Page 205 of Embriagado

Shutting up, I looked at Ari after he took my hand in his out of the fucking blue.

“What are you…”

Still walking, only now while holding my hand, he didn’t seem fazed.

“You said you wanted me to show affection.”

Using my other hand, I ruffled my hair while trying to keep calm.

“Well, yeah, I guess.”

“You don’t like it?”

I let his hand go, only to grab it back, with our fingers tangled this time.

“Of course I fuckin’ do.”

He didn’t say anything in return, but from the corner of my eye, I caught a hint of a smile on his lips. It warmed my chest, and I nudged a bit closer to him.

“By the way, what’s up with this?” I flicked his cap.

He stayed quiet for a moment, then said, “I don’t like crowded places.”

“The fuck? We’re always in crowded places.”

“Language.”

I grunted. “Don’t I get a pass with it being outside work hours?”

“No.”

“Fine. But seriously, what did you mean by that? You’re with people all the time at the hotel. Not to mention, no one handles annoying guests better than you.”

He lowered his head so the cap shadowed his face even further.

“That’s work. It’s different.” He brushed a hand against his cheek. “Besides, fewer people stare this way.”

It never occurred to me that he might be insecure about his scar. Quite frankly, until now, he acted like it didn’t even bother him. But then again, we mostly hung out in places where people knew him or in underground fighting rings, wearing masks. Not to mention, I was personally obsessed with every inch of him, thinking those scars made him even more gorgeous on top of beautiful.

I halted, making him also stop.

“What’s wrong?” He turned to face me.

“If you don’t like crowds, we can go somewhere else.”

He stared at me like I’d just said something crazy, when his attention suddenly swayed elsewhere, and he let go of my hand to point at something behind me.

“Let’s go over there,” he said, already on the move.

Turning around to see where he was headed, I huffed.

“Of course he’d go for the shooting gallery,” I muttered, unable to hide my smile. By the time I joined him by the booth, he already had a rifle in his hands—one without real bullets, hopefully.

Moving closer to him, and with my eyes on the targets sitting on the shelves, I asked, “Which one are you aiming for?”

“All of them.”

Then, without missing a beat, he squeezed the trigger and took the shot, followed by another shot, and another, hitting one target after another until they were all down, leaving me and the vendor shocked.