Page 41 of Hate That Blooms

“Is that because you’ve found someone already?” eyeing me suspiciously. “Someone who’s very territorial over you, even though he’s an asshole?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”Lie.

"Sure, you don’t. Just know that if he hurts you, my cousins can get rid of him pretty easily.” Cora has three cousins in the Los Muertos Vivos MC, and they are known for doing some shady, very illegal things.

“Noted.” I lean in to hug her. “Get home safe.”

“Will do! I’ll text you tomorrow.” She breaks our hug and gets in the driver’s seat, starting the car and driving off.

Once I’m back inside, I stumble through, cleaning up the cans from the coffee table. Then I head back to bed, stripping down to just my underwear and a baggy shirt. I collapse onto the sheets and pull the comforter up. I’m not so drunk that I’ve got the spins, but the light “fuzzy” feeling is nice, helping me drift off to sleep.

Chapter25

Joaquín

The containers of takeout fried chicken sit on the counter staring at me—the first real holiday without my mother, and it’s hitting dad really hard. It’s six o'clock, and all he’s done beyond picking up the food is get ridiculously drunk. Grocery store prepared Thanksgiving stuff would have sufficed, but man, this fried chicken is disappointing. I plate myself some of the chicken, potatoes, corn, and coleslaw, letting out a sigh. I can’t find the biscuit container anywhere, so I grab a fork from the utensil drawer, slamming it closed.

“No cierres los cajones, imbécil.(Don’t slam the drawers, idiot.)” Dad shouts from the living room, the sound of the announcer of the football game making it hard to understand his slurred speech.

“Sorry,” I mumble under my breath. There's no point in trying to eat with him when he’s this drunk. All he does is start comparing me to mom and will tell me I’m worthless and that I’ll end up just like her, hurting the one I love and leaving them broken.

I try really hard not to take his insults to heart, because I know it’s the alcohol talking. It still hurts, though.I’m nothing like her.

I may be a fucking asshole to Gabriela, but I would nevereverbe with someone else. I can’t even stand the thought of someone else touching me. Let alone fucking someone else. I’d rather die than walk out on my spouse and children.

That’s what makes me different from my mother.

I may be crazy, but at least I have some morals.

I need to see her tonight. I’ve been dying to touch her again since that day I saw her and Mireya at the park. It’s as if my hands tingle in anticipation of feeling her skin under my fingertips. Once dad is out, I’ll wait until they’re asleep and sneak back in with the spare key. I need her like I need oxygen to breathe today.

* * *

Well, this isn’t what I was expecting to find when I got to Gabriela’s house. Cora’s car is right outside, and the lights are on in the living room. I figuredGabrielawould have a quiet dinner with her sister tonight, you know, ‘cause it’s the first big holiday after the divorce and her mom’s passing. But it seems I was wrong. While she entertains everyone, a part of me grows irritated as I sit here, consumed by loneliness.

At midnight, the front door opens, and Cora, a very drunk Nat, and tipsy Gabriela come stumbling out of the house. Cora seems to be the only one of them not intoxicated and the apparently designated driver. Gabriela attempts to help in getting Nat in the car's backseat. I try hard not to laugh at her drunken attempt at putting the seatbelt on Nat. Once Nat is situated, Cora says something to Gabriela that makes her face flush, then she hugs her goodbye.

I slouch in my seat to hide from view as Cora drives past my truck, hoping she doesn’t recognize it. Waiting a little longer to make sure the lights go out and there is no movement in the house before I get out and head over. My body buzzes as I make my way up the porch, retrieve the key from under the flowerpot, and unlock the door.

Her scent is all around me when I enter the house, and I associate the smell of her with home. This house smells and feels like home because she’s here.

Fuck, this girl has me all messed up.

Before I go check on her, I head into the kitchen to check the fridge. I’m desperate for a turkey sandwich, and I am praying they have leftovers. “Fucking score,” I spot the container of leftover turkey meat and pull it out and set it on the counter. On the counter is a shit ton of hard seltzer cans, and the reminder that my girl is probably in bed drunk sparks my interest.

First, I’m gonna make a sandwich—wrap that bitch up to go—then check on my girls. With my turkey sandwich safely wrapped up, I make my way through the house. Down the hall, I approach the first bedroom, gently pushing open the door. There, lying peacefully in her tent bed, is Mireya. The credits of a movie roll on the screen of her tablet, which is propped up on her bedside table. Against my better judgement, I enter the room, turn off the tablet, and make sure she’s safe in her tent. Satisfied that she is, I quietly close the door behind me.

Moving on, I make my way to Gabriela’s room. The door is slightly ajar, and as I push it open, I’m greeted by the soft glow of a bedside lamp. There she is, curled up on her side, her breathing steady. Her features are delicate, and in this quiet moment, she looks vulnerable, reminding me of all the shit she has gone through. Even more than me.

I take a moment to admire her—simply enjoying the way her dark chocolate-colored hair cascades over the pillow and the rise and fall of her chest. The curves of her hips that I desperately want to hold on to. It’s in moments like these that I realize just how much I care for her and how much she means to me. She's the only person who knows what I’m going through. The only person who could ever understand the fucked-up shit that happened to our families.

Quietly, I make my way over to the bed, careful not to disturb her. I sit down on the edge, and with my hand outstretched, I gently brush a lock of hair away from her face. She stirs slightly but doesn’t wake. A mischievous smile creeps across my face. She’s really passed out. I bet I could do anything I wanted to her, and she’d let me. An idea hits me and I set my phone up on her dresser facing the bed, recording what I’m about to do to her.

My cock thickens in my joggers, aching to be inside her. But I want to gaze into her eyes, getting lost in their depths, when I finally surrender myself to her. So I will settle for the next best thing. I moved to shut her door just in case Mireya was to wake up, then I removed the comforter from the rest of Gabriela’s body. Slowly, I pulled down her underwear, shoving them in my pocket for later. In a bold move, I spread her thighs apart and almost come at the sight of her perfect pussy. The memory of her taste floods my memory as I position myself between her legs, tracing a single finger along her entrance. She is already wet and warm, responding to my touch.

Without hesitation, I bury my face in her thighs, savoring her arousal and teasing her clit. Gabriela’s breath hitches as I give her a deliberate, slow lick with the flat of my tongue. This girl has unparalleled control over my senses. She encompasses everything I feel, the only person I see, and it’s her voice that echoes in my mind, driving me to the point of insanity. Her intoxicating scent envelops me, and she becomes the sole thing I crave. I want nothing more than her in my life.

Just her.

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