Page 84 of Raspados & Regret

My fingers tighten on the doorframe.

He said it.

He actually said it.

I should let him in.

I should grab his shirt and pull him inside and kiss him until neither of us remembers what control feels like. But, because I’m Elías Cárdenas and apparently built wrong, I tease him instead. “That almost sounded like begging.”

“You want me to?” he asks softly.

“I mean, you came to my door after midnight⁠—”

He breathes heavily through his nose.

“—And you called me first.”

His hands flex again, and I know he’s fighting something inside. The streetlight hums over us, and somewhere down the block, a car passes too slowly, bass low and distant. Fabián steps closer, but I don’t move. He’s right in front of me now, close enough that I can smell soap and heat and the night still clinging to his skin.

“Answer the question,” he says.

“Maybe I do.” My voice comes out softer than I expect. “Am I worth it?”

His eyes darken. “Don’t⁠—”

“Show me what I’m worth to you.”

He swallows, nods, and then Fabián Salcedo slowly and deliberately lowers himself to his knees on my porch.

My brain empties.

Completely.

The world goes silent while his hands rest on his thighs. Gray sweats hang low on his hips. His face tilts up to mine, jaw tight, eyes burning, pride kneeling right there with him and somehow not breaking.

Holy fuck.

“Fabián,” I whisper.

“You wanted to know if you’re worth it?”

My mouth goes dry, and he looks like sin in a crop top and submission with clenched teeth.

I am going to die on this porch.

He takes a breath—one shaky breath.

Then says, “You’re worth it. So fucking worth it. Please, Lalo.”

My fingers curl hard around the doorframe.

“Please what?”

His eyes flash, but he stays there. On his knees, at my door. “Please let me in.”

I should be smug. I really really should. But under it, something cracks open because he’s not just asking to get inside the house.

We both know that.