculpture and the soul of Celine Dion.”
He pauses and his expression turns serious. "His sister again, huh? “That’s starting to smell like something shady—and honey, I’ve sniffed plenty."
“She’s been sick a long time. Kyle doesn’t like to talk about it.” But even to my ears, the defense sounds weak. I pull the tickets from my bag—David Copperfield, front row. Non-refundable."
"I'd go with you, but I have a date with this gorgeous firefighter. Total papi material. And I need someone to tend to my fire." He pauses, a familiar gleam in his eyes. "But you know who might be free..."
"Don't."
"All I'm saying is, a certain hockey captain might be more interested in ‘your magic’ than the pendejo."
"Dorian—"
"What? He's Kyle's teammate. Practically brothers, right? And you said yourself how Kyle felt bad about that night, kept asking Captain Muscles to stay with you..."
"It would look weird."
"Weirder than wasting thousand-dollar tickets?" He sits beside me, suddenly serious. “Ask Captain Yummy.”
"Fine!" I grab my phone. "But only because these tickets were expensive."
Me : Hey, random question. Any chance you'd want to see David Copperfield tonight? Kyle had a family emergency and I'd hate to waste the tickets...
The response comes so fast my heart jumps.
Grayson : What time? Pick you up at Dorian’s?
Dorian reads the message and grins. "Now that's how a gentleman responds." He bounces up. "Let me touch up your makeup. Not that you need it, but if you're going to make Kyle jealous—"
"I'm not trying to make anyone jealous! It's just a magic show."
"The hell you should,” he sighs. “I still have so much to teach you, dear."
He starts arranging my dark waves, his smile knowing. “If he was my Captain, I’d salute him on my knees.”
“Dorian!”
“What? I’m starting to think you’re allergic to honesty, babe.”
The theater lights dim as we find our seats. Front row, center.
"Ready to be amazed?" I whisper, settling in beside him.
"By the magic, or by how you're going to try to explain every trick?" His smile in the dark makes my stomach flip.
"Both. I'll have you know my theories about the motorcycle illusion from last time were completely—"
"Overthought?" He leans closer, and his cologne shorts out my brain. "Sometimes magic is just magic."
"Says the man who probably has spreadsheets analyzing every hockey play."
"Guilty." His laugh vibrates through me. "But I don't analyze everything."
"No?"
"Some things..." His eyes hold mine in the darkness. "Some things you just feel."
The lights go completely dark, and I'm hyperaware of Grayson's arm brushing mine on the armrest. The air feels electric, like just before a storm.
Copperfield appears in a burst of fire, and the show begins. But while the rest of the audience gasps at each illusion, I find myself watching Grayson's reactions. The way his eyes light up. How his skeptical expression mirrors mine when something seems impossible.
"Okay, that had to be mirrors," I whisper during a particularly spectacular disappearance.
"You said that last time about the motorcycle."
"Different angles." I lean closer to explain, drawing diagrams in the air. "See, if you position the—"
"Maggie." His voice is low, amused. "Just enjoy the magic."
"I am! I just—" I stop as our hands bump on the shared armrest. His fingers graze mine and electricity shoots up my arm. Maybe an accident. Maybe not. I don’t ask. But neither of us moves.
"Just what?"
"Just... like understanding how things work."
"Some things aren't meant to be understood." His thumb traces a small circle on my wrist, and I forget how to breathe. "They're meant to be experienced."
On stage, Copperfield is making something float, but all I can focus on is the warmth of Grayson's hand on mine, how natural it feels. How right.
Dangerous , whispers a voice in my head. But for the first time since I arrived in Vegas, everything makes perfect sense.
The show continues, a blur of illusions and whispered theories. Each time I lean in to share an observation, his scent wraps around me. Each time he whispers back, his breath on my ear sends shivers down my spine.
When Copperfield asks for volunteers, Grayson squeezes my hand. "Go on. I know you're dying to see how it works up close."
I shake my head, suddenly shy. "I'm good here."
Here being this bubble where the rest of the world has faded away. Where it's just us, and magic, and possibilities I shouldn't be thinking about.
The final illusion builds to a crescendo. Sparklers rain from the ceiling, and in their light, I catch Grayson watching me instead of the stage. The look in his eyes makes my heart stop.
Oh.
Oh no.
This isn't friendship. This isn't even attraction. This is...
The theater lights come up, breaking the spell. Reality crashes back—Kyle, obligations, complications. But as Grayson helps me with my coat, his fingers lingering on my shoulders, I know it's too late.
I'm in trouble.
And from the way his hands shake slightly, so is he.