Chapter Text
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Barcelona never really slept, but at four in the morning, the city glowed with that strange, golden hush between night and dawn. Catalina Villalobo stumbled out of the club doors with her friends Lory and Jackie at her side, their heels clacking against the cobblestones and their laughter carrying down the narrow street.
Catalina had ditched her heels halfway through the night, holding them by the straps in one hand and a half-empty bottle of water in the other. Her messy black hair clung to her damp forehead, eyeliner smudged into smoky streaks that only made her blue eyes look sharper.
"Cat," Jackie slurred, steadying herself on her shoulder. "Tell me again why we left when the DJ started playing Bad Bunny?"
"Because you nearly died doing your fake twerk," Catalina said flatly, her Mexican accent thick and unbothered. "You almost crushed Lory's ankle."
Lory wheezed, clutching her phone. "I was trying to get it on video!"
"You're always trying to get shit on video," Cat muttered, rolling her eyes but fighting a grin.
The three of them wandered toward the train station, the early-morning air cool and sticky, the streets dotted with other stragglers from clubs. Catalina walked a little ahead, scanning the shadows out of habit. She wasn't the type to get sloppy drunk — she liked having her wits about her, liked knowing she could handle whatever came up.
That was when she saw him.
A guy leaned against the wall near the entrance of the metro station, phone in hand, head tilted down. Tall, broad shoulders, dressed way too put-together for four a.m. He looked up as the girls approached, and his dark eyes caught hers for a beat too long.
Catalina narrowed hers right back.
He had that polished look about him — hair neatly styled, sharp jawline, expensive sneakers that hadn't seen the chaos of a club floor. Definitely not a local stumbling home drunk.
And he was staring at her.
"What, dinosaur?" Catalina blurted, voice echoing across the empty square.
The man's eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?" His accent rolled heavy, that unmistakable Madrid-Spanish lilt that instantly made her smirk.
She exaggerated the sound back at him, wagging her finger. "Ehhx-cuuse me," she mocked, stretching the vowels. "Mírame, I am a Spaniard, too fancy for four a.m."
Jackie snorted. Lory immediately whipped out her phone.
"Dinosaur?" the guy repeated, looking somewhere between confused and amused.
"Yeah," Catalina said, deadpan. "You look old as hell. What are you doing out here at four in the morning? Shouldn't you be, I don't know, icing your back? Drinking chamomile tea?"
The man chuckled under his breath. "Old? I'm thirty."
Catalina gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. "Oh my god. You're basically forty."
Jackie howled with laughter.
The man shook his head, smiling despite himself. "And how old are you, eh? Since you think you're so young?"
Catalina tilted her chin up smugly. "Twenty-one. Fresh. Beautiful. Youth on my side."
He raised an eyebrow. "Twenty-one? That's almost thirty."
"Not as bad as forty!" she shot back instantly, making Lory wheeze behind the camera.
The guy folded his arms across his chest, a grin tugging at his lips. He was taking the abuse like a champ. "You don't know who I am, do you?"
Catalina snorted, tossing her hair out of her face. "Yeah. Some old guy who still acts young. Should I guess? Retired boyband member? Failed soap opera star?"
Jackie bent over laughing. Lory's camera was shaking violently.
The man laughed — a real, full laugh — and leaned closer. "You're very sure of yourself, eh?"
Catalina shrugged, biting back a grin. "It's four a.m., Dinosaur. I don't have time for fragile male egos."
That earned her another laugh, and for some reason, it made her chest warm. He was too amused. Too composed. Definitely not just some random old dude.
She squinted at him, suddenly curious. "Wait. Teach me a curse word in Spaniard."
His brow furrowed. "What?"
"You know," she said, waving her hand. "Not Spanish. Spaniard. Like, you people must have your own."
He shook his head, smiling. "It's the same thing. A curse word is a curse word."
"No, no, no." She jabbed her finger at him, her accent thick and playful. "You're lying. Teach me a curse word in Spaniard."
He sighed dramatically, pretending to think. Then he leaned in and murmured something low in Spanish, a word so sharp and vulgar that Catalina's jaw dropped.
She burst out laughing, doubling over. "¡No mames! That's nasty!"
Jackie almost fell to the floor recording.
The man smirked, clearly pleased with himself. "You wanted one. There you go."
By the time they reached the station steps, Lory was gasping from laughter, Jackie clinging to Catalina's arm, and Catalina herself was still grinning like an idiot.
She turned back to him before stepping inside. "Wait. One more thing."
He raised a brow. "Hm?"
Catalina shoved her phone at Lory. "Take a picture. I want to remember the dinosaur I bullied at four a.m."
The man actually laughed, shaking his head, but he leaned in anyway, arm brushing against hers as they posed. His cologne hit her nose — subtle, expensive, unfairly good.
The shutter clicked.
When the flash faded, he was still looking at her. Really looking at her. His voice dropped low enough for only her to hear.
"Text me on Instagram when you figure out who I am."
Catalina snorted, jabbing him lightly in the side with her elbow. "You're hitting forty and hitting on a twenty-year-old? Tragic."
She pulled away before he could respond, grabbing Jackie and Lory by the wrists and dragging them toward the metro stairs.
Behind them, the so-called Dinosaur was still laughing, shaking his head like he couldn't believe what just happened.
None of the three girls had the faintest clue that Catalina Villalobo had just roasted Carlos Sainz — one of Spain's most famous athletes — into oblivion at four a.m.
They did agree on one thing though, as they collapsed onto the train seats, breathless from laughter.
"He was hot though," Lory wheezed.
"Yeah," Jackie nodded, fanning herself.
Catalina rolled her eyes, smirking into her water bottle. "Hot dinosaur. Still forty."
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The curtains were drawn tight, but the Barcelona sun was relentless, seeping in through the cracks and stabbing Catalina straight in the eyeballs.
"Ugh," she groaned, pulling the blanket over her head. Her mouth was dry as hell, her hair a matted nest against the pillow. Her body ached from dancing and drinking, though she'd proudly kept her heels off for most of the night.
It was three in the afternoon.
Lory's shriek split through the room. "CAT. WAKE. THE. FUCK. UP."
Catalina didn't move. Just let out a muffled "nooo" into her pillow.
Jackie, perched at the foot of the bed, had her phone out like she'd been waiting all morning for this. "Babe. Babe. You need to see what you did last night."
"I don't wanna know," Catalina groaned, shoving her face deeper into the pillow.
"Oh, but you do," Jackie said, wickedly gleeful. "Because this is gold."
Before Catalina could protest, Lory jammed the phone in front of her face. The video started playing: a tall man in a white T-shirt standing near the metro station, and then her own voice, loud as hell:
"What, dinosaur?"
Catalina's stomach dropped.
The video rolled on, showing her mimicking his accent, calling him basically forty, demanding he teach her curse words, cackling in his face while Jackie and Lory wheezed behind the camera. The man — the very hot man, she realized now — laughed through all of it, indulging her sass.
Catalina let out a blood-curdling groan and smacked the pillow over her head. "NOPE. That's not me. I don't know that bitch. I'm in witness protection now."
Lory and Jackie collapsed onto the bed laughing so hard their stomachs hurt.
"You were savage!" Lory gasped. "Look at you bullying some random hot Spaniard at four a.m.!"
"He was hot, though," Jackie agreed, grinning as she scrolled. "Like... unfair hot."
Catalina peeked one blue eye out from under the pillow. "...Hot dinosaur."
They shoved the photo at her next — the one she'd insisted on. Catalina standing smugly next to the man, his arm brushing hers, his grin caught mid-laugh. It looked almost... intimate.
Catalina burst out laughing. "Oh my god. I really bullied him into taking a picture."
"You posed like you were his girlfriend," Lory added. "Look at this shit!"
Still snickering, Catalina grabbed her own phone off the nightstand. "Okay, you know what? I'm putting this on my story. My followers deserve to see the dinosaur."
Groggy and reckless, she opened Instagram. She scrolled through her pictures, selected the one with Mr. Dinosaur, and went to tag him.
"What's his name again?" she muttered.
"Didn't he say Carlos or something?" Jackie said through a yawn.
"Yeah, Carlos Something."
Catalina typed Carlos Sainz into the tag search. A verified account popped up immediately. She blinked at the blue check, shrugged, and tagged it without thinking twice.
"Dinosaur secured," she announced, hitting post.
Not five minutes later, her phone buzzed violently in her hand. Incoming Instagram Video Call: carlossainz55.
Catalina frowned. "What the—? No way."
Lory and Jackie shrieked. "ANSWER IT!"
She swiped without thinking, and suddenly, Dinosaur himself filled her screen. Carlos. He was sitting in a sunlit kitchen, hair damp from a shower, wearing a plain hoodie that somehow made him even hotter.
Catalina squinted blearily at him. "Damn, old man. Don't you have a life?"
Carlos blinked, then laughed, shaking his head. "You're unbelievable. You tag me, then you ignore me?"
Before Catalina could fire back, another face popped into view behind him. A scrawny white boy with floppy brown hair, grinning like he'd walked into the best sitcom of his life.
Catalina frowned. "Who the hell is the scrawny dude?"
The boy sputtered, "Excuse me?" in a thick British accent.
Lory and Jackie nearly fell off the bed laughing.
Catalina leaned closer to the screen, her Mexican accent rolling. "You look like... like a substitute math teacher. Who let you in here?"
The boy laughed. "I'm Lando."
Catalina tilted her head, unimpressed. "Lando? That's not even a real name. That's like... fanfiction shit." She paused, her grin sharp. "Actually—bet a hundred bucks I can find a fanfic where you're fucking the dinosaur here."
Lory screamed into a pillow. Jackie choked on her water.
Carlos's jaw actually dropped, his dark eyes wide. "¿Perdona? What?"
Catalina smirked. "Don't play dumb. The internet is wild. Someone out there's written it."
Lando was dying laughing in the background, nearly falling off his chair.
Carlos, meanwhile, looked personally offended. He pointed at himself with conviction. "I would be the top."
Catalina snorted so hard she almost dropped the phone. "Yeah, sure, old man. Keep telling yourself that."
Carlos looked like he couldn't decide whether to laugh or strangle her through the screen.
"Anyway," Catalina said, yawning mid-sentence, "I gotta go. Unlike you, I have a productive life. Byeee." She hung up before he could respond.
Lory and Jackie stared at her like she'd grown a second head.
"You just hung up on him," Lory whispered.
"And called him a bottom," Jackie added, wheezing.
Catalina rolled over and shoved her phone under the pillow. "Good. He needed the reality check. Old men need humbling."
And then, like the menace she was, she promptly fell back asleep.
When she woke again, the room was dim, her phone buzzing non-stop on the nightstand. She groaned, dragging it into her lap.
Instagram notifications flooded the screen. Hundreds of follow requests. Dozens of random usernames checking her profile.
"What the hell..." she muttered, rubbing her eyes.
Her heart stopped when she saw it: she'd been tagged. By none other than carlossainz55.
She tapped his story, and there it was.
The photo of them at four a.m., her smirking like the little shit she was, him mid-laugh, posted to his millions of followers.
Captioned: "I have never met such a damn diva."
Catalina froze, her jaw hanging open.
Fan accounts were already reposting, captioning, dissecting. Messages poured in: Who is she?, The mystery girl, Carlos' diva??
Lory peeked over her shoulder, gasping. "Cat. He's, like... actually famous."
Jackie covered her mouth, laughing hysterically. "Oh my god, you bullied a celebrity dinosaur."
Catalina clutched the phone, her pulse racing. "What the actual fuck."
Catalina lay sprawled on her bed, staring at the ceiling in disbelief. Her phone still buzzed every few seconds with Instagram notifications — follow requests, random people liking old posts, strangers digging through her life. She'd locked her account tighter than a vault, but it didn't matter. The sharks were circling.
Lory and Jackie were perched on the other bed, still scrolling through Carlos Sainz's page, muttering things like "He's so hot, though" and "How did we not realize?" Catalina, meanwhile, was still processing the fact that the "hot dinosaur" she'd roasted half to death was not just famous, but apparently beloved.
She'd just begun to convince herself maybe it would all blow over when her phone lit up with a call.
Incoming Call: Acilla 💅🏻
Catalina squinted at the time. What the hell? It was four in the morning in California.
She answered groggily. "Dude, it's, like, four a.m. for you—"
"CATALINA VILLALOBO!" Sheila's voice nearly shattered her eardrum. "YOU MET CARLOS SAINZ?!"
Catalina winced, pulling the phone away. "Jesus Christ, woman, you don't need to yell."
Sheila was hyperventilating on the other end. "I am SCREAMING. Do you have ANY idea what you've done?! You were on my Instagram Explore page. YOU. On Carlos Sainz's story. With HIM."
Catalina sat up slowly, confused as hell. "Wait, wait, wait. Who the fuck is Carlos Sainz?"
Lory and Jackie erupted into laughter in the background.
"CAT." Sheila sounded like she was about to pass out. "He's a Formula 1 driver. Like... world-famous. Millions of fans. Literal celebrity. And you're on his Instagram story. Looking like his—his—his—"
"His what?" Catalina demanded, frowning.
"His girl!" Sheila wailed. "Do you KNOW how the internet works? People are already making edits. TikToks. Ship names. You've gone viral in the last twenty minutes."
Catalina blinked. Her heart dropped into her stomach. "What the actual fuck."
Sheila wasn't finished. "And—AND—do you know what the fans are losing their minds over? Not even you calling him a dinosaur—though, wow, I cannot believe you did that—but THE WAY HE'S LOOKING AT YOU."
Lory squealed, grabbing Jackie's arm. "SEE, I told you! The way he looked at her in the picture was suspicious as fuck!"
"Like—like—intense eye contact," Sheila pressed on. "Soft smile. Smoldering eyes. Girl, he was looking at you like you hung the moon. Do you UNDERSTAND?!"
Catalina wanted to crawl under the bed and never come out. She flopped back against the mattress and groaned into the pillow. "Nope. Nope. Not dealing with this. I was drunk, Sheila. I bullied some random dude at four a.m. and now—now what, I'm an accidental WAG?!"
"What the hell is a WAG?" Jackie whispered.
"Wives and Girlfriends," Lory explained solemnly, scrolling through Twitter. "It's, like, a whole thing in sports."
"See!" Sheila shouted through the phone. "You don't even know what you've stepped into. You roasted a national treasure, Cat. People LOVE him. They're obsessed with him. He's Spain's golden boy."
Catalina yanked the blanket over her head. "Oh my god. Kill me now. I can't live like this. I called Spain's golden boy a dinosaur."
"And a bottom," Jackie added helpfully.
"JACKIE!" Catalina shouted from under the blanket, her voice muffled but horrified.
"What?" Jackie cackled. "You did!"
Sheila gasped. "Wait—WHAT?"
"NOTHING!" Catalina sat bolt upright, face red. "Nothing happened!"
Lory was laughing so hard she nearly dropped her phone. "She doesn't know about the FaceTime," she sang.
"FACE—WHAT?!" Sheila shrieked.
"Shut up, all of you!" Catalina groaned, burying her face in her hands.
But it was too late. Sheila was shrieking in her ear again. "CAT, if the internet ever finds out you FaceTimed him, it's OVER. You'll break the fandom. Do you get that?! You'd be hunted down, dissected, stalked—"
Catalina groaned louder. "This is the worst spring break of my life."
"Correction," Jackie said brightly. "This is the best spring break of my life. I've never laughed harder."
Sheila was still mid-rant. "And the worst part—THE WORST PART—is that you don't even care! Do you know how many girls would sell their left kidney for a smile from Carlos Sainz? And you—you call him a dinosaur to his FACE?"
Catalina, voice muffled by her hands: "Because he IS a dinosaur! He's, like, thirty!"
"HE'S NOT OLD, CAT." Sheila sounded personally offended. "He's perfect."
Lory pulled up Twitter again, her eyes wide. "Uh... Cat?"
Catalina cracked one eye open. "What now?"
"They're calling you 'The Diva,'" Lory said, showing her the screen. "There's already edits with dramatic music. 'Carlos and The Diva.'"
Catalina snatched the phone, horrified. Sure enough, someone had clipped Carlos's story with the caption Never met such a damn diva and slapped it over dramatic fan edits, zooming in on the way Carlos had been looking at her in the photo.
"Oh my god," Catalina whispered. "They're shipping me with him."
Sheila screamed so loudly Catalina yanked the phone away. "THIS IS ICONIC. CAT, YOU ARE LIVING MY DREAM."
"No." Catalina shook her head violently, tossing the phone onto the bed. "I reject this narrative. I want out. Cancel my Instagram. Cancel my life. I'm moving to the mountains. I'll become a goat herder. Goodbye."
Lory and Jackie collapsed onto each other laughing, while Sheila ranted over speakerphone about "the universe handing you gold and you throwing it away."
Catalina pulled the blanket back over her head, muttering, "I'm never drinking again."
But she knew deep down, this was only the beginning.
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By six that evening, Catalina had convinced herself she could just... ignore it all. Pretend the entire Carlos incident was some weird, fever-dream blur.
She threw on her oversized sunglasses — big, black, and dramatic enough to cover half her face. She paired them with an oversized white button-down tucked into jean shorts, her hair pulled into a messy bun. Inconspicuous. Anonymous. Invisible.
"Cat, you literally look like you're trying to hide from the paparazzi," Lory said, sipping her iced coffee.
Catalina adjusted her glasses stubbornly. "Good. That's the point. If anyone asks, my name is María Fernanda. I am a simple student. I know nothing about dinosaurs."
Jackie snorted. "You're insane. Nobody cares. It's only a picture."
"ONLY a picture?" Catalina groaned, pulling out her phone. "Tell that to the hundreds of weirdos requesting to follow me. Tell that to the edits of me and Dino Boy set to Taylor Swift songs. Tell that to Sheila, who's already made me swear not to delete Instagram because she wants front-row seats to the disaster."
Jackie and Lory exchanged looks, stifling their laughter.
"Anyway," Catalina declared, standing up. "I'm done talking about him. I came to Barcelona for food, history, and hot pictures for my mom to brag about. Not this."
So, they set off into the city.
Catalina forced herself to focus on the here and now: the grand spires of the Sagrada Família catching the evening light, the colorful mosaics of Park Güell, narrow Gothic alleyways buzzing with life. Every few steps, she'd whip out her phone, snap a picture, and upload it to her Instagram story.
A flaky golden croissant at a café? Post.
The dramatic facade of the cathedral? Post.
Her glass of sangria clinking against Jackie's mojito? Post.
"Are you just documenting everything we eat?" Lory asked as Cat snapped yet another picture of churros dipped in chocolate.
"Yes," Catalina said firmly. "If I die tomorrow, I want people to know I died full and cultured."
By the time the sun started to set, her story was a chaotic highlight reel of Barcelona — food, monuments, her feet dangling over the edge of a fountain, Jackie photobombing with a goofy face.
What she didn't know was that on the other side of the app, Carlos Sainz was watching every single update.
It hadn't taken him long to find a way in. Catalina's account was private, but she'd tagged him in her original post, and he was not above hitting "follow" from a burner account. (Actually, three burner accounts — just in case.)
So there he was, sprawled on his sofa with a beer, scrolling through her story like some teenager with a crush.
Tap. Catalina's hand holding gelato, blue nail polish chipped.
Tap. Catalina squinting at the camera in oversized sunglasses, captioned "tourist mode engaged."
Tap. A picture of churros, her messy handwriting scrawled across the screen: life = complete.
Carlos snorted into his beer. Diva, he thought. She really was one.
Back in the streets of Barcelona, Catalina had no clue. She leaned against a stone railing, scrolling through her own story. "See? Normal. Just food and buildings. Nobody can meme me out of this."
Jackie peered over her shoulder. "Girl... you posted twelve stories in four hours. That's not normal. That's influencer-level shit."
"I'm curating memories," Catalina argued.
"You're curating content," Lory teased, wagging her brows.
Catalina flipped them both off and marched toward the next tapas bar.
Hours later, with her belly full of patatas bravas and manchego cheese, Catalina stretched out on the couch in their rented Airbnb, sighing with satisfaction. "See? A perfect day. No dinosaurs, no drama, just carbs."
Her phone buzzed.
She groaned, assuming it was Sheila again. But when she glanced down, her stomach flipped.
New Follower: carlossainz55.
She blinked at it. Then blinked again. "Wait. What?"
Lory leaned over her shoulder, eyes going wide. "No. No. He followed you?"
Jackie shrieked, clutching a pillow. "On your private account?!"
Catalina nearly threw the phone across the room. "HOW?!"
"Because you tagged him, dumbass!" Lory gasped, snatching the phone back. "Of course he saw your profile."
Catalina buried her face in her hands. "Oh my god. He saw my story. He saw my churros. He saw me being a basic bitch tourist."
Jackie grinned. "At least you looked hot in those sunglasses."
"That's not the point!" Cat wailed into the pillow.
But it was too late. Carlos had found her. And now, no matter how much she tried to pretend otherwise, the game had changed.
Because on his side of the city, Carlos was laughing to himself as he watched her latest post — a blurry video of Jackie and Lory arguing over the last churro while Catalina captioned it: pray for me.
And for the first time all day, Carlos typed something into his notes app. A single line.
The diva thinks she can hide.
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The club was alive — neon lights pulsing, bass thumping so hard Catalina swore it rattled her ribs. Sweat, perfume, and spilled drinks mixed into the air, and everyone on the dance floor seemed to blur into one moving, glittering mass.
She was tipsy. Not blackout, not messy, just tipsy enough to feel weightless. She had her sunglasses tucked into her shirt, her lipstick smudged from laughing too hard at Jackie's attempts to flirt with the bartender, and her hair sticking up in the back from Lory's failed attempt to braid it.
At some point, she'd uploaded a blurry picture of the dance floor — strobes slicing across the crowd, captioned Barcelona doesn't miss. Her phone buzzed with replies from Sheila in all caps (WHERE ARE YOU. DON'T DIE.), but Cat ignored them. Tonight was about forgetting, not spiraling.
"Shots!" Jackie declared, slamming down three tiny glasses.
"No more," Cat groaned, clutching her stomach.
"Yes, more," Lory corrected, shoving one into her hand. "You need it. You've been acting like you're hiding from the FBI all day. Let go, Cat."
Cat muttered something about being allergic to drama, but downed it anyway, wincing as the tequila burned its way down.
That's when the bottle girl appeared. She was glittering from head to toe, holding a sparkler and smiling like she was about to change their lives.
"Ladies," she said in accented English, "VIP called for you."
The three of them blinked.
"What?" Jackie asked, confused.
"VIP," the girl repeated, gesturing toward the roped-off area with a tray in hand.
They turned as one. And there he was.
Lando Norris. Standing by the VIP ropes, grinning like a little shit, giving a small wave.
"Oh no." Catalina's stomach dropped. Her tipsiness evaporated into pure, chaotic panic.
Jackie grabbed her arm. "Oh yes."
Lory doubled over laughing. "Cat, your face— you look like you've seen God."
"I have!" Cat hissed, eyes darting to the side— and there he was. Carlos. Lounging in the corner booth like a damn king, drink in hand, black shirt rolled up on the sleeves, watching the dance floor with that sharp, quiet focus.
And then, as if sensing her stare, he looked up. Right at her.
Catalina froze.
His gaze locked on hers, and for a second, it was like the noise of the club dimmed. His lips quirked, not into a full smile, but enough that she knew—he was amused.
"Absolutely not," she muttered, trying to spin around. "Nope. I'm going home. I'm walking into the sea."
Jackie cackled, pulling her toward the VIP ropes. "Girl, shut up and come on. This is happening whether you like it or not."
"VIP!" the bottle girl cheered again, leading them forward.
And before Cat knew it, they were climbing the steps. Her heart pounded louder than the bass.
They slid into the booth opposite Lando and Carlos. Lando beamed at them like the sunshine incarnate. "Hey, you made it!"
Cat blinked. "We... didn't really have a choice. Sparkler lady kidnapped us."
Carlos leaned back, sipping his drink, not saying a word. Just watching.
Cat reached for her glass of water, except—whoops. Not water. Rum and Coke. Her face twisted as the alcohol hit, but she gulped anyway. Liquid courage. Sure. Why not.
"Okay," she said, slamming the glass down a little too hard. "Cards on the table. I have no idea what the fuck is going on."
Lando blinked. "You're in VIP?"
"No," Cat snapped, waving her hands dramatically. "Not this. This. Him." She pointed vaguely at Carlos, then jabbed a finger at herself. "Me. Him. Dinosaur boy. Why? What the fuck is this? Why is the internet making edits? Why did my phone blow up at four a.m. with Sheila screaming like someone died?"
Jackie choked on her drink. Lory covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.
Carlos raised an eyebrow, calm as ever. "Dinosaur boy?"
Cat clapped her hand over her mouth. "Shit. I said that out loud."
"Yep," Jackie confirmed, patting her back.
Carlos's lips twitched. "Diva and dinosaur boy. Interesting dynamic."
"Don't call me diva!" Cat whined, leaning forward, tipsiness loosening her filter. "I'm not even dramatic, okay? I'm just— I just like churros and minding my business! You people are ruining my spring break!"
Lando was doubled over, wheezing with laughter. "Oh my god. Carlos, she's perfect."
Carlos shot him a look but didn't deny it.
Cat groaned, dropping her head on the table. "Kill me now. Please. Run me over with the Ferrari, I beg you."
Carlos tilted his head, studying her. And then—softly, almost too quietly under the bass—he said, "Why would I do that when watching you squirm is so much more entertaining?"
Her head snapped up.
Lory and Jackie clutched each other, silently screaming.
Cat, red-faced and tipsy, pointed a shaky finger at him. "You're evil. Pure evil."
Carlos smirked into his glass. "Maybe."
And that was the exact moment Catalina Villalobo realized—this wasn't going away.
The VIP booth was too much for Catalina Villalobo's nerves. Plush leather seats, bottle service, sparklers every ten minutes—ugh. It felt like stepping into a telenovela she didn't sign up for.
And then there was Carlos. Sitting there, relaxed but annoyingly magnetic, sipping his drink like he owned the whole damn club.
She was fighting with herself. Half of her brain screamed run away, Cat, crawl under a table and never come out. The other half whispered fuck it, you'll never see him again. Live a little.
Lando, grinning like the human version of a hyper puppy, leaned over to say something, but Cat snapped before he could finish.
"Shut it, twink."
Lando nearly spat his drink out laughing, while Jackie slapped the table and howled. Even Carlos let out a surprised laugh, shaking his head slowly.
Cat, cheeks hot and brain spinning with tequila, grabbed the nearest bottle and tipped it back for a gulp. Half gone in one swing. It burned, but the warmth gave her courage. Liquid courage, she told herself, even though she already had more than enough chaos running in her veins.
You'll never see him again. Never. He's some random hot old dude who probably has ten girls waiting in line. Why not?
She smirked, set the bottle down, and before she could overthink it, she stood up.
"Where are you—" Lory started, but froze when Cat grabbed Carlos's wrist.
"Dance with me, dinosaur," Cat declared, tugging him toward the floor.
Carlos didn't move at first. His brows rose, clearly surprised. But then—then that slow, dangerous smirk curved his lips, and he let her drag him out of the booth.
The crowd parted around them as the beat dropped, strobe lights flashing. Cat pressed closer than she dared to think about, her body swaying to the rhythm, testing him.
Carlos froze for a second, like he wasn't sure what hit him. Then his hands slid confidently to her waist, guiding her movement in sync with his.
Oh. Oh no. The man could dance.
Cat tilted her head back, smirking at him. "No, tan mal para un viejito"
Not bad for an old man.
His grip tightened slightly at her waist, amusement flashing in his eyes.
The song thumped, the world narrowing to just the two of them. Her heart pounded, not from the tequila, not from the bass, but from the way he was watching her—like she was a puzzle he suddenly wanted to solve.
And then—he leaned in. Close enough that his breath brushed her ear, his voice low and rough.
"Tienes unos ojos hermosos" he murmured.
You have beautiful eyes,
Her lips curled into a dangerous little smile. Her arms looped around his neck, pulling him closer. She switched to Spanish, her accent rolling sharp and teasing.
"Nunca te voy a volver a ver, viejo rabo verde." (I'm never going to see you again, dirty old man.)
Carlos froze. Then he threw his head back and laughed—deep, unguarded, almost boyish. When he looked back down at her, there was a gleam in his eyes that made her stomach flip.
They kept moving. The beat slowed, bodies closer, his hands roamed down her back, strong, deliberate. His thumb brushed dangerously low on her hip, his chest firm against hers, and for the first time all night Catalina felt the ground disappear under her feet.
And then it happened—he leaned down, close, close enough she could see every detail in his face, his lips hovering right over hers.
Time seemed to stall.
But just as his lips were about to meet hers—Cat lifted her finger, pressing it to his mouth.
"Ah-ah," she whispered, shaking her head with a wicked grin.
She shifted and pressed her lips instead to the corner of his mouth, lingering just long enough to make his jaw tense. Then she pulled back, smirking at his expression.
Before he could react, she spun around, hair flying, and grabbed Lory and Jackie by their hands.
"We're leaving," she declared breathlessly.
The girls, wide-eyed and tipsy themselves, barely had time to grab their bags before Cat dragged them back into the crowd. They disappeared into the sea of bodies, lights swallowing them whole.
Carlos stood there for a moment on the dance floor, frozen, then slowly chuckled to himself. He ran a hand down his jaw, smirking like a man who just had the rug pulled out from under him.
"Diva," he muttered under his breath, watching the space where she vanished.
And though Catalina thought she'd never see him again—Carlos Sainz was already plotting otherwise.
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