Reasonable Doubt ✔ | Open Novella Contest 2020 | Complete

Twenty-two - Alex

My release occurs in a fanfare of tears, hugs, and kisses. Of course, it's promptly followed by a pig roast and ungodly amounts of alcohol. Can't be Puerto Rican without putting Babe on a spit and stuffing arroz con frijoles up his culo.

I adore my mother, but Hamilton holds too many memories. Learning of my return brought Javier's contacts and crew out of the woodwork. Requests to take over for my older brother, run drugs, make deals, market the product at parties with drunk college kids. Maybe get laid in the process.

To think it was just over a year ago I'd have leapt at that opportunity. Now I need something more. Much as I'm thrilled to see my mother and cousins, the constant I've missed is Colt.

A month full of phone calls isn't the same as the man with the deep voice and haunted eyes.

Community linkage places me in the same block of OTR - a stepping-stone post-release. A lot of ex-cons get social-worked into these buildings. Javier's old Silverado is mercifully still serviceable, enables me to drive to and from GED classes three days a week. Hours not in school are spent as an apprentice at Mystery Ink Tattoos under Xin Ling.

In my mind was a grandiose idea to surprise Colt at his apartment. Kiss him senseless. Convince him to let me love him. Only he wasn't there. The meth-head neighbor directed me to the laundromat across the street.

Colt's shifting loads from the washer into the dryer. There's nothing provocative about laundry, but he makes it seem like the opening act for Magic Mike XXL. The way his shirt rides up, exposes the dimples in the small of his back brings all sort of salacious imagery to mind.

Dios mio.

"Surprise!" I shout as he closes the dryer.

"Shit!" Colt whirls, chin tucked and fists up. Realizing who I am, he hisses. ""Don't do that!"

The first I've seen him outside the fence slams me with the full force of his bright hazel eyes. Almost two months have passed. Two months of phone calls and sweet words uttered between smoke breaks and count times. Hearing his voice is one thing. This is entirely different

Colt's body is on sinful display in clothes that actually fit. All lean muscle and wicked tattoos. His hair's longer on top, trimmed tight on the sides. The time did nothing to quell my body's visceral response. The one that has my insides in knots, squirming between tenderness, elation, and need.

No handcuffs. No COs. No fences

I'm different too. Gold chain and crucifix around my neck, gages not permitted at LeCI in my lobes. The way his eyes heat lets me know I'm doing something right.

What hasn't changed is how obnoxiously he hyperanalyzes this. The same as after our kiss. Boyish wonder, shy uncertainty. To think he's seven years older than me and clueless.

I cup his jaw, press a tender kiss to his mouth. That stolen moment at the library echoes deep in my core. The laundromat dissipates into nothing but his deep, dark taste and smell. Mouths, fingers, and breaths silently melding our divided souls.

He smells different, better, like bourbon and leather. Whatever the cologne or body wash, he owns it. The company should pay him as their spokesmodel. He smelled good with cheap state soap, but fuck me.

I drag his bottom lip between my teeth and slide back. It earns me a shaky groan, makes me want to do it again. Only I don't. I get the sense Colt needs to make the first move this time.

I hook my thumbs into my beltloops to keep my hands to myself. "Ay, Papi. ¿Qué paso?"

He clears his throat. Still, his voice is deliciously low and husky. "What are you doing here?"