A contemporary M/M/M Romance set where the Atlantic and the Pacific collide.
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https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/946895
Amazon
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TV962D9
ENJOY AN EXCERPT
“You let him finger you in the middle of the street!”
Viviana clutched imaginary pearls. “You were not kidding when you said you
needed it bad!”
Not the middle of the
street. A discreet wall.
The Pan American Highway was virtually deserted as most of
the cars that would cause the massive traffic jam on Ash Wednesday were still
parked, their owners squeezing the last hours of Carnavales hard as sunset quickly approached.
“Leave him alone, Viv,” Benito commanded, looking at her
from the rearview mirror. “Just last night you were sandwiched between two guys
and no one knew where their hands were.”
“Well, I saw some hands on those freaking melons,” added
Boris with a snicker from Salvador’s left.
“Shut it, Boris,” barked Belinda, who rode shotgun. “We
barely saw you. You never slept in the house, and you just casually surfaced to
see those guys with Viv. You’re no saint, girl.”
“Salvador was in a sandwich last year and no one said
anything!” Viviana tried to save face by throwing Salvador under the proverbial
bus, most probably the last standing Rio Abajo - Veranillo
Diablo
Rojo.
“Because we knew it happened, but we didn’t see it,” Boris
insisted. “Not the same!”
“And he was just honoring the Canal by taking fare from both
ends,” Belinda added with an evil giggle.
“Hey!” Salvador protested. He’d been a good one-on-one boy
for the past year, no need to bring up old shenanigans.
Belinda was right, though. In how many countries could you
say that being spit-roasted honored THE national landmark? Salvador almost
snicker-snorted, but he didn’t want to encourage their ribbing.
“The point is— we’ve all done things,” agreed Benito. “Sal
is excited, and he’s sharing it with us. Who are we to judge him by a couple of
fingers up his ass this year?”
“Thanks for your support, Benito,” Salvador growled. “I truly appreciate it,” he added.
“You’re welcome, and I applaud you ’cause dude’s seriously
hot.”
The other three agreed with Benito enthusiastically,
commenting on Leo’s face, chest, arms, legs, ass, and (of course) bulge. They
all had seen him while he was over the tanker.
Salvador had purposely not shown them the selfies the mango had sent him before the group
reunited.
“Pity you didn’t get his full name,” said Boris. “We could
be in total stalking mode right now.”
“Well, he works with Seco Seco Pub. He ought to be in their
pictures,” offered Viviana, throwing a side glance at Salvador and grabbing her
bag, certainly to get her phone.
Three smartphones were aimed at the web to begin the hunt.
Salvador just crossed his arms and tuned them out as
Viviana, Boris, and Belinda divided forces looking on different sites, each
doing a play-by-play of every picture as they scrolled. He looked up and met
Benito’s eyes on the rearview mirror. Benito nodded, and Salvador gave him a
weak smile.
It hadn’t been a mistake to tell his friends about Leo, even
if he knew they would tease him the whole four hours of the journey. He couldn’t
have kept all his excitement to himself, though. Luckily, the most vocal of the
group were now engaged on a stalking mission that should keep them busy for a
while.
Salvador closed his eyes and thought about the hard week
coming his way. After spending the last four days close to the Pacific, the
next nine days would be by the Atlantic, overseeing the final stages of the
resort Argüello, Armuelles & Arjona (colloquially known in the Real Estate
Development industry as Triple Argh)
was building by the shores of Nombre de Dios.
****
Carnavales might
have ended for Salvador, but it was still in full swing at Casco Viejo, so
Viviana & Co. had to leave him on a side street way too many blocks away
from his house.
The Old Quarter of Panama City had changed abruptly in the
last twenty years. As soon as it became a World Heritage Site, someone had the
excellent idea of gentrifying it Panamanian style; they would keep the basic
structures of the buildings but renovate them internally and leave some poor
people around to make it look more lived in. Even the former gang members were
tour guides now, showing enraptured travelers where they’d practiced their
misdeeds and chicanery along with the history of the area in their colorful
maleante accents.
Nevertheless, tonight was all about the party before the
remorse of Lent engulfed the whole country. The outdoor cafes were full; the
bar-goers flowed to the streets and pop and rock music mingled easily with
Murga and
Típico bands. Salvador
zigzagged among the revelers until he reached the three-story building where
his apartment perched atop like the nest of a Harpy Eagle, a bit higher than
the rest of this colonial man-made jungle.
Salvador waved at the perky waitresses of Mulatto’s, the
karaoke bar at street level of his building, as he approached the entrance.
They waved back with simultaneous “Hey, Sal!” He stopped on the first floor to
check on his favorite neighbor,
Doña Ines, who had been keeping an eye on his cat,
Mingo.
She opened after the first ring of the doorbell.
“Did you have a good time, Santi?” In her head, the short
form of Salvador was Santi and not Salvi or something along those lines.
Salvador like her too much and had never tried to correct
her. “Yes. I had a great time. Thank you so much for taking care of my boy.”
“Oh, Mingo is a sweetheart. It was no trouble at all.” She
gave a very juvenile giggle. “Do you want a beer or something, Santi?” She
giggled again. “Well, I guess you had your fill of that in Las Tablas. What
about some food? I made arroz con pollo
today. It has the olives with pimentos that you like.”
Salvador was hungry, but the woman had been cleaning Mingo’s
litter box for four days, he shouldn’t even consider taking food from her too.
Although, Doña Ines wasn’t really old
(must be in her late forties or very early fifties) she had this abuelita quality about her that was
seriously hard to resist. “If it isn’t too much trouble,” he said, and the
knowledge of her culinary skills made his mouth water.
“Not at all, dear. I don’t know how to cook for one person,
so there’s always plenty to share. Come in and let me make you a plate you can
take upstairs.”
Doña Ines made
Salvador a plate to go but also sat him to eat some with her and wash it down
with beer. It seemed only fair to spend some time with her since she had helped
feeding and cleaning after Mingo “the sweetheart.”
Thirty minutes later, Salvador found the aforementioned
sweetheart licking one of his paws over the coffee table, apparently oblivious
to his owner’s absence for more than a weekend. “Mingo,” Salvador singsonged
twice before the Russian Blue deigned to look at him. He slinked toward
Salvador and greeted him with an almost “About
time” meow. He scratched the cat’s head and rubbed his chin. He closed the
door and said, “Hey, mom,” standing for a minute before the big oil painting of
his mother. He about-faced to the stairs of his mezzanine bedroom to leave his
duffel-bag, take a shower, and watch TV for a while after that.
Salvador wasn’t really paying attention to the drama
unfolding on the sixty-four-inch flat screen; he was reviewing the events of
that afternoon, distractingly making circles on Mingo’s grey fur. The
relentless happy purring in his lap was loud enough to drown some of the dialog
of the TV, and somehow encompassed the review of his encounter with Leo: the
texture of his lips, the width of his chest, the spark in his hazel eyes when
they were focused on Salvador.
The ding of a text message snapped Salvador out of his
reverie.
FROM LEO: hope to see
you soon. *cat blowing kiss emoji*
Damn.
****
#fiction #mmromance #latinos #threesome #panama #carnaval #beach #tropical #fiesta #cat #russianblue #menwithpets #menofgabbo #gabbodelaparra
