Page 5 of Revv

His grin goes filthy so fast I almost regret handing him the opening.

“Definitely in my dreams,” he says, voice dropping just enough to make the words feel like fingers. “But you’re usually a lot sweeter there.”

My face gets hot.

Sayshen laughs, loud and drunk, then leans harder into him. “Bro, you’re down bad.”

I smile sweetly “And that’s my cue.”

Revel’s brows lift. “Running away already?”

“Running?” I glance over my shoulder, letting my eyes drag over him just enough to make it daring. “No, Papi. I’m just done with my community service for the night.”

His mouth twitches. “Community service?”

“Yeah.” I lift my cup in a tiny toast. “Entertaining men with oversized egos and a tragic inability to accept no. Very generous of me.”

Sayshen makes a wounded noise against Revel’s shoulder. “Damn.”

Revel laughs, low and warm, like I just made him want to chase harder.

“You say that like you didn’t enjoy it.”

“Ay, cabrón, please.” I keep walking before my smile sells me out. “Don’t confuse charity with interest.”

I don’t look back.

Mostly because I have self-respect.

Also because if I look back and he’s still watching me, I might trip, and I refuse to give that man a physical manifestation of my poor judgment.

The garage sits at the back of the lot, all black-painted siding, open doors, and music leaking out like the building itself has bad habits. A couple of the girls are already heading that way, laughing with their drinks in hand, and I fall into step behind them like I am a normal woman making normal choices.

I am not.

Because my body, apparently, missed the entire conversation where I told it Revel is not happening.

My skin still feels too warm from the way he looked at me. My neck. My thighs. My mouth, because of course the man kept looking there like he had plans and no shame. Tall as fuck, stupid grin, stupid voice, stupid everything.

Goddamn.

He’s hot.

Deeply inconveniently hot.

Like, makes you forget your own point in the middle of an argument kinda hot.

And that is exactly the fucking problem.

Men like Revel are trouble. Not the kind you flirt with once, regret for a week, and move on from with a new playlist and better standards. He is the kind of trouble that knows he is trouble. The worst possible kind. With pretty eyes, a filthy mouth, and enough sex appeal to make every red flag plastered on him look like a goddamn accessory.

I know men like that.

I was raised on what men like that leave behind.

My dad chased my mom for years. Years. Flowers, cheesy songs outside her window, big promises, all that romantic novella bullshit women eat up when they want to believe being wanted means being loved.

It finally worked. She gave my dad everything she had, then she got pregnant.