A Flighty Fake Boyfriend (Men of St. Nachos #2) - Z.A. Maxfield Page 0,29
he will be as fat as Jose Miguel.”
“Shh.” Jorge laughed with him. “Uncle won’t appreciate hearing you say that.”
“Luis is very disciplined.” When I was with him, he worked out first thing every morning, rain or shine. “He’ll always be fit.”
“Let’s hope he keeps his hair.” Salazar offered me a plate of papas braves with an aioli sauce for dipping. “William is too lovely for a bald husband.”
The evening went on with waiters bringing out different dishes, croquetas—meat and potatoes rolled in breadcrumbs and fried—fried peppers in crusty sea salt, octopus, and bundles of peppers wrapped in sardines with green olives.
“Now I totally understand why tapas is a thing.” Epic definitely enjoyed the food. He studied every morsel as he ate it, savoring each one. “Every little bite just sings.”
Flush with wine and spicy food, he looked delicious himself. I hadn't forgotten what had almost happened before we’d received the invitation that had changed our evening’s trajectory.
Not being twenty-something, I filled up long before Epic, so I kissed his cheek and went to relax in one of the loungers. I watched the dancers for a while, mesmerized by their vitality and passion.
A severely dressed dark-haired woman, the guitarist’s fingers moved so fast at times they were barely visible. Sometimes, they plucked so slowly and passionately it evoked the long hot nights when Luis had played my body just so.
Every expressive, emotional note took me to another place, another time, when Luis and I had been happy together. For a few minutes, I enjoyed the memories, but then I remembered other less pleasant days, and it came back to me that I was glad things had ended between us.
I only wished we’d been quicker to realize that love couldn’t last—not if I continued to pursue a demanding career, not if he wanted to live a jet-set lifestyle. There was a lesson there, and I’d almost forgotten it that afternoon. Romance wasn’t in my cards, not while my true passion lay elsewhere.
“Is the amontillado putting you to sleep?” Luis asked from beside me.
I’d been so lost in my thoughts I hadn’t noticed his approach. “No. I’m enjoying the music. This is a wonderful party. Thank you for inviting us.”
“I’m glad you came,” he said.
“William seems wonderful.” I would probably never know if he was or was not, and I found I didn’t care. “You’re both very lucky.”
“William is perfect. Despite his many gifts, he wishes to take care of me.”
Because after all, I’d expected Luis to take care of himself. “I’m glad.”
“They say there is someone for everyone.”
“They do say that, don’t they?”
“Yet you bring a boy half your age to my wedding. I wonder if you’re even seriously looking.”
“I’m not,” I said. “And Epic is delightful, I’ll have you know.”
“I’m sure,” he said dryly. “But he’s tapas. Not a meal for a grown man.”
“Luis. Don’t be an ass.” Epic had finished eating and was standing behind him.
“At least with tapas, he’ll never be bored.” Epic shot me a smug smile.
Luis’s lips tightened. “Of course, you are right.”
Epic’s blue eyes sparkled. “Congratulations again on your upcoming marriage.”
“Thank you.”
“Mind if I join you, Ryan?” Epic asked as he sat on the side of my lounger.
“Of course not.”
“I must make the rounds.” Luis rose. “Good to see you, Ryan. We’ll have more time to talk later, I hope.”
“I hope so.”
I made room for Epic, and we stayed like that, spooning, drinking amontillado, watching the dancer and the flickering firelight while conversation in two languages eddied and flowed around us.
“So this is how the other half lives?”
“More like the one percent.”
He turned to me. “Really? You dated a one-percenter?”
“Oh, yes. There are more billionaires on this patio than waitstaff and minions.”
“Oh my.” He relaxed against me. “You’d think I’d want to stay awake for that, wouldn’t you?”
“Mmhmm.”
“Sadly,” he said with a yawn, “I won’t be able to, I don’t think. Those meatballs were so yummy. I don’t suppose you could get a recipe…”
I lit a cigarette when the others began the ritual of cigars. Epic had fallen deeply asleep by then, and the music was no longer live but piped in.
Clouds drifted across the starlit sky, and the sound of waves reached us like the low rumble of distant thunder.
Epic had turned toward me in his sleep. His breath teased the skin of my neck. Contentment swept over me like the cool ocean breeze. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t want a party to end. But parties do that. They end.