St. Augustine, Florida
Miguel storms across the sea of bodies, shoving his way to the bar. He barks his order, choking back something sweet and citrus. Fists pound in the air as raucous party-goers sway to the music.
Where’s Mateo? He was supposed to be here.
The bruise on his eye throbs, blood still trickling down his brow from where his foster father, Felipe, had punched him earlier. He can’t even remember what he did to piss Felipe off. It started with a few jeers here and there, scathing comments about being a freeloader, then it ended with Felipe’s fist raining down on him.
Fucking bastard. Miguel knows he shouldn’t have left Valeria alone with him.
It’s all the same shit. Guilt rakes up and down his body, but he pays at the counter, not bothering to flash his fake ID before he downs his drink.
Shit. No sign of Mateo. Oh, well. He can’t wait forever.
Miguel fights his way through the crowd, desperate to get home soon. It’s late. Valeria will be worried. That’s enough motivation to keep him moving faster. He’s only about halfway across the room when he finally loses his patience and shoves into the next person blocking his path.
The man turns, a deadly glint in his eye as he checks who just pushed him. Miguel glares back defiantly, the stranger looking barely old enough to be allowed in a club at all.
He’s handsome. Devastatingly so. Miguel’s heart jams in his throat as the man smiles, sleek and cool. Deadly. A shiver runs down his spine and he banishes it with the hot flood of disgust that washes through him. This is not the time or place. Valeria, his younger sister, is waiting for him.
The man’s gaze morphs into something softer, steel melted down with fire. A smirk drags across his face and he steps closer. His hair is wild auburn curls, his skin ochre like the setting sun. The stranger’s eyes are a swirling mix of greens, blues, and browns, a smoky hazel. He’s wearing a neon green sheer top, his pierced nipples flickering in the strobe lights, and his black skin-tight jeans make his legs look endless.
“Can you back the fuck off?” Miguel tries to say but his voice gets lost in the heavy, pounding bass. He huffs out a breath and turns to continue elbowing his way through the crowd. He barely manages a step, when a hand encircles his wrist, the strength in that grip forcing him to stop.
He whips his head around to look back at the man who is impeding his escape. The fiery look is still there, as Miguel glowers at him. The man just grins lazily, tugging on his wrist until he trips forward.
The move causes Miguel to press up against the man, both of his hands splaying across his chest and his face nearly buried in the crook of the man’s neck. What the fuck? He tries to wrench himself back, to regain some distance from the man, when the other bends slightly to brush his lips against the shell of Miguel’s ear.
“Leaving so soon?” His voice is hot and wet against his earlobe. Miguel shivers and he feels the other man smile. “Dance with me.”
Fuck no. The way their bodies move is not what Miguel would call dancing. It’s too slow to match the beat of the song. The stranger slots one of his thighs between Miguel’s legs and presses forward, rolling his hips indecently. Miguel sucks in a sharp breath. With half a mind to punch the man in the throat, he leans back slightly only to find his movement being followed as a pair of lips attach themselves to his throat.