The Midnight Bet
For two weeks, my best friend Raquel and her sister had been relentless, praising their Uncle Ricardo as if he were some kind of Greek god. I grew so tired of the constant chatter that I made a reckless bet: I claimed their uncle was probably gay. The bet became a running joke that eventually led me to their doorstep for a family gathering on a humid weekend in Venezuela.
By 2:35 AM, the party had wound down. Most of the relatives had departed, leaving only me and Raquel. I had enjoyed a few drinks and felt a restless energy buzzing through my veins. Since I lived far away, Raquel insisted I crash on the sofa. I tossed and turned for hours, unable to find sleep, until the sudden glow of the refrigerator light cut through the darkness at nearly four in the morning.
I peered over the edge of the sofa to see a man standing there. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a jawline that could cut glass. It was Ricardo. He caught my gaze, his dark eyes shimmering with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. The air between us thickened instantly, the silence of the house amplifying the sound of my own racing heart.
He didn’t look away. Instead, he took a slow sip of water and leaned against the counter, his gaze scanning me with an intensity that made my skin flush. ‘I heard about your bet,’ he murmured, his voice a deep, resonant rumble that vibrated in my chest. ‘I think it’s time we settled the score.’