Page 50 of Dirty Lyrics
His head turns, black eyes glittering, and even though I know the lights are bright, I swear he is looking right at me.
And I know—I know—he’s not singing to them.
He’s singing to me.
Every note, every lyric, every look he casts over the crowd but lands right on me when he thinks no one notices—they’re mine.
Something sparks inside me, sharp and fierce.
Pride. Love. Possession.
It hits me like lightning, this realization that I get to be the one who sees him both ways.
The untouchable El Tigre, larger than life. And just Rico, the man who curls around me in bed whispering filthy things against my ear and making me fall harder every second we’re together without ever really trying.
I press my hand to my belly, my heart aching.
Our son will grow up knowing this man.
Not just the star on stage, but the artist. The fighter.
The man who loves so hard it consumes him.
And me? I’ve never been prouder of anything in my life than being his.
The crowd roars his name again, and he throws his head back, sweat glinting under the lights, his voice breaking open on a high note that makes the room erupt.
It’s magic.
It’s him.
And I can’t look away. I won’t.
Rico is so talented, and the whole world gets to share that.
But I’m the only one who gets the real him.
And I’m so damn proud to call myself his wife.
chapter 21-rico
Days since the show, and the headlines are still going crazy.
Some call me reckless.
Some say Diablita broke my heart, and this is a rebound thing.
Some call Maya a gold-digger.
Some call our relationship a PR stunt.
I don’t give a fuck what they call it—but I do get mad. I threaten one reporter, and I entice another with an exclusive interview after the baby is born if they just fucking cool it.
Worse than the media frenzy, though, is my agent.
I know Matheson’s losing his shit.
I don’t know what the sleazy motherfucker is up to, but I know it’s not good.
