When Evan submitted his leave request for two weeks, his boss barely reacted—just gave a nod and said, “Sure, take the time off.”

  His colleagues? A mixed bag.

  One guy in his team just grunted. “Cool.”

  Another muttered, “Must be o drop everything and leave.”

  And one particurly bitter cowroaned, “Great. Guess that means I’m handling Howell’s workload now.”

  Evan didn’t care. For the first time in his life, he was doing something for himself.

  And now, a week ter, here he was—staring out the window as the pne desded into Bara-El Prat Airport.

  Sunlight glowed over the Mediterranean coastliretg into the horizon like something out of a travel dotary.

  “What the hell am I doing?”

  The thought had been boung around in his head ever since he booked the flight.

  A random trip to meet an online gaming buddy he had never actually seen in person. A guy whose job, background, and real identity he barely knew.

  Smart decision? Probably not.

  Exg? …Maybe.

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  A flight attendant leaned down with a polite smile. “You’ll o stow your ptop. We’re about to nd.”

  Evan snapped out of his thoughts. “Oh—yeah. Right.”

  ***

  After clearing s, Evan wheeled his suitcase through the arrivals area, sing the crowd.

  Earlier, álvaro had sent him a vague as hell p message:

  I’ll find you first.

  …ly helpful, sidering Evan had no idea what álvaro actually looked like outside of grainy Discord profile pictures.

  As he stepped outside the terminal, the midday sunshi him like a warm sp to the face.

  It was May in Bara, and the difference was instant—clear blue skies, golden light, a dry, warm breeze.

  Nothing like Engnd, where it had been gray, damp, and miserable just before he boarded the flight.

  For a sed, he just stood there, letting the warmth sink into his skin.

  And then—

  “Ehh-vahn, hermano!”

  A familiar voice—smooth and full of life—cut through the airport noise.

  Evan turned—and there he was.

  Dark-haired, tan-skinned, not very tall, and goddamn, this man had presence.

  álvaro Cruz Martínez.

  He was both baby-faced and ridiculously attractive at the same time—like a mix between a mischievue and a fitness model who didn’t take himself too seriously.

  His physique was lean but sculpted, the kind of athleticism that came from actual training, not just looking good for Instagram.

  He was rog a charcoal-gray fitted T-shirt, the soft fabric ging to his frame, atuating broad shoulders and a well-defined chest.

  Around his neck, a stylish Thai neckce rested above his colrbone, adding a subtle, elegant touch to his effortlessly cool look.

  “Joder, you made it! And mira, still in one piece.” álvaro grinned, striding toward Evan and pulling him into a half-hug before he could eve.

  Evan blinked. “Uh, yeah?”

  álvaro smirked. “After what happened in War Thunder, remember?”

  Evan groaned. “I am never living that down, am I?”

  “Never, hermano. You were five seds away from being a fireball.”

  Evan sighed as álvaro grabbed his suitcase.

  Then, álvaro took a step back, giving him a once-over.

  His eyes widened slightly. “Co?o… You’re huge!”

  Evan snorted. “Really? I’m 6’1. It’s not that crazy, is it?”

  “I thought you were some nerdy little dude. This? I was not expeg.” álvaro shook his head, grinning. “Joder, hermano, you could’ve told me you were built like a rugby pyer.”

  Evan chuckled. “Would that have ged anything?”

  “No, but I would have had less fun imagining you as a gremlin.”

  As they walked toward the car, álvaro spread his arms dramatically, grinning.

  “Wele to E’Spain, hermano.”

  This Man Drives a What?!

  Evan barely had time to process before álvaro led him to his ride—

  A sleek, bck Porsche 992.

  The car sat low, its curves aggressive yet refihe glossy paint catg the sun just right.

  “Damn. You really are living well.” Evan muttered.

  álvaro smirked, unlog the car with a smooth motion. “You expected me to pick you up in a taxi?”

  The Porsche roared to life, the deep hum of the engine impossibly smooth yet powerful.

  ***

  The afternoon and evening passed in a haze of food, wine, and sightseeing.

  They strolled through the Gothic Quarter, where narrow, twisting alleyways opened into sunlit pzas filled with musid ughter.

  They stopped by La Ramb, where street performers and vendors hustled u palm trees.

  They devoured jamón ibérico, fresh seafood, and pan tomate, washed down with just enough wio make everything feel a little too easy.

  By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues e and violet, they were sitting at a rooftop bar, sipping drinks as Bara sprawled beh them like a living postcard.

  Evan leaned back, exhaling. “Alright. You win. It’s ridiculous.”

  álvaro smirked. “Told you, hermano. You work too much, you think too much… you live too little.”

  ***

  Later that night, they drove toward the outskirts of Bara, where the city gave way to rolling hills and cypress trees.

  And then—

  “Holy shit.”

  Evan’s eyes widened as they pulled up to a vil perched atop a hill.

  A sleek, modern take oerranean elegance.

  Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a glowing emerald pool, casting shimmering light onto the patio.

  The air carried the delicate fragrance of olive trees, vender, and citrus blossoms, their silhouettes swayily in the breeze.

  Beyond it all, the vast Mediterranean stretched endlessly, the moon’s silver refle cradled in dark waters.

  Evan muttered, “Either you’re secretly a billionaire, or I’m about to wake up in ah with one kidney.”

  álvaro ughed, kig ba the couch. “Ah, mi amigo, I just know how to live well.”

  Then—

  “I need ara actor for a se tomorrow. You in?”

  Evan blinked. “Wait—what?!”

  álvaro grinned. “For a shoot. My studio needs ara guy.”

  “Studio? Hold on. What do you do again?”

  álvaro arched an eyebrow. “I told you, I run my own business.”

  Evan squinted. “Yeah, but… what kind of business?”

  álvaro exhaled zily. “Hermanito, I make movies. Films, as you say in Engnd.”

  Evan narrowed his eyes. “…Movies?”

  álvaro smiled. “Adult movies.”

  Evan stared. Processing.

  Then, he ughed. “You’re messing with me.”

  “Nope.” álvaro took a sip.

  ”…You’re serious?”

  “Sí.”

  “You produce porn?”

  “Produce, act, direetimes all at once. I run one of the top indepe studios in Europe.”

  Evan’s brain short-circuited.

  And then álvaro grinned.

  “So, what do you say?”

  Evan’s stomach tightened.

  He was a virgin. A full-on, kissless, sexless, no-experience-whatsoever virgin.

  Could he even do this?

  Would they ugh at him?

  And… was his dick even big enough? What if he got pared to uys and came up short?

  His face burned with embarrassment, but then his mind wao the tless hours of porn he had watched.

  He had spent years jerking off to this thing—watg, fantasising, imagining.

  Now? He had a ce to actually be in it.

  The fear cshed with something darker. Excitement. Lust. Curiosity.

  "Am I seriously about to do this?"

  Silence.

  Evan swallowed hard. “I… I’ll do it.”

  álvaro’s grin turned wolfish.

  “Good choice, hermanito. Rest well tonight.”