Page 210 of Embriagado

“You’d think that, huh?” He smiled at me. “But no. Not at all. The thing is… I don’t know how to swim.”

Shocked, I stared at him for a long minute. And still half-certain he was bullshitting me, I gave him a skeptical brow until he chuckled.

“I’m being honest for a change. I really can’t swim.”

“How’s that even possible?”

He shrugged. “Never had anyone to teach me.”

“In that case––” I leaned closer to him. “––I’ll teach you.”

“Yeah?” He gave me one raised brow while maintaining eye contact.

“Fuck, yeah. I mean, I taught my li’l bro how to swim, so you could say I’m a pro.”

“Are you now?”

I puffed my chest. “Yep. I’m a man of many talents.”

“You sure are.”

That made me blush, and yet, despite feeling my cheeks turning red, I didn’t look away, and neither did he. Instead, he continued to look at me with that soft expression that melted my heart.

“I meant what I said earlier, by the way. About you having nothing to be embarrassed about.”

I scoffed. “Funny how you say that after giving me hell for the last half hour, asshole.”

I thought he’d tease me some more in return, about how I teared up in that maze, but he didn’t seem amused; if anything, I’d say he was too damn serious for his own good.

“I mean it, Santiago. The fact that you’d care over something like that… You’re a good man.”

Sensing the shift in the mood, I got closer to him. “I’m really not.”

He looked down, and in that moment, all I wanted was to snatch that stupid baseball cap off his head.

“But you are. You might do bad things from time to time, but you have a good heart.”

I nudged his shoulder with mine. “You do, too.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Of course you do.” I tsked. “You just don’t know it yet.”

Turning to look at me, something flickered in his eyes before he smiled. Although calling that heartbreaking expression on his face a smile would be a hard stretch. In a desperate attempt to make him feel better, I stole his hat.

“Hey—”

“Let me borrow it for a little.” I tried it on.

He huffed, muttering something under his breath about me acting like a child. Not about to lose this rare moment, I scooched slightly closer.

“What you said made me think of my dad,” I started saying. Seeing that I had his full attention, I went on. “He always told me that I had a corazón de luchador. A fighter’s heart. As a kid, I just thought it sounded cool, but growing up, I learned it was his way of teaching me integrity. I mean, like any other fighting sport, boxing is based on violence, and so it’s important to have a clear set of morals.” Pausing for a second, I remembered the days before I was sent to prison, and the type of guy I was back then. “I used to box ’cause I really loved punching people, you know?” I stared at him, captivated by his gorgeous eyes. “It was why I never made it, ’cause all I cared for was the blood. When all you’re focused on is the violence and the rush, you miss the point, yeah? But then, something changed. I met you.”

His brows drew inward, a deep line forming between them. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” I took off the hat and looked at it. “The psychotic, white-haired bitch who blackmailed me into fighting for him.”

Then, on impulse, I tossed the hat away and watched it fall off the rooftop.