Booth Three

16

Diego lifts his shirt up over his head, tensing and releasing each muscle as he uses them. I can't help but watch him. It's so obvious he works out. He's perfectly sculpted — like something out of a magazine. He throws his shirt over the back of the dining room chair, on top of the business shirt he's already placed there.

"I can feel you staring, you know," he glances my way teasingly. I look down, but I can only keep my eyes away for so long.

"Sorry."

"Oh, I don't mind. You can look all you want, as long as you don't touch."

"I'll be sure to keep my hands to myself," I laugh. "At least for now."

"For now?" he raises his brows in surprise. "Keep it PG, will you? There are kids in the house."

"I'll try my best," I joke. He fumbles with the buckle of his belt, unhooking it and pulling it out of its hoops. He moves to the button on his pants but doesn't undo it before turning to me.

"You don't mind if I sleep in my boxers, right?"

"No, that's fine." It's not like I have anything else for him to wear. I don't sleep fully clothed, either. He unzips his pants and pushes them down, revealing the lower half of his body. I try to shift my gaze. I don't need to see what he's hiding under those black boxers. Not today. I'm sure it's just as big as the rest of his body and perfectly proportionate.

God, I'm such a creep. I shouldn't be thinking about having sex with him. It's too early. I've only had sex a few times before, and they weren't exactly memorable experiences. I'm sure he's much better at it than I am. At least, if he even fits inside... Is that possible?

I shake my head. I need to stop thinking about this. It's weird. I'm sure we'll figure it out when the time comes. He's always managed to make me feel comfortable, and I'm sure our first time won't be any different.

"You're staring again."

"I'm not!" I protest. "I'm thinking!"

"It's okay. I'm just teasing you," he laughs. "What are you thinking about?"

"Your tattoos," I lie. "You have so many."

His whole body is covered. And I mean his entire body; even up the legs of his boxers.

"Do you have any?"

"None," I shake my head. "I've never even thought about it."

"Don't get any," he says. "Once you get started, you don't stop."

"Is that why you have so many?"

"Yeah, I just got addicted," he sits down on the edge of the bed. "I started young too. I got my first one when I was 14."

"Fourteen?" I gape. "And your parents were okay with that?"

"My dad even booked my appointment."

"What?" I laugh.

"I would've gone sooner, but my mum wouldn't let me," he explains. "Both my parents have tattoos, and so do all my aunts and uncles. I grew up going to the studio with them, so I've just... Always wanted them."

"No wonder you're so close with your parents. They seem really great."

"They are. I uh... I pretty much won The Parent Lottery."

"I'd like to meet them someday."

"You can. My family would love you."

"Yeah?"

"My mum is already desperate to meet you."

"Oh, God. They already know about me, don't they?" I forgot he mentioned that.