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“Step out of the history that is holding you back. Step into the new story you are willing to create.” — Oprah Winfrey
“I’m tired of not knowing where my feet will land. I’m exhausted.”
I snapped a quick selfie and stared at it. My dark curls were wayward at best, my face was makeup free, the bridge of freckles, marching over my nose were on full display.
Like me, these kids had been forced into the system and onto the streets by families who’d rather disown their blood than have a kid in the alphabet mafia.
Did I like Chance’s perpetual state of khaki, utility pockets, and faded Earth Day t-shirts? Fuck no. The man had zero style.
Madre de Díos it smelled amazing.
And maybe he was built like a god and had blue eyes that saw right through me.
Maybe his quiet demeanor was like my sass. Maybe his shabby clothes and unkempt beard were like my eyeliner and designer shoes.
Life is a puzzle.
I had on khaki cargo shorts and a green t-shirt.
“Lo siento. No quiería ofenderte. Estoy aprendiendo Español.”
"Im sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. Im learning Spanish."
his deep brown eyes, unwavering, stared back.
Pinche cabròn.”
Fucking asshole.
Rubbing a hand over my beard,
“¡Chingados!”
The fuck!
Shirtless with khaki cargo shorts hanging low on his hips, his bare shoulders glistening with sweat. The dark hair on his chest and abs accentuated every muscle, and disappeared below the waistband of his shorts,
the sun illuminating these perfect, tiny gold specks in his irises I hadn’t ever noticed before.
“Ayudas solo por estar allí.”
"You help just by being there."
Lo juró por Dios.”
I swear to God!
“¡Puta madre! Necesito encontrar mi propio apartamento.”
"Motherfucker! I need to find my own apartment!"
Ya basta! ¿Por qué no me dejas en paz? No quiero estar allí. Necesito mi propio espacio.”
Enough! Why don't you leave me alone? I don't want to be there. I need my own space.
“Puedes quedarte conmigo,”
You can stay with me.
“The things you own end up owning you. It’s only after you lose everything that you’re free to do anything.”
“¡No lo digas!
Don't say that!
insanely perfect blue eyes,
“Let yourself be silently drawn by the strange pull of what you really love. It will not lead you astray.”
“’Max, the king of all wild things.’”
“Quiero besarte ahora mismo,”
I want to kiss you right now
He was beautiful in a way I wasn’t accustomed to appreciating. He was classically handsome, with hard lines and lean muscle, but there was something softer about Marcos that intrigued me. I liked how full his lips looked when he wore gloss, how his long legs were strong and elegant at the same time, and after this morning I didn’t think I’d ever get the image of him in those lace panties out of my fucking head.
I wanted more. More of him.
“¿Qué pasa si me quebro un hueso?”
What if i break a bone?
Why couldn’t he have been one of those bearded asshole guys who grunted and chewed tobacco, instead of this perfect, soul-centered sweetheart with abs I wanted to map with my lips.
Something good.
I was fragile in his hold, delicate in a way I’d always wanted, breakable, and I wanted him to break me.
“I kind of like you.”
“I like you too.”
Chance: I can’t stop thinking about this morning. Me: Which part? The humidity? My bitching… Chance: Your mouth. Me: Most people want me to shut my mouth. Chance: I want to taste it again.
And I had no clue what the hell I was supposed to do next.
“Amor, what do you need?”
“Te necesito,”
I see you, Chance, even when I pretend I don’t.”
“I’m here for this.”
“You’re never a distraction, Chance. You’re my relief.”
I want as much of you as possible.
“I want all of this, I want you.”
I finally knew what it felt like to fall in love.
I was head over heels and irrevocably stupid for the well-dressed hippy at my side.
“You’re passionate and brave, and maybe you don’t always see it, but it’s here.”
eres mi aire.
You are my air.
Marcos was all love.
