He probably doesn’t even know he’s caught.

My phone buzzes, and I pull it from my pocket, but Genesis plucks it from my hand on her way past with Nico. “Do you really think you should be drunk-texting your mommy? I promise she’ll survive without hearing from you for a few hours.”

She drops my phone into her purse, and as the next song begins, I frown as I watch Genesis and Nico disappear into the back of the bar. But I can’t really say I’m surprised. The problem with being given everything in life is that you grow up thinking you can take whatever you want, whenever you want it. Even if your boyfriend is sitting half a room away.

Holden looks from me to Genesis’s empty table, and his jaw clenches. He slides off his stool.

It’s possible that my staring wasn’t as subtle as I thought.

“¿Qué pasa, hermosa?” Sebastián runs one warm hand up my arm.

“Nada. Lo siento,” I tell him.

“¿Quieres otra copa?”

“No, gracias.” I would love another drink. But unlike my cousin, I know better than to take something just because it’s offered.

Sebastián shrugs as the music changes. This is a slower song, without the familiar cumbia moves.

I must look lost, because he smiles and dances closer. His hands find my hips, and I’m moving again. Then he kisses me, right there on the dance floor, and suddenly I’m kissing and dancing simultaneously. Even though my brother thinks I can’t walk and chew gum at the same time.

My head feels light. The rest of the bar has lost focus, and I don’t even care. I feel like anything could happen here, and all I have to do is let it.

GENESIS

The aguardiente has done its job, and Nico takes over where the alcohol has left off. I am drunk on him. I am drunk on the cumbia beat, and dark hallways, and calloused fingers. I am intoxicated by the way he presses me against the wall. By the way his lips trail from my mouth toward my ear, then down my neck. He’s not gentle. He is not hesitant, or apologetic, or so eager that the moment threatens brevity.

Nico is twenty. His problems are as substantial as his passions, and he knows what he wants.

He knows what I want.

“Take me somewhere tomorrow,” I whisper as his hand glides up from my waist, over my dress, and his tongue leaves a hot trail on my neck. “Show me something beautiful. Something real.”

His hand slides into my hair. “Parque Tayrona,” he suggests, his lips skimming my skin.

I frown and push him back. “It’s spring break. I’m over crowded beaches.”

“I know some secluded spots.” He leans into me again, and his breath brushes my ear. “Vistas exclusivas.”

I smile and run my hands over his chest. That’s what I want. The real Colombia. Places not listed on travel websites.

I’m not supposed to be in this bar. I’m not supposed to be in this country. But “supposed to” means less to me with every passing second. This is my life. This is my spring break.

There are no limits but those I set.

Nico tugs my head back with a loose handful of my hair. Our kiss is shameless and reckless and scandalous and all those other adventurous things that taste sweeter in the shadows.

I am breathing hard. My head is barely tethered to my shoulders. Then—

Nico is suddenly gone, and his absence throws me off balance. A hand grabs my shoulder, pinning me against the wall and I open my eyes. Holden has a handful of Nico’s shirt in his right fist, while his left digs into my skin. His brown eyes burn into me. “Do your pleas for attention always have to be so pedestrian? Or is this some kind of ironic social commentary?”

Nico pulls his shirt from my boyfriend’s grip. “Jealousy is an ugly emotion, mono. ¿Cierto?”

Holden’s pale face flushes. At home, insulting him is grounds for a fight. But at home, his father can make legal charges and public scandals disappear.

Holden is the right guy for Miami. There, he knows all the right people and says all the right things.

But we’re not in Miami.

“Let go, Holden.” He has no high ground to stand on. This is how we are.

He turns on me, and blond hair falls over his forehead. He’s so mad that for a second, he forgets I’m not someone he can push around. “Don’t make this worse, Gen.” He turns back to Nico.

Anger blazes up my spine and muscle memory kicks in. I grab his hand and twist, and the pressure on his wrist, elbow, and shoulder force him forward, bent at the waist. Holden clearly thought the Krav Maga black belt rolled up in my top drawer was just an accessory—another bullet point on my college applications.

Now he knows better.

Satisfaction warms me from the inside. Then I realize I can’t take it back. He won’t underestimate me anymore.

“Damn it, Genesis!” he snaps, and I let him go.

Nico laughs, and I silently curse myself for caving to such a revealing impulse. “Tu novio es un tonto.”

But he’s wrong. My boyfriend isn’t a fool. He’s just drunk.

“What did he say?” Holden demands, his cheeks still flaming. He stretches his arm to ease the pain, and I know I will have to do damage control. So I lie.

“He said you drink too much.”

Nico glances at me in surprise. “She is too hot for you, gringo.” He grins at me.

Holden’s fists clench and he looks at Nico as if he’s large game fit for nothing but sport shooting.

I tug my boyfriend toward the front of the bar. “Come remind me what I see in you.” When I look back, I see Nico watching me, grinning. He thinks we’ve gotten away with something. That I might come back for more.

He’s the fool.

Holden and I get a dark booth near the door. His hands are everywhere. He needs to be in control of this moment, so I let him think he is, and the making up is so good I almost want to pick another fight, just so we can do it all over again.

This is what I like best about him. Holden’s temper runs hot, but so does the rest of him. When I have his full attention, it’s like we’re on fire. Nico was added fuel for the flames.

“Why do you push my buttons?” Holden murmurs against my neck.

I tilt my head back to give him better access. “What are buttons for, if not to be pushed?”

Holden groans, and his mouth trails lower.