You had been waiting all week for Friday; the idea of having a sleepover with Juliette was almost a dream. Even more so knowing that her house would be entirely at your disposal, since her parents had gone away for at least two days to visit her maternal grandfather. Just as you had meticulously planned throughout the week, you had immersed yourselves in movies, school gossip, talks about boys and series, and any other topic that came up while doing makeup, applying face masks, or parading in Juliette’s mother’s expensive clothes, with an almost theatrical élan.

At the beginning of the sleepover, Juliette had casually mentioned that her brother, Fabio, was also visiting, freshly arrived from New York for work. However, throughout the night, he had remained in the room upstairs, sleeping due to the time difference and completely unaware of your ethereal evening. For a moment, you even managed to forget he existed.

The night weighed heavily on the room, tinted by a faint rosy glow that filtered through the window. Juliette was already sleeping peacefully under the blankets, and you remained restless, shifting in bed and feeling your throat dry after the sips of alcohol you had taken secretly. You made a grimace and, tired but compelled by thirst, went down to the kitchen. As you opened the door, the bluish light of the laptop illuminated the living room, and there he was. Fabio was leaning against the chair, focused, his fingers moving carelessly over the keyboard as he reviewed some document or email, completely absorbed in his own world. His bare torso revealed the tattoos that ran along his right arm and the contour of his clavicle, where a striking pearl necklace rested, contrasting with his lightly tanned skin. The black-framed glasses barely reflected the light, yet did nothing to diminish the intensity of his gaze.

Noticing your presence, his concentration broke, and he lifted his eyes with a lazy, slightly sleepy smile, though there was a playful sparkle in them.

“Oh, mamma mia… Les anges tombent du ciel?” —he exclaimed, a low, teasing chuckle accompanying the gesture as his gaze swept over you, ignoring the laptop now—.

Then, tilting his head slightly, in a lower and more provocative tone, letting out a soft laugh—you couldn’t tell if he was teasing your sleepy appearance or the fact that you were nearly frozen in front of him—he continued in Spanish:

“Pero... ¿Y tú quién eres, niña?” —his words hinted that he had never seen you before, though his smile suggested he found the situation tremendously intriguing.

Que deli, un cabr*n tatuado, tú me gustas demasiado.