Page 23

June

I can’t even remember when I fell asleep. One minute I was leaning on the arm of the sofa, Diablo warming my thighs, watching some newer zombie movie I hadn’t heard of, and the next it was morning. I’m covered with a blanket, the sun shining through the windows, my body in a completely different position and—and Marcelo nowhere in sight.

Diablo is still cuddling against me as my brain focuses on the room around me. I hadn’t really noticed last night—not with everything that happened that I am actively trying to avoid, and not with everything that happened with everything I am hyper fixating on—but it’s pretty odd. I’ve been in here once or twice long ago, and I don’t remember it being so . . . eighties. The walls are all either a chestnut brown wooden overlay, or a bright yet somehow dark hunter green; the rug is a kaleidoscope of browns and tans while the couch is bright yellow; even the small kitchenette is covered in lime green subway tile with what looks like a mint-colored vintage formica dining table pressed against the wall.

Hell, the only things new in here are the TV, the bathroom, and the hot Latin man currently in the shower. The sound of the water running pulls me further from sleep, and I can’t help but try to imagine what he must look like in there—the water cascading down his tan skin, drenching those soft curls.

The water shuts off and my thoughts race back to reality as I hear Marcelo open the shower door. Oh god. He’s going to think I’m such a sloth if he comes out, ready for the day already, and I’m still tangled in sleep, hair a mess, breath gross, eyes crusty, and overall just a literal hobgoblin.

Disturbing Diablo, I throw the blanket off me and scramble up from the couch. My head immediately feels woozy, but I ignore it as I—

“Oh, you’re up.”

As I forget every thought I’ve ever had, every word I’ve ever said, my own name, and what woozy even means.

I forget because there is a god in front of me. An actual god. And his name probably has something to do with abs and pecks and just general hot manly umph ness.

This is better than what I just made up in my head about him in the shower. So much better.

Marcelo exits the bathroom, shirt off and sweats slung low. His hair is still dripping, forcing the curls to elongate, making it drape just past his neck. The tattoos I only assumed were spread across his chest are absolutely breathtaking, and so much more detailed than I ever could’ve imagined. He has three large pieces spread across his chest, making an entire mural so stunning, and then they transition into his shoulders, and down his arms.

Marcelo isn’t shredded, but the definition of muscle—the man ness of him—makes me froth at the mouth, and the trail of dark hair disappearing into those low slung sweats might actually cause a heart aneurysm. Or brain aneurysm. Whatever.

The god before me clears his throat, and as I finally unglue my eyes to his gorgeous body and meet his eyes, his smile is wide and wicked and . . . also stunning.

“You good there, princesa ?”

Fuck. Caught. Whatever, I’m allowed. After he stared at my body under the mask all those nights in a row, let me use his hand the other night—and dared be the first man I ever wanted like that appear like this in front of me, I am damn allowed!

“Yes!” I say, a little too excitedly. “I am. Good shower?” What the fuck did I just ask?

He snorts. “Yes. Good shower. Does June want good shower too?”

Oh no. Even his caveman is hot.

“I can wait.”

Smirking, Marcelo nods. “Good. Now get back on the couch. We have plans, you and I.”

I squint at him.

“After you fell asleep, I ended up finding a horror streaming service. I’ve already picked out the best horror movies from the last few years I want to show you. I’ll order pizza, get snacks—but there’s one rule.”

My heart pumps from everything he just said and swells from the idea of it. A movie day. With him. Watching my favorite genre. That he’s planned. But . . . one rule?

“Which is what?”

“We are not allowed to leave the couch.”

And we don’t break that rule (I mean, obviously we get up to get the pizza and go to the bathroom and stretch). After Marcelo replaces his shirt, I am thrown into horror movie after horror movie, blissfully ignoring the haunting image of my mother’s eyes, blissfully ignoring the feeling of grime dripping down my body.

I am engulfed in a horror that is not my own and I could not be more at peace.