[ Do U Dirty by Kehlani ]

SEVEN: when all you need is a distraction.

Paint had dried under my fingernails by now. The landscape in front of me nearing on decimated, desolate when I'd come back to Earth. Something about painting felt like an escape, I hadn't escaped in so long. I didn't cry when Izzy went out, I hadn't truly cried in a while.

He'd left in a hurry shortly after our conversation turned sour, insisting he had a shift to cover and he didn't kiss me goodbye. He went to, I could see it in his eyes that he wanted to. I'd disrupted everything, and I could tell he finally got the message. He'd tucked his hands in his pockets and kept a distance, lips in a fine line, I watched as he realized -as if for the first time- what we were is all we were.

I wiped my tears and tugged my hair back, it getting much too long for comfort. I needed a haircut, I needed a bit of a shower as well, the stink of the day's activities stuck to me. I'd spent the daylight hours facing truths I often tried to hide from and honestly, I was exhausted.

But I needed to finish.

I needed to work on this piece, Mike needed it yesterday. I was desperate to feel something outside myself.

I made my way to the studio, throat and stomach mirroring in knots. It was getting closer to summer, the heat smacking against my face and the minute I stepped outside I was sweating.

Maybe how much of a mental wreck I was should've been apparent with the feeling of my feet slick and sliding around in my shoes. I forgot socks. I'd already been getting comfortable in the house, bare feet padding against hardwood when Izzy had made it his mission to make everything between us awkward. And maybe I shouldn't have taken out all my problems on him.

All I knew was I still felt that same feeling I'd felt for weeks, like everything in my life sank when heard about Abuelita's condition and I never really did therapy. I made art.

Maybe my issue was that I hadn't created in so long, I forgot what it felt like.

And I didn't live far from the studio, I actually could make it there in record time if I rushed. Normally, the walk would be leisurely, take about twenty-five minutes, but this time I had the weight of the world on my chest, I made my way seven blocks and I was unlocking the door to my studio space with shaky hands.

It was empty, as almost always, concrete floors and brick walls, a room barren yet littered with work, no furniture besides easels and a few uncomfortable stools, the eyes on a 15'x15' painting followed me across the room and I was throwing down work before I knew it. I wasn't gentle.

Normally, my work would be so carefully placed against the easel or taped to the floor in such a delicate manner. I was so obsessed with preserving the canvas. This time, I tossed down everything I was carrying, I threw on the paint-splattered shirt that hung off my easel and through teary eyes, I'd pulled the piece I'd been working on off the drying rack.

It'd started back on my landscape, the last piece in a triptych. It was initially an homage to Moonlight and Mexico, I didn't know what it was now but looking at it evoked no emotion. I'd been creating something meticulously with the intention on feigning spontaneity and it... felt like I tried too hard.

The piece felt so art school it scared me, I dreaded the thought of critiques.

Of how Professor Yuen would call it amateur, how he'd drag me through mud for playing it safe. And it looked like all my pieces, it did, it looked like the AP Drawing Portfolio that I'd submitted sophomore year. I breathed heavily through my mouth, trying to hold back how fucking angry I was all of a sudden.

I hated feeling anger. I hated that fire in my chest, I hated that I had nowhere to place it.

My fingers curled around a mason jar of paint thinner, loosening the lid and trembling. I dipped a large paintbrush in, then into the tacky oil paint on my rolling cart and I slathered a long streak of red down the middle. Right through Puerto Morelos.

As bad as it sounded, sometimes I thought it would be better if I wasn't so idealistic.

The best women in my life called me Pablito.

Maybe living so close to my grandmother had a lot to do with it. Abuelita was my best friend. Young, she let me try on dresses. It always hit hard me when thinking about it, Abuelita was the only one who really knew me for the first 14 years of my life.

And she loved me. She didn't mention what my infatuation with dolls and dresses and her perfume, not even what my obsession with Victor Perez, my kindergarten best friend... likely meant. She didn't care to try and steer me differently, Abuelita was just happy that I'd paint her nails.

That I'd sing show tunes with her and watch telenovelas and when life got a bit more busy, I always visited her on Sundays after church. I never, ever missed Days of Our Lives reruns. When I was old enough to realize what my inclinations meant even at a young age, I wasn't scared to tell her.

Because she saw me, she really saw me.

And I was never ashamed of myself when I was with her. That shame I'd buried so deep inside, it didn't fester around her, it never had the chance. She asked if Brandon was my novio when she met him and she never asked if I was gay.

She knew me, she knew about me and I didn't have to tell her and she could tell that I didn't want it to be a big deal. It wasn't, she didn't mention it, I was Pablito to her. I wanted that love for all those other kids, I wished Jules had it from someone, I wanted to be that person for him.

Abuelita always said we had many soulmates in our lives, not all romantic, I knew she was mine. She said her first one was this girl Pilar, before she met my Abuelito, how they were the kind of friends who kissed.

She said she was sure my mother had one of those, how we all did, how the world would be so much better if we all just did what we were afraid of, without consequence. She spoke of how much shame Pilar brought to her, how she wished it didn't have to be that way. Fading in and out of Spanish, some words I didn't recognize, probably due to the age discrepancy, Abuelita told me that the best, the most authentic thing I could be in this life would be myself.

And that she would love me regardless.

When I realized that Abuelita was only one, even if she was my most important, she was only one person... that fear resurfaced, that fear came back and squeezed itself with me in between pews. It hung off my shoulders with men, in bars that I had no business being in.

I had this obsession, this need to hide my alcoholism from people that had never had an option to question my sobriety. Isaiah knew I wasn't sober but he didn't know of my addiction. Maybe he did, maybe he didn't think it was as bad as it was. He once mentioned that all bartenders were alcoholics, I'd laughed it off but it hurt.

He didn't know how much it took a toll when I woke up ready to drink. I used to busy myself, when I was sober, initially if that feeling was exponentially strong that day, I'd go to painting. It would hold me over until someone or something more interesting became my fixation.

That someone was B... then it was Nic, then it was Jules and Jules never noticed my drinking.

I told myself I got good at hiding it, at evading his questions over FaceTime, it was easier than realizing that he never really asked. I refused to resent him for it.

He knew, I knew he did, at least a little. He knew I changed when I drank.

I started to realize how, with everything done to me, with every situation, I instantly went to hide.

It was my coping mechanism, I pushed people away when they started to suspect that I didn't have my shit together... and while alone, I would hope someone noticed beforehand. Maybe I fell in love with people that I saw that in as well. When someone was so invested in themselves, when they had their own secrets, they didn't bother with yours.

Nicholas hid being gay, he didn't let me meet his friends, his girlfriend didn't know he liked men and even when the situation fell apart, it fell apart because he pushed himself so far in the closet that he'd convinced himself that he'd get over it.

I remembered seeing the engagement post on his sister's instagram. He was marrying a woman. I knew that if I didn't have Abuelita, I'd probably turn out the same.

-

"Pace yourself, Pablo." That was Aunt Gloria, her tone knowing. I hated how quickly the rest of the family knew things immediately after they happened.

It had been one night, one drunken emotional breakdown two years ago and everyone on my mother's side of the family assumed that I couldn't handle my liquor.

Or, at least, they knew what had already gone through around forty other mouths. It was like some annoying, dated game of telephone and my Aunt Gloria thought her sister's wedding was the best time to micromanage how I consumed one glass of champagne.

I smiled, forced, bit my tongue and nodded. Placing the champagne glass on the table, I offered a question about how she'd been, how her kids were. That was the easiest, always, it was the best way to veer away from any possible confrontation. Politics weren't so bad, weather was even better.

Ten minutes into talking about the election —and her republican views that masqueraded as democratic— she'd asked me when I was getting married.

I answered politely, stating that I didn't know, knowing that her confusion afterwards was only the beginning.

She then moved on to laugh lightly, shrugging off the awkwardness. I sipped at my glass, watching her stumble. She settled on asking how me and my... partner... would go about kids.

I hated that word: partner, as if he wasn't the love of my life. They always tiptoed around it, every function, every phone call... it was 'how's Pablo and his... friend?'

Friend, as if we didn't fuck before putting on each other's cufflinks.

"Mi sobrino, how are you?" She offered friendly fire first, that was how family often was. Aunt Gloria was a master at this, she knew exactly how to get under your skin while keeping her hands clean. I figured she was where Aunt Claudia learned how to make my mother tick.

I was a lot like my mother, that was what I realized. I noticed how hurriedly she would attempt to diffuse situations, even if they hurt her, my mother was much too kind for her own good. And I wasn't in the mood to have her explain why her son went off on her Aunt at her half-sister's wedding."I'm alright, Tia."

"Good, good," she offered, "did you bring a date?" I knew she knew I brought a date. There was no way that we weren't the topic of conversation since we arrived. We sat in a pew together, hand in hand, Jules had kissed my cheek at the reception, before being dragged away by Pete and Willa, she knew I brought a date she just didn't care. "Yvette, you know Mateo's hijo de primo, she didn't bring a date. Bonita, muy, muy bonita."

I didn't care how pretty Yvette was.

"I brought a date, mi novio."

"Tu amas los gringos..."

They always did love talking about how white-washed we were.

She chuckled. "It's been years, Pablito. Why you not thinking of children?"

Part of me wanted to say that I'd never thought more of children. That I wanted to build a life with my love, and that included kids. The pettier side of me wanted to go into deep detail about how much I loved fucking my man, bare, and not having to worry about protection.

I had half a mind to be as offensive as possible in the house of the lord, and with another three glasses, I probably would've.

My blood boiled at her furrowed brow, I hated how her confusion felt genuine.

I hated how she said it, like it took so much out of her to ask. In that case, don't fucking ask. She was grimacing when I failed to be as polite as I probably should've been.

"Well, my boyfriend and I... we are planning on adopting."

"I don't see how that's a good idea."

Was it a good idea to have three kids out of wedlock? For some reason, my sin was the only one worth mentioning. Not uncle Tony's history of abuse, not great great uncle Manuel's racism, not Aunt Gloria's premarital sex, none of it. Only that I liked men.

"Excuse me?"

"It's just... don't you want kids of your own?"

"They'll be my own. We both love kids, it shouldn't matter if they're blood." We could have surrogates, my cousin Isa had carried children for her sister before, a situation like that was always an option.

I'd learned a while ago that my life could be what I wanted it to be, it didn't have to fit in the confines of what they thought I could and couldn't achieve. Just because I was gay did not mean that I couldn't have everything I wanted, the life I wanted with my husband and our kids.

"It's just that Roberto and I, we fostered this... negro kid once." And the way she said it felt a lot like the Cubans on her Dad's side of the family. She was my mom's older cousin, and her family was a nightmare. "Real kind, you know, real kind but kids like that, you can't really raise them as your own, they're..."

"A bit too... they've seen too much."

All I heard was how quickly this was bordering on racist, how offensive it actually was that people who come from struggle could sit here and talk down on kids that come from people that also come from struggle.

The election that year had already proven how much this country did not care about our people and she had the audacity to look me in the eye and act like this.

"You can't foster black kids?"

That was bullshit.

And she could tell how it sounded, she tried to backtrack. Her wrinkled old face had shriveled up in distaste and she spoke with her hands. "Not because they're black but because, you know, because they're troubled. They come from no family. And two men, it-" she shrugged, as if what she said held any weight, "well, you know... it's already hard to raise a man, your mother would know."

"Excuse me?"

In a second, my cousin Alexa was stepping in front of me. Fake smile on her face, she offered a small, "Tia."

"Oy, Lexa, como estas, negrita?" I stared at the back of a coily head, neck tattoos intersecting and forming into a medusa-inspired piece on her back. I'd always been impressed by it.

"Good, Tia, bien." Her voice was sickly sweet and I gulped back the rest of my glass. "Tio Mateo sent me to look for you."

"Oh! Where is he? I have been planning to introduce Roselyn's Maria--"

My cousin nodded, pointing over my aunt's shoulder. "The bar."

When she was gone, Alexa turned to meet my eyes, hers blowing wide. She slid another glass of champagne my way. "Tia Rebe doesn't deserve another heart attack."

-

"...Its..."

"...fucked."

Rilee's grimace was enough to cement it. Her opinion on my pieces was always a valid one and she was tilting her head to thee side as if a different angle would provide her with welcomed criticism. "It's not that bad."

"It was beautiful, Ri." And it wasn't that bad now, but the paint had diminished the skill level significantly. I'd worked so hard on those waves, so intricately on the millions of tiny people I drew with perfect proportions. "Now it's so fucking ruined."

Half the canvas was now covered with this bright orange-toned red and it threw everything off.

"I actually like it." She shrugged. "The thin layer of red... Maybe if you add a lighter shade? Create a little balance on this side." And she was trying so hard instead of just admitting that I'd gotten too emotional and lost the control and confidence I was trying to showcase.

"Mike's gonna kill me."

As if it didn't matter, she was shaking her head, leaning over to grab the coffee she brought me. "He wanted your art to say something." We sat on the floor, criss-crossed, facing this fucked up canvas.

I sighed, laughing because that was really all I could do at this point.

"And what this says is 'I'm a fucking amateur.'"

"What this says is 'I have emotion.'" She jammed her shoulder into mine, laying back on my tarp. "You're so worried about being meticulous that you don't put enough you in your paintings anymore." One thing I could always count on was Rilee telling me about myself.

"At least it's obvious you felt something with this." She'd shifted so her head was in my lap. "You've been on autopilot for months." And that was true.

But I'd have taken mundane work over this any day, especially with so much riding on it.

"I have to start over."

"Paul—" she was pulling a paintbrush out of my hand before I realized that I was holding it. Her dainty hand gripped my chin, turning it so I was looking down at her and she smushed my cheeks, "it's a small showcase; I'm sure you're already gonna be the best artist there."

"That's incredibly subjective." I tried to pout in the fish face she'd forced me into, shaking her hands off when she cracked a smile.

"Have you talked to Lanny?" I don't know why I asked.

"We talk everyday, why?"

Maybe I felt terrible for it all, falling off the face of the Earth on and off for the last year. "I haven't talked to him in a while." And I was sure talking to Landon would make my week infinitely better. "I should."

Her phone connected to the speaker started ringing and she yelled for Siri to answer, not even worrying about who would be on the other line.

It was Lanny, I wanted to mention how freaky that actually was but his voice caught me off guard.

He was talking a mile a minute.

"Okay did you see Julian's story? Is he dating the dude with the curls, do you know?" And it was so loud, so so loud. Rilee shot up out of my lap. My heart sank, fingers curling around her wrist and something about how sudden it was made my throat close up. "He likes 'em fem? Paul was, like super masc I thought—"

Fuck.

"Landon!"

I didn't know why it felt like I got punched in the gut but it did. And fuck, did it hurt. Rilee shook my hand off, looking me in my eyes like she thought I'd break at any moment.

Maybe it was the fact that I wasn't thinking of him that day, I hadn't thought of him and then all of a sudden they were talking about him... just his name made my heart beat faster.

My friends, my family... everyone was so nonchalant about it, they only skated around the topic with me but with other people they talked freely about how messy my love life was.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah I know I'm not gay. Maybe he just doesn't have a type. Have you talked to Paul? Cause that'll fuck Paul up, Ri." His voice was fading out when she'd gotten to her phone and turned off her Bluetooth, his voice was still so clear even at a drastic change in volume.

"—Like, I can't believe he'd just put it online like that—"

"Lanny, shut the fuck up!" She screamed out to cover the noise and honestly her struggling brought the much-needed laugh.

"You don't have to be rude."

Landon was quiet then, or, at least quiet enough for her to feel comfortable turning him back up. "Rilee, it's fine."

His shrewd voice was just as annoyed as hers was now. "Is he right next to you? Ri, why would you not say that?" "Pauly? Babe, I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I'm here, Lan." She was handing me her phone now ans I looked down to see a sheepish smile on the younger Ross twin. "And it's a friend of his, I've already asked."

I remembered that I didn't want to know if he was fucking the squealing little curly haired kid that FaceTimed him when we stopped for gas. I didn't wanna know but when I got back in the car after Panera, he was avoiding my eyes. There was a smile on his face that I hadn't seen in so long.

And he was apologetic, insisting that the guy was just a friend only to then tell me he was seeing some surgeon named Sullivan.

A fucking surgeon.

"Some friend." And he rolled his eyes. I did appreciate how angry he l'actualité was on my behalf. "You know he has an Onlyfans?"

"Landon."

Rilee must've been thinking what I was thinking. "We don't slut shame." Even if he was fucking the love of my life.

"It's okay." And I really tried to make it feel okay. "We're friends, he can date." Maybe I was trying to convince myself. "He can, and it's not like he's seeing Wren, he's--they're just... they're close, so..."

He'd explained that Wren was the only one who really understood him in Cali. We'd had a lot of earnest conversations that day but I could feel how genuine he was about that friendship. That didn't stop jealousy from trying to rise and my friends weren't making it any better.

I'd known they did things together. When I first heard of Wren it was because he was tagged in a photo Jules' roommate had posted. Two months after we broke up, I'd done all the necessary stalking.

I saw Wren in his lap on New Years. I saw Jules kissing on his neck in one of Danny's party snaps, and the hickeys were so obvious on his next Instagram story.

"So he posts cute off-guards of Benji?" She was somehow scrolling through Wren's Instagram now and I had to admit he was extremely cute. "Getting fro-yo?" She was looking at his highlights, Jules was in a few and he was smiling. Wide.

The video she was watching was Wren recording, Jules was skating, or at least trying. They were near some beach, and Julian was attempting a kick flip off a short bench.

And he was failing every-time but he kept getting back up, Wren was giggling, saying sometimes that I didn't get and was probably an inside joke between them. Jules flicked him off eyes still on his converse.

The next video in the highlight was Jules landing the trick, the sun was setting, his hair was shaggy, longer since I'd seen him last. He was wearing some huge shirt with Saturn in the middle and some burnt red cargos and he was dashing towards the camera, bright ass smile on his face.

"Santa Monica, baby!" He was looking around, eyes up at the sky and voice so content, "look at that sunset. The sky never looks like this in Brighton, not unless you're in the woods."

He looked so happy and so, so beautiful and he was kicking his board off after, the camera shaking, he was tugging Wren behind him.

I remembered when I made him that happy.

"He can-he can date whoever he wants, Ri." I hoped she couldn't tell how much I wanted to cry. I could tell that Wren was good for him.

"Can you date then?"

"I don't want to."

"You already have a boyfriend." She shrugged. "It's time you admit that to yourself."

"He's not my boyfriend." And even if he was... "I ruined it anyway, so."

"I doubt that."

"No, really." I didn't see how we could go back, or even if I wanted to. "Like, it's over." Exactly how it needed to be.

"You like him."

"I had sex with him."

She looked confused at that. Even Landon's brows furrowed at how sex could ruin everything. It always did with me, it always meant too fucking much and I always gave too much of myself away.

"Yeah?"

"I always... I always get too—" that's not the right thing to say. "I wasn't-I wasn't in the right... space to have sex with him?"

It was still silent but this one was heavy and I was still trying to figure out how I felt about it all. The silence lasted for a while.

She broke it half a minute later with a simple question. "...Did he?"

"No." But I couldn't say it for sure, I still didn't remember how it started, just that it happened. Rilee let out a breath of relief, wiping tears out of her eyes. "I don't know. I kinda told him he did though."

And just seeing her get emotional made me emotional and I was crying before I could stop. I looked down at my hands, still covered in dried paint, and I swallowed back a big lump.

"Because I don't know if I wanted to. But, I-I normally... I normally do, you know?" When I spoke to Abuelita about anything, she always made it about me. Even when it wasn't. She always told me I was too forgiving.

I tried not to be. "Like, normally, when he touches me, it-there's no spoken consent you know, and I-I want it." But I was still so confused because every single time Isaiah had touched me... I couldn't think of a time that I didn't want to go further.

Even if it was an inconvenient quickie, through me pulling away, there was always a fire pit burning in my stomach. Even when I was mad at him, I always wanted him to touch me.

"Paul, if you didn't consent..."

"That's easy to say, you know?" And I felt gross for even saying that. "But I, I know what it's like, you know? T-to be... and we were both so drunk. And-and you were there, was I?"

"What, coming on to him?" She shrugged. "I mean, yeah. But that doesn't mean..."

"I've slept with Izzy more often than not."

"That doesn't mean anything, Paul."

"It does." It shouldn't but it does. And I like him. "I don't think he could..." even when I told him he did, I knew it didn't feel right. He didn't get too defensive, he wasn't angrily trying to convince me that I was wrong. He just... told me he was sorry for making me feel this way.

How he handled it... "He's a good guy, Rilee." And I trusted him. "And I ruined it so..." I wasn't sure if it still hurt how it was supposed to. I knew I'd have to hit a meeting after this.

"He's crazy about you."

I was looking over my painting again, pretending to be invested in that and hoping she would get the memo that I'd maxed out my social battery that day. She didn't.

"I was gonna ask him out," she shrugged, "but I heard you fucking... and I saw how he got when we were talking about Carlos... all shifty."

"Carlos? Hot Carlos?" Lanny confirmed and I couldn't help the laugh that sputtered past my lips.

"Hot Carlos... the one that's into Paul."

"Like everyone else."

"Okay... Who is this everyone?" And I definitely was over this idea that everyone supposedly had a crush on me... especially when I spent the first three years out the closet fucking on old men and crying about how unlovable I was. "I want names."

She was smirking then and I wondered exactly how long she knew about me and Izzy. "For starters, Isaiah's absolutely obsessed with you. And now that we've established that he's a good guy, I think you should give him a chance."

I couldn't deny it then, just dismiss. "That would destroy Jules," with good reason and I couldn't do that to him, "you know that."

"A lot of things would destroy Jules."

"True." Landon jumped in.

I didn't like that. Yes, Julian had a few... he-he felt things too much sometimes but that wasn't a bad thing. And it wasn't okay for them to talk about him like he didn't have valid reasons for how he felt.

"Don't talk about him like that."

"I didn't mean it in a negative way." She was shrugging and something about her nonchalance made me uneasy. I knew they were my friends first, I just didn't know they felt this way about him. It felt like they thought his feelings didn't matter but they did.

"Doesn't matter."

It mattered to me that me being with Izzy would hurt him. Maybe that's why I'd tried so hard to convince myself that I didn't like him. I couldn't do that anymore. I knew I liked him, I knew when he kissed me and tried to convince me of a fact that I already fucking knew.

He was sexy and smart and-and so so sweet and he cooked so well and he cared about me.

And I just couldn't be with him. Ever.

"I just don't like seeing you holding back on things that you obviously want because you're afraid that a guy that you're not even dating is going to be upset."

"A guy that broke your heart by the way." Lanny was chiming in again, when this turned into a Julian Douglas hate-club, I didn't know. "Like, stomped on it."

"He was going through a tough time."

"Okay? So were you... When your Abuela's cancer came back I had to call Alexa to pick you up cause you were so drunk on 14th you couldn't stand." And it was embarrassing. It was so fucking embarrassing for her to say all of this.

"Where was Jules?" I remember he was in exams, stressing about some big test in Econ and I didn't want to bug him. "F-for your first big gala? When you broke your fucking hand the day before your presentation and you called me sobbing cause your long-distance boyfriend was so self-absorbed—"

"Stop." And she looked like she wanted to keep running her mouth but I was pissed now. Friends weren't supposed to throw shit like that back in your face. I never wanted to engage in this conversation.

I was at peace with where we were and I definitely didn't ask for her to drudge it all back up.

She was scoffing, crossing her arms like I was the one talking shit about Brandon and all their shortcomings. "Rilee, I mean it."

"I'm sorry but I'm your best friend, Paul. And I had to watch you fall apart after what he did to you." And that was a little dramatic but there was honesty in her eyes... I knew the apology was sincere. "I like Jules, I do, he's great." She smiled small, hand on mine now and she was giving me wide eyes, she wanted me to hear her out.

"But I know you, Picasso, probably better than anyone else. Y-you're a romantic and you think that you're gonna end up together..." She shrugged. "You probably will, but you can't spend the rest of your life waiting on him."

"You deserve to fall in love again." I knew everything she said was because she fucking loved me. "You're a fucking catch, babe."

"And I'm a receiver."

"Shut up, Lanny."

-

A long song played softly in the background, my eyes raking over Julian from a distance. I always liked to admire how amazing he looked and something about the day made me hyper-focused on the way he laughed away with my cousins.

Me curaste el corazón, me enamoraste
Sin explicacìon, llegaste así
Cuando el amor ya no sería para mí
Pero te conocí

He was smiling brightly, all conversational and they were giggling as well. He'd always gotten along so well with my family, always, and maybe it was the vows exchanged an hour earlier but I was starting to think of ring sizes.

"That your boy, Pablo?" Alexa's smile was soft when I'd met her eyes and I knew I looked lovesick. I had to refocus when looking at her, blinking a few times before I could answer. Julian always had me in a daze, even when he didn't know.

I watched him smile, shaking hands with my cousin Armando. He always wanted to make a good impression, it was so important to him... he wanted my family to love him and I could see that some already did.

My mother was obsessed with him. He'd visited Abuelita with me a few times now, he would try to watch telenovelas with us even if he didn't understand anything they were saying but he would always ask questions after and because of that she told me to hold onto him.

He wants to know you, mi amor, that is a man that loves you.

"Yeah, he's mine." And God was I grateful.

"He's cute."

"Isn't he?"

"Pete said you like 'em white." And they were never gonna let me live down bringing home a white man. "Like a young James Dean." And I mean, that wasn't the worst compliment ever.

He was significantly cuter than any white boy I'd been interested in before. My baby was so stunning and he was so sweet, he was talking to all my female cousins now, blush on his face.

When I met Lexa's eyes, her brow was raised and I wondered what I missed.

"What's that look?"

She shook her head, eyes flitting back to the group. "No look. I'd just dance with him before Selle asks," and my cousin Giselle was leading the pack. She was standing right in front of Jules and she was so engaged in whatever he was saying, "the girl's desperate for it."

"Lex..."

"She was eyein' Kenny." And Kenneth and Lexa were two kids in, that man was so obsessed with her that I was sure she was pregnant again. She had a glow about her and a ring on her finger. Her hand stayed resting on her belly, eyes bright. "Had to put her in her place already, don't wanna have to do it again."

"She takes this 'everybody hooks up at weddings' thing serious. Remember when Rio married that white chick? Giselle was in the bathroom with a groomsmen, groomsman? Anyway, I heard they ran a train after."

"Alexa! Don't spread that around."

"Hey, I'm not judging. If that's the life she wants to lead and she wants to be loose she can. I'm just saying that she can't keep her hands off your man."

At first glance, I'd have assumed Lexa was overanalyzing, her judgement pushed ahead by some grudge she had with Giselle from way back when...

At least, that was until my eyes caught onto my cousins, a flock of them around Jules, all pining for his attention like some sick game of cat and mouse. I watched Giselle stalking him like prey, hazel fox eyes cut and tiny little nose upturned, I was sure she looked so pretty from that angle, Jules had to look down and he was still a bisexual man.

I could see the blush on his cheeks, his eyes wide and on hers when she walked her manicured fingers up his chest and I was out of my seat in seconds.

I could hear Lexa's laugh, it knowing.

My cousin was a blend of many things but she wasn't subtle. And she could pass for an ethnic Megan Fox, I was sure my boyfriend was shook. I hated that, I hated how jealous I could feel myself getting and I wished I had it in me to be more accepting of his awe.

It wasn't like I wasn't aware that he had eyes for girls. That was something he tried to deny but I saw it in his celebrity crushes, I saw it in the porn he watched. He crushed on women with thicker frames, he was obsessed with curly hair and he absolutely, absolutely loved dominance in women.

Giselle was everything he seemed to like.

"— that's so cool, so you basically led your team to a championship—"

Humble as ever, he shrugged. "I mean, it was a collective effort but yeah, state champs... my team, they're all incredible, I wouldn't be where I am without them."

"Well yeah, but you go to a UC as a D1 athlete. I've never met a future pro, that's so... impressive." And she was biting her bottom lip, eyes turning so innocently sultry, it didn't seem like Jules noticed how intentional it was.

She was touching his bicep then and he froze.

"Baby..."

And my stomach was in knots when I'd curled my arms around his waist. My cousin's hands were back at her sides, body stiffening slightly and Lexa had never been more right. She wanted my man. The energy of every woman around him had shifted when I approached, as if they had territory to defend, like they were entitled to his space and deserved to touch him.

Immediately pretty green eyes met mine, he smiled small as if embarrassed and cleared his throat softly before kissing me. It was a little longer, a little more reassuring, I could taste a bitter red wine on his lips, a Pinot Noir, I knew he wouldn't have ordered it, he wouldn't have even known how to order this specifically.

Giselle pressed a similar glass to her lips, clearing her throat as if to get his attention, I watched my boyfriend's eyes zoom in on her.

When it came to liquor, Jules was a lightweight, two mojitos would've had him good to go and I knew from the flush on his face, he was feeling however many glasses they'd shoved at him. He swayed slightly into me when I spoke, eyes flitting back to my direction, he pressed an apologetic kiss to my forehead and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep a scowl off my face.

"Where have you been?" He asked with so much love in his eyes, it made my heart warm.

"I was with my cousin Lexa, you should meet her." I definitely knew they would get along. "I see you've met Selle."

"Yeah, Julesy was just telling me about LA."

Julesy.

"And I was sayin he needs a bit of sun." She reached up and I knew it was to fix his hair, intercepting it, I watched her demeanor falter and I pressed my fingers into brown locks, pushing a few stands back to their respective side. Jules stifled a smile, blowing me a kiss and I felt my nose scrunch.

My hand brushed over his stubbly chin. God, did I love when he grew out his beard.

Big hands were on my waist when I turned back around, chin on my shoulder and he held me to him. I locked eyes with my cousin. It was stupid to feel as competitive I felt especially when at the end of the day, he slept next to me, but I couldn't help it.

I was sure there was a smug look on my face, especially from the scowl she had on hers. It reminded me a lot of how she would get when Lexa would hide her cabbage patch dolls. She looked like I'd taken something from her.

"Evita and PJ were gonna head to the beach this weekend if-"

"We won't be in town."

"You're not staying with Lexie?"

"Jules has some work to do, hm?" I was brushing my fingertips over the nape of his neck, that way he liked. "We have things to do, plus, I don't think Lex would appreciate the noise." And he wasn't even thinking about the conversation when I squeezed the back of his neck.

"Yeah." He offered a blushy confirmation. "Yeah, I have a paper due tomorrow night and I'm still nowhere near finished."

"You're so cute, I remember college-"

"Mhm. You ready to go, baby?"

"Sure." His brows furrowed but he always had my back. My baby smiled softly at my cousins, shaking Giselle's hand like she was a business partner. "It was nice meeting you."

"Mhm." She didn't let him go, instead her eyes locked on his as she spoke to me, slowly slipping her hand out of his. "Don't hide him next time, Paul."
-

"You shouldn't get so jealous."

Jules had a smile on his face, it soft and content. We'd been on the freeway, stuck in traffic when he spoke. I looked over to see him leant back in his seat, eyes closed. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, tie loose.

He looked so sexy with stubble growing in, hair swooped to the side and slightly messy... like Brad Pitt in the 90s. I remembered my sexual awakening watching Fight Club with Milo in '06.

"Yeah, well you shouldn't let my cousin touch you like that."

He was chuckling.

Biting his lip when he looked over at me, a smirk played on full lips. "You're sexy when you're mad." He raked his eyes down my body and I tried not to lock eyes with him.

I couldn't stop thinking about how well his slacks fit his ass, how full they made it look. "Baby, you know I'm yours." He was tucking a hand around my neck, in between my skin and the headrest. He brushed his finger over the shell of my ear, voice softer. "Forever... and ever... and ever."

"Speaking of forever, I love weddings." All of a sudden he was more enthused, even if his lazed state stayed the same. "It was such a beautiful ceremony, your aunt looked beautiful. You look beautiful."

"You look better."

He ran that hand down my chest and he was gripping the inside of my thigh, teasing pout on his lips. "You're so sexy," he whispered, leaning over the armrest. He was massaging my leg there and I felt my dick jump in my slacks.

Fuck.

So, I tried to laugh it off... regain control, but something about how assertive he was being was so alluring. "That wine is hitting you huh, Julesy?"

"Shut up."  He sat back up then, yanking his hand away and I felt myself smiling, even if I had another question that needed to be asked.

"Did you like it?"

"Hm?" The sun was kissing his skin, and he was undoing his cufflinks.

I wasn't sure why if felt like I shouldn't ask. "Uh, the girls, you know, being all over you. The female attention?"

"Not really."

"Really?"

"Well it  was kinda awkward." He shrugged.

"You see, I have a really handsome boyfriend who I could feel watching me." He spoke after a moment. "One that gets super jealous as if he doesn't know that I only wanna be with him."

"That all I can think about is him." My baby was back to gripping my thigh, and we hadn't moved much in the past five minutes so I stole a glance. He was so gorgeous.

And he was running his finger along the seam of my slacks, skipping over where I desperately wanted him to touch.

Eyes innocent, he tilted his head and he was palming my dick, grabbing the bulge in his hand when my gasped.

"The whole wedding I was thinking about ripping your clothes off..."  his voice was still so fucking coy, as if he didn't know what he was doing even if his eyes held so much sex in them. It dropped from his words, sultry, and I'd never really been into public sex but I wanted to fuck him in the middle of a traffic jam on I-95.

"...How bad I want you inside me..."

He was rarely this vocal.

"You've been drinking."

"Barely."

"Mhm." And I wasn't expecting anything once we got to the hotel but still, I laughed. "Don't strip before we get to the hotel." Lust was still overwhelming green eyes. "I know how you get."

But he wasn't letting go, he was unbuttoning my pants, sliding the zipper down. "Are you calling me a slut, Pablo Martinez?" Jesus Christ, he was so sexy.

"I'm saying you literally tried to suck me off at a red light the last time you got wine drunk."

"You loved it." And I did. I loved how he got when he was tipsy. Normally I had to pull dirty talk out of him, often times he'd blush, pushing me away with a whiny 'stop' when I started talking during sex.

He leant closer kissing my lips first, then my cheek, my neck, moving soft wet kisses to the shell of my ear. He flicked his tongue out to lick my earlobe, biting into it softly, rubbing his hand across my bulge and squeezing so slightly when he got to the tip.

I always told him to ask for what he wanted, hoping he'd be more vocal and this time, he answered.

"I want you to fuck my mouth."

If we were moving any faster I'd have crashed the car. "God, baby."

"Please?" And it was a whimper. "You're calling me a slut, hm? Slut me out, Papi."

A/N:
Very long winded and long-awaited but my job be kicking my ass.

Updated: Friday, February 12th 2021

Since I missed New Years, what are some 202q resolutions?