Page 8 of Embriagado

“Hey!” I called as I followed him out.

The moron gave me the courtesy of turning to glance my way.

“What?” he snarled, the phone still pressed to his ear.

“You spilled your coffee all over me!” I barked.

The idiot checked me over with a scrunched-up nose, and the way he took his sweet time had me this close to shoving his phone up his ass.

“You bumped into me.”

My jaw just about dropped, the vein in my neck bulging.

“No, I didn’t.” I took a step closer, fist clenched tightly.

Rolling his eyes, he sighed. “Fine, want me to pay for the dry cleaning? What will it be, ten, twenty bucks?”

The way he suggested it, with a condescending smile and judgmental eyes, made my blood boil. I wasn’t ashamed of being poor, and I wasn’t about to let an asshole like this, who rode the same fucking bus as I did, make me feel small.

“Just an apology’s fine,” I said back with a smile, causing him to frown.

“Whatever.” He tsked, still holding his phone up. “I’m sorry. Happy?”

I flashed him a toothy smile.

“Delighted.” I continued walking, bumping my shoulder with his so his clothes got a taste of his own coffee, too.

Punching this fucker would have felt better, but I couldn’t risk being sent to prison again. I was on parole for the next six months, and so few places were interested in hiring a convicted felon. Although calling me that for only beating the shit out of a rude man was a bit much. I never planned to kill him that night, only rough him up. It wasn’t my fault that he suddenly had a heart attack, one that didn’t even kill him. But combined with the few broken bones I gave him and my record, it was enough to get me three years. One thing was for sure: prison was nothing like Juvie, and I never wanted to go back there.

But back to the present. Mid-Beach was definitely different in vibe from my neighborhood, starting with the obscene number of palm trees. Then you had the dumb tourists, walking down the street half-naked, and of course, the beach, which was… gorgeous. I had no complaints about the ocean.

A girl on rollerblades and a dress that covered up nothing passed by me and turned around to shoot a wink my way.

I’m into cocks, bitch.

Ignoring her, I focused on finding the address. The maps app on my phone showed I was only two minutes away from the hotel, so I continued walking ahead. It was a bit far from the rest of the hotels on this coastline, but that aligned with what I’d read online about this place being a new five-star hotel known for its exclusivity. Sure, it was a bitch getting here from home, but the pay was high, and the hours were good. And the best part? I actually got the interview, meaning I had a chance.

Or not, given the way this lady was staring at my stained shirt, like I had shit smeared all over me.

“It’s coffee,” I said, to clarify, as we’d been sitting in the lounge without saying a word for a little too long.

Shaking her head, my interviewer looked down at the tablet in her hands. “So, Mr. Rivas, as I was saying earlier, Kallos is a luxurious hotel known for its exclusivity and grandeur. In fact, this isn’t a hotel, but an experience.”

The whole time this lady was speaking to me, she didn’t lift her eyes off the tablet she read from. It made it clear that she found this interview a waste of her time and just wanted to be done with it. So, as she went on talking more about her precious hotel, oops, experience, I took a second to look around. We were sitting in a lounge that looked really fancy. Everything was built out of marble and stone, with plants and other shit that made it look nice. The few people who walked around seemed just as rich, and I wondered what one needed to do to be this loaded.

Probably run a cartel.

A man walked to the bar, and my heart basically stopped. Why? Because he was fucking perfect. Beyond that, he looked unreal, as if I were tripping on some serious acid. He was young, about my age, and yet his hair was all white, the same as his clothes. It was odd, I’d admit, yet stunning nonetheless. His skin was pale, like he didn’t live under the Miami sun, yet his cheeks and lips were a gorgeous red. Tall and with broad shoulders, he looked like one of those sexy runway models I used to fuck with, only so much hotter, if that were even possible. Hooked, I watched him talk to the bartender, admiring how his jaw moved when he spoke. Pointing around the bar, it looked like he was giving the bartender directions. Could he be working here? Fuck, if he did, I really need to nail this gig.

Then, as if sensing someone was watching him, he turned my way, and I got a full look at his amber eyes, as bright as the sun. My mouth dried, and I stared at him, utterly bewitched.

“Mr. Rivas?”

My eyes widened, and I snapped out of my trance and turned to look back at the lady interviewing me.

“Yeah?”

She sighed. “As I was saying, it doesn’t seem like you’re the right fit⁠—”