Page 4 of Disciplined: His Forbidden Crush

“So there I am, right? Legs spread, tits out, giving this guy the full Loco special. And what does this chucklefuck do? He reaches down and just starts tickling my feet!”

Summer burst into a fit of giggles. “Oh my God,” he said, leaning in, rapt. “What did you do?”

Coco’s eyes danced with mischief, her glittery purple eyeshadow shimmering under the neon lights. “I about kicked his ass right off the sofa! Like, who the hell tickles a girl’s feet during a private dance?” She smirked and took a sip of her cherry vodka cooler. “Let’s just say he got the Coco Loco boot, right in his ass cheek.”

Summer threw his head back and laughed, the sound ringing out over the pulsing beat of the music in the cocktail bar. His friends Coco and Lila clung to one another, laughing hard enough that Coco had to wipe her eyes, careful of her wicked liquid wings.

“I can’t imagine ever doing something like that,” Summer said, unable to keep from grinning.

“You’ve never booted a guy for getting weird during a little one on one?” Lila asked. She flipped her pin-straight blonde hair over her shoulder. “What’s the weirdest thing a guy ever did with you?”

Summer shook his head, stirring his drink with the straw. “Nothing much. I don’t have weird stories like that.”

Lila leaned in, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Oh, come on,” she prompted. “You have to have something.”

Summer shook his head. “Not me. I’m really boring.”

This seemed to dissatisfy her. “What’s with all the secrecy about your past? You never talk about where you’re from or your family.”

Summer’s heart skipped a beat, a flicker of anxiety passing through him. He couldn’t reveal the truth. It would frighten Lila and shatter the image of the person he had become.

And he didn’t want that. He was having the time of his life, surrounded by his new friends in L.A. No one here knew him as Verano Garcia DeVries, youngest son of a Colombian cartel king. Here, he was simply ‘Summer’, and that was glorious.

Coco came to his rescue, placing a hand on Lila’s arm. “Hey, everyone’s got secrets,” she said gently. “Let’s not pry into Summer’s business.”

Lila scoffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Oh, come on. What kind of bad secrets could he possibly have? Look at him, he’s a ray of sunshine!”

Summer forced a laugh, grateful for Coco’s intervention. “Thanks, babe,” he said, his tone light. “I just don’t want to focus on the past when I could enjoy the company of my amazing friends.” He raised his glass, the colorful liquid sloshing inside. “To new beginnings and endless possibilities!”

Coco and Lila clinked their glasses against his. Summer took a sip of his drink, savoring the sweet taste on his tongue. Here, in this moment, he felt truly free—free from his father’s stifling expectations, free from the weight of his past. He was determined to embrace this new life and never look back.

The cocktail bar was a world away from the suffocating confines of the cartel compound. Here, the air was filled with laughter and music, and the only posturing going on was on the dace floor. Summer felt like he could finally breathe, free from the constant scrutiny and expectations that came with being Diego Garcia Lopez’s son.

Back home, Summer had to hide his true self behind a facade of machismo and toughness. He couldn’t express his love for fashion, his desire to dance, or his attraction to both men and women. The cartel’s toxic masculinity demanded that he conform to their narrow view of what a man should be. But here, in this vibrant bar in L.A., Summer could be himself without fear of judgment or reprisal.

The music spilling into the bar from the club inside switched to something Summer recognized from back home, or at least a remix of it. Coco clapped her hands. “Oh yes! Let’s dance!” She grinned at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Summer felt a surge of excitement as he nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, let’s do it!”

Lila clicked her tongue. “I’ll get more drinks,” she said, and made her way to the bar as Summer followed Coco to the dance floor.

The Latin rhythm of the remix pulsed through his body. He let himself get lost in the music, his hips swaying and his arms raised above his head. It reminded him of the good parts of home—the lively fiestas, the sense of community, and the joy of movement.

But it wasn’t all good. As he danced, Summer reveled in the freedom of being “Summer” instead of “Verano.” He didn’t have to worry about his father’s disapproving glare or the constant pressure to prove himself as a worthy son of the cartel. Here, he could simply be a young man enjoying a night out with his friends.

Coco shimmied like a pro, which she was. Her dress glittered under the lights. Summer felt a wave of gratitude to her for taking pity on him in that coffee shop all those months ago. He’d been trying to buy a coffee and a pastry, and found the whole experience confusing—everything from the lack of table service to sales tax to the dizzying number of options available. Coco had stepped in to help. With her brightly dyed hair and exuberant personality, she was so completely unlike anyone Summer had ever known. He’d been entranced, and she’d taken to him at once, like she’d found a little lost duckling. It had made up for how terrible the coffee was, in the end.

From that moment on, they had become instant friends. Coco had invited him into her life and he’d found himself spending more and more time with her. She had introduced him to her friends, shown him the best spots in the city, and helped him navigate his new life in L.A.

Tonight, Coco looked stunning as always. Her hair was dyed a bright purple, with streaks of pink and blue running through it. She wore a tight, sequined dress that hugged her curves and caught the light with every movement. Summer admired her bold fashion choices, so different from the conservative styles he had grown up with.

“You look amazing tonight, Coco,” Summer said, leaning in close to be heard over the music.

Coco grinned, giving him a playful twirl. “Thanks, babe! You’re looking pretty hot yourself.”

Summer glanced down at his own outfit, a fitted black shirt with a plunging neckline paired with tight, ripped jeans and a pair of combat boots. It was a far cry from the guayaberas and slacks he had worn back home in Colombia. Here, he felt free to express himself through fashion, without fear of judgment or reprisal.

As they danced, Coco leaned in close, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “So, see any cute boys you like tonight?”

---