“Who were those guys?” I asked Austin when the door shut.
“They’re in my new company,” Mendoza answered. “I thought they were cool and felt bad because they’re so young and just got home and don’t have any family here, you know?”
“Quit being so fucking nice!” Austin slapped Mendoza on the back and we all laughed. “See where it gets you? Now let’s have a drink and not waste any more time or tequila on those pricks.”
“This isn’t any old tequila, my friends.” Mendoza held up the bottle. “It’s an Añejo, aged to perfection. Smooth as butter.” He showed me the label and I nodded, reading what I could as he watched me, before moving it to Kael.
Añejo or not, I knew I shouldn’t drink much more. Even with my mother’s tolerance for all vices, I could tell the alcohol was settling into my bloodstream. My cheeks were red—I could feel them.
But Kael was less blurry somehow.
You know those moments when someone suddenly looks different to you? Like you swipe and a filter covers the picture? Everything about them becomes a little deeper in color, a little more vibrant?
Kael was leaning against the counter in my dad’s kitchen of all places, answering trivial questions from my brother, when it all started to change. There was something about watching him there with Austin, the way he was standing with his back straight, his eyes a little more wild than usual. He was still the definition of composure, but there was something emanating from him in that moment.
Something strong and dark. I had to see more.