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"Santi, you have to pull over."
"No way in hell I'm pulling over, Dulce. It's just a few flakes. I can handle it."
"Pope, I swear to god, there's already like seven inches on the ground and this car isn't necessarily equipped to....whatever. Can you just pull over and look, please?"
"No can do, sweetheart. We're on a tight schedule. You know military guys." He winked quickly, then turned his eyes back to the road.
You groaned in response.
It had been like this for an hour now. You and Santi were driving together to Frankie's for Christmas. Your family lived halfway across the world and you couldn't spare the money for a ticket right now, and Santi, well, the boys were his family. It was going to be a lowkey celebration, just you, the boys, and Frankie's family; it was going to be perfect.
But you just had to make it there in one piece.
Santi wanted to leave after work, and it just so happened that as soon as he pulled out of your driveway, the storm started. And hard. The snow was coming down wet and fast, a near white out on the roads. If it was just you, you would have pulled over thirty minutes ago. Or hell, not left at all.
But it wasn't just you.
Frankie was the one to suggest you too should drive together. Something about you and Santi never hanging out together, something about getting to know each other. But you did know Santi.
And you knew you were in love with him too.
The second he walked into the bar that fateful night, you knew you were done for. The smirk. The hair. The arms. The stubble. One look at him and you could already feel your heart beating faster, your face flushing with heat. He strolled over to where you and the boys were sitting, nonchalant as ever, even waving to the bartender. You introduced yourself, holding your hand out for the handshake, and he kissed it. He kissed your hand like some kind of prince. And then he spoke. That smooth, sultry voice, the deep chuckle whenever Frankie made him laugh.
