Page 67 of Switch Hitter

I stand, and my legs feel unsteady, but I stand anyway, and I face his uncle, my heart pounding.

And I do it.

“I’m his boyfriend.”

For a second, my own heartbeat is the loudest thing in the room. Then Juan’s grin widens like he just got the answer he wanted.

“Ah,” he says, satisfied. “Eso.”

Sofía squeals again like she’s incapable of being a normal person. Maribel smiles like she’s been waiting for this moment forever, and his mom’s eyes fill with tears, but not sad ones. She crosses herself once, a quick little gesture that feels like blessing, not condemnation.

Then she steps in and hugs me, tight and warm.

“Eres muy querido, Sean,” she murmurs into my shoulder.

My throat closes, and Emiliano steps in beside me, arm sliding around my waist like it’s instinct, like it’s his right, like he’s proud.

He doesn’t kiss me, even though I would totally be okay with it. No, he just holds me with a quiet pride in every line of his body.

And my eyes burn so much I can’t pretend anymore. I blink fast, swallowing, trying to keep it together. Emiliano leans in, voice low, only for me.

“Te amo,” he murmurs.

I nearly break right there, in the middle of his mother’s living room, surrounded by loud love and Catholic candles and kids running wild.

Because he loves me, and for the first time in my life, saying the truth out loud doesn’t feel like punishment.

It feels like a blessing.

The door barely clicks shut to my hotel room before Emiliano gets me by the hoodie, yanking me back into him like he’s tired of being polite. His mouth crashes onto mine, hot and greedy, tongue sliding in like he’s claiming interest on every second I made him wait. I make a sound that embarrasses me, so I bite his lip.

Hard.

He hisses, hands tightening at my waist.

“Mmm, you wanna play rough, pretty boy,” he murmurs against my mouth, smiling, then pulling back to wipe the blood from his lip.

“You know it,” I shoot back, breathless.

Emiliano laughs low and backs me up until my calves hit the bed. He shoves me down like he’s setting me right where he wants me.

“Say it,” he says, voice rough. “Say you’re my boyfriend.”

Heat floods my face. I glare. “Shut up.”

His eyes go darker. “Ah. So you want me to make you.”

“You can try,” I snap.

“Con gusto,” he murmurs, and then he’s kissing me again, slower, like he wants to taste the word “boyfriend” off my tongue. His hand slides down my ribs to my waistband. He pops the button, unzips me, and pauses just long enough to look me in the eye.

“Do I have permission to touch you like this?” he asks, his voice low.

My throat tightens at the question, at the care buried inside it.

“Yes,” I whisper. “Touch me.”

Emiliano’s mouth tilts. “That’s a good boy.”