Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, guys! I am seriously in love with the book Perfect Chemistry. Alex and Brit for life. 3 Anyway, I've kinda had this for a while, it's a cute romance. Paco is a bad boy, sorta, who gets sent to an Art camp to curb his bad habit of spray painting walls. Riley, a girl, gets mistaken by a guy because of her name. ): They get stuck in a cabin together. Ahaha Summer lovin', happened so faaaaaaast. Ahem, sorry. Anyway, I don't own anything. Though I really want to. And please reviewww!

Paco

There is nothing better than spray painting the shit outta some old wall on an early summer's night. A warm breeze flies over my neck. The smell of cigarettes, alcohol, and something a little stronger fills the air under this bridge. A wet, sucking sound makes its way from where my perdedores amigos are. They're all probably stoned outta their minds by now. ¡Qué idiotas!

The familiar hiss of the spray can is all I need to be calm. Fuck gettin' high and drunk. A little five finger discounted can is better than any drug people sell. Not to mention, mi papá would kick my ass to the curb. If there's one person I'm scared of, it's him. He took on the whole fuckin' Latino Bloods and came out alive. He has the damned brand marks to prove it. Yeah, mi papá's a tough mother fucker. Ain't no way I'm getting' on his bad side.

I don't even know what I'm spraying. I just let my hand work before my mind gets a chance to overpower it. It's worked so far. A bunch of black outlined squares are on the wall. Reaching into my backpack, I pull out a blue-gray colored spray can start the background. It reminds me of a city somewhere.

"Paco, stop painting and join the party." Jasmine purrs in my ear. Her body is pressed against my back, hands roaming across my chest hungrily. She lowers her head to my neck and begins to suck on it. It feels damn good too. But I ain't about to give in. This badass mamacita used to be mi novia. Along with at least three other guys in my crew. At the same time. She's been trying to get me back for a while now, but there's no way. I play people, not get played.

I push her away. "Detener," I hiss. She stands there with a pout on her perfectly lush lips. Her caramel colored arms are crossed over her medium sized chichis. It enhances them more than her skin tight black tank and skinny jeans could. Just lookin' at her makes me want her again. But I know it's wrong. Like I said, I don't get played. Especially not twice. Shrugging, I turn back to my art.

After adding one more little spray, I take a step back and look at it. The blocky buildings are shining in a metallic way standing out against the smog background. Below, little red, white, and silver cars zoom by. My lower lip puckers in a facial shrug. Todo esta bien.

Red and blue lights lick the glossy paint of my drawing. My body tenses. ¡Mierda! ¡La policia! Man, if I get caught one more time mi papá's gonna have my ass. Dropping my spray can, I begin to run. The rest of my crew is beside me. Minus the ones who were too mierda de cara to get their asses off the ground.

I was always a fast runner; the fastest in school. I remember when I was little and some old hombré challenged me to a race. I ended up running circles around the dumbass. He didn't even know what happened. Sadly, I can't outrun a car. Yet. But I'm always up for the challenge. And the policia are hot on my trail. Catching my breath, I stop.

Before I know it, I'm getting pressed against the cool metal of the cop car. "Hey, Paco," a gruff voice says in my ear. Man, if I had a dime every time I heard this voice, I would be set for college. Officer Dave and I go waaaay back. I think I first met the guy when I was thirteen. He has a big stomach and some kinda freakish facial hair. He looks like somethin' outta a cartoon, I swear. He has some bushy ass eyebrows and a goatee that covers his lips.

I cast a grin over my shoulder. "Tarde, Oficial Dan. What brings you out so late?" He shoves me harder against the car, muttering about how much of a smart ass I am. I pretend it has the undercurrent of affection. After passing the breathalyzer, I get shoved into the back of the car. I try to get comfortable, but it's hard when the back reeks of piss. "You ever wash this damned thing?"

Behind those wild 'brows, Oficial Dan meets me eyes in the mirror with a glare. I think. "It keeps kids from wanting to get stuck in this mess again." His voice reminds me of what a bear would sound like. Deep, rumbling. I'm sure back in the day it was forceful. Today it makes me laugh.

"Sí, it works so well on me." I smirk. He rolls his eyes and barks for me to shut up. I love you too, Dan. He switches on the radio and turns to country. My Latino roots are shaking as the "yokel" cries out about having someone taken from them. Groaning, I lean my head against the seat. When is this ride over?

By the end of the ride, I am completely sick. From the smell of the piss and the hick anthems, I think I'm gonna vomit all over the floor. Oficial Dan pulls up to mi casa and drags me outta the car. I almost talk about how I like it rough when mi papí comes storming out like a fuera del palo del infierno. ¡Mierda! He looks pissed. Mi mamá is right behind him, hair curling at the ends. Her sapphire eyes are filled with disappointment. I look away, setting my jaw. I'm tough. Mi mamá's stares shouldn't make me feel sorry. Besides, I ain't sorry. It's the best painting I've done yet.

I rub where the cuffs chaffed my skin as I get released. Danny-boy fills mi papa in on what happened. He seems to relax when he gets to the part that I am perfectly sober. Gracias for believing in my decency Dad. Oficial Dan tips his hat and gets into the car. It sinks under his weight. Putting on the sirens, he speeds away. ¡Coño!

I don't get why he leaves. Once mi papá's done with me, they're gonna need a damned ambulance. I try my best to give him an apologetic look, but I can't find the need to muster it up. So, instead, I square my shoulders and give him a cold look. Sighing, he rakes a tanned hand through his thick Latino mane. "Aye, Paco." He looks at a loss of words.

"He said I was clean." I shrug. No need to get pissy. It's not like I'm drunk and high and worshiping Satan.

"Sí, but you were destroyin' public property." The again is implied. There's a fire burnin' in the back of his eyes. He looks like he wants to beat the crap outta me, but is in some serious kinda Zen mode. His shoulders are slumped like a teenager who doesn't give a fuck, but the thin line of his mouth tells me otherwise.

I snort. "If anythin', I improved the piece'a shit buildings."

"That's not the point." Papá sighs. He looks at me. "You can't just run around paintin' whatever you feel like."

"Can't you find another way to use your artistic talents?" Mamá's voice breaks through the night like the sun coming from the clouds. Her hands are wrung together tightly and she's chomping on her lower lip. Okay, so, as much as I try to be a badass, I have a soft spot for mi mamá. What boy doesn't? The hard knot of manliness in my stomach untwists a little.

I shrug, keeping my arrogance strong. Just because I'm a little less angry on the inside, don't mean I gotta show it. Papá gives me a shove to the door. Seething, I go inside. He holds the door open for Mamá and kisses the top of her forehead. Her hands become less tense. "Paco!" He snaps just as I make it to the first step of the staircase leading to the upstairs.

"Sí?" I plant my ass on the step and cock an eyebrow at him. He gives me a cold stare. Mamá's watching me, eyes filled with sympathy. I dunno which is worse to look at. Instead, I look at my wrists. Red, puckered rashes are startin' to show up.

"We aren't done talking about this." He sounds like someone of high authority. I nearly puke. Keeping Mamá under his arm, he sweeps her into the kitchen. Low whispers come from the kitchen and I cup my ear, straining to hear.

"Alex, what are we gonna do?" She sounds really upset.

A sigh. "Mamacita, I dunno. This is the fifth time he's been pulled in in the last month. Groundin' him doesn't work, he doesn't value anythin', so no lo sé."

There's a rustling, like from paper. "Oh! Alex! Look!" An excitement rises in Mamá's voice. There's more rustling. I guess he's taking the paper. They're both quiet for a second.

"Eres genial!" He exclaims. Mamá giggles and I know she doesn't get it. "You're brilliant, Mamacita."