The front door of Lucas's place was unlocked, the way it always was when he was home—because who the fuck would dare rob him? Mateo pushed it open with a shoulder, the scent of stale beer and last night's takeout hitting him before the sound did. Lucas's voice, sharp and clipped, cut through the quiet of the living room, his words laced with the kind of frustration that only came from a fight you couldn't win.
"No, I'm not fucking paying for that. You knew what this was when you spread your legs, so don't start with me—" A pause. A sigh, heavy enough to sag the couch cushions. "Yeah, well, maybe you should've thought of that before you stopped taking your pills. This ain't my problem."
Mateo leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching as Lucas paced the length of the room, phone pressed to his ear, free hand raking through his already messy hair. The TV flickered in the background, some paused racing game frozen mid-lap, the controller abandoned on the coffee table. Lucas's jaw was tight, the muscles in his neck corded with tension. He didn't even glance up when Mateo cleared his throat.
"Look, I gotta go. Just—handle it. And stop calling me." Lucas stabbed the end call button with his thumb, the force of it making the screen flash. He tossed the phone onto the couch like it had personally offended him, then finally turned, blinking as if just noticing Mateo standing there. "The fuck you lookin' at?"
Mateo smirked, pushing off the frame and sauntering further into the room. "Sounded like a real heart-to-heart. Baby mama drama already?"
Lucas scoffed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Fuck off. Grab a controller. I'm about to wipe the floor with you in Heat Rush."
Mateo dropped onto the couch, the leather creaking under his weight. He snatched up the second controller, the plastic warm from Lucas's grip, and leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head. "You wish. Last time we played, you cried like a bitch when I lapped you."
"Yeah, yeah. Talk shit now, papi." Lucas flopped down beside him, nudging his shoulder hard enough to jostle the couch. "Load it up. Best two outta three."
They fell into the familiar rhythm of trash talk and half-assed competition, the game's engine roar filling the silence between jabs. Mateo's fingers moved on autopilot, his focus split between the screen and the lingering tightness in his chest—the kind that came from leaving Bambi's place with her taste still on his tongue and her frustration clinging to his skin like a second layer. He'd left her wet, aching, her own fingers no doubt buried between her thighs the second he'd shut the door. The thought made his cock twitch, but he shoved it down, twisting the controller in his grip.
Lucas won the first race by a hair, crowing like he'd just pulled off a heist. "Told you I'd school your ass. You're slow today. Distracted."
Mateo shot him a look, but Lucas was already lining up the next track, his smirk too knowing. "What, got a girl on your mind?"
The question was casual, but Mateo's grip tightened. "The fuck's that supposed to mean?"
Lucas chuckled, not looking at him. "Just saying. You've been off since you walked in. Figured maybe Bambi finally kicked your sorry ass to the curb."
The name hit like a gut punch. Mateo's thumb slipped on the controller, his car skidding into the wall. "Mierda." He reset the race, jaw clenched. "Why the hell would you assume that?"
"Because you're here at noon on a Wednesday like a lost puppy, and you look like you haven't slept in a week." Lucas finally turned, eyebrow raised. "So. You two still a thing, or what?"
Mateo's molars ground. "What's it to you?"
Lucas held up his hands, feigning innocence. "Just asking, hermano. No need to get your boxers in a twist."
"Yeah? Then why the fuck you bringing her up?" Mateo's voice dropped, low and dangerous. "You got a hard-on for my girl, or something?"
Lucas's expression shuttered. "What? No. Fuck no." He shifted, suddenly very interested in adjusting the controller in his hands. "I'm just—surprised you're still with her, that's all."
"Surprised?" Mateo barked a laugh, sharp and humorless. "Why? Because she's not some virgin princess? Newsflash, pendejo—Bambi's been around. She's got a price tag, and half this city's already had a taste." The words tasted like ash, but he forced them out anyway, watching Lucas's reaction like a hawk. "You think I don't know what she does when I'm not around? Please. She's a fucking open buffet."
Lucas's face darkened. "That's—damn, man. That's cold."
"Cold?" Mateo scoffed, tossing the controller onto the table. It clattered against the wood, the sound too loud in the sudden silence. "What, you thought I was gonna marry the girl? She's a good lay, sure, but she's not exactly wife material. Not with that kind of mileage." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice dropping to a venomous purr. "You wanna know the funny part? She loves when I remind her. Gets her all wet, knowing I don't give a shit about her little side hustle. Fuck, she probably bent over for some gilipollas as we speak, the bitch is a fucking whore."
Lucas's hands clenched into fists. "You're a real piece of work, you know that?"
Mateo shrugged, the motion loose, like none of this mattered. Like Bambi's name didn't still burn in his throat. "Just stating facts. She knows the deal. No future, no promises. Just a good time while it lasts." He reached for the half-empty beer bottle on the table, taking a swig. The liquid was warm, bitter. "Why? You got a problem with that?"
Lucas's phone buzzed, saving him from answering. He snatched it up, thumb swiping over the screen. His expression shifted, the anger bleeding into something sharper. Focused. "Package is ready. Dock 17, usual drop-off." He stood abruptly, shoving the phone into his pocket. "Let's move."
Mateo didn't push. He knew that tone—the one that meant business, no room for bullshit. But as he followed Lucas to the door, grabbing his jacket off the back of the couch, he couldn't shake the way Lucas's eyes had flickered. Not with desire. With worry.
Like Bambi was something fragile, and Mateo was the one holding the hammer to her head.