Hostile Affection

Chapter 2: No Sugar, No Strings

Nicco’s POV

The words cut through the heated rhythm of the moment.

“Don’t put that on.”

I froze. The foil packet in my hand felt heavier all of a sudden, like a warning pressed between my fingers. My eyes flicked toward the man sprawled on the bed—naked, impatient, and already rolling his eyes at me. A stranger I’d met an hour ago at the bar. The signs had been obvious—glances across the counter, a shared drink, that magnetic pull of mutual attraction. We both knew where it was going. Or so I thought.

But this? This was the kind of thing that killed the night in an instant.

The arousal drained from my body, gone as easily as if someone had snapped a switch.

Of all the things I couldn’t stand, it was this. Irresponsibility. Especially in bed. Especially from someone who wasn’t even a partner.

Yeah, I was on PrEP. That was true. But PrEP didn’t make me reckless. Condoms weren’t optional. They were respect. They were principle. And principle wasn’t something I negotiated away, not for a stranger, not for anyone.

“Why’d you stop?” he asked, brows pulling together.

“Because I’m done,” I said flatly. My tone didn’t rise, didn’t shake. Just steady.

“What? Are you serious? We haven’t even started yet.”

I stood. No rush. No anger. Just the quiet certainty of someone who knew exactly when enough was enough. I pulled my clothes back on, button by button, like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

“The moment you told me not to wear a condom,” I said, “we were finished.”

His face twisted in disbelief, but I didn’t bother explaining. I didn’t owe him that. “Thanks, though. I have to go.”

I left. The click of the motel door behind me felt like punctuation—sharp, clean, final.

The night air met me cool and sobering. I breathed it in, letting it wash the heat off my skin. Pulling my jacket tighter, I made my way back to the bar. The neon sign glowed like a second chance to salvage what was left of the night.

Inside, I didn’t even need to look far. My people were there—loud, colorful, always waiting.

“Well, that was quick. How was your booking, bro?” Jacob slid a drink across the table toward me. Jacob—always the dramatic one, and always the one who asked first.

“Barely fifteen minutes,” Franco chimed in, smirking. He’d been with Jacob long enough to match his rhythm, the teasing just as natural.

Venice leaned forward, a sly grin painted across her face. She was the only straight one in our group, but if you asked anyone who knew her, they’d swear she had the soul of a gay man. “Let me guess. The Golden Rule?”

They all knew it. My line in the sand. No bare s*x unless it was true love.

“Bingo.” I lifted my glass in confirmation.

Yasser chuckled, elbow nudging me like he always did when he wanted to push. “You need to start dating seriously, dude. You won’t find someone worth going bare for if all you do is test-driving guys from the bar.”

“Says the guy who had three bookings yesterday,” Jacob shot back before I could.

Venice raised her brows, feigning innocence. “Wait—if there were four of them, would that be a quadrosome?”

Franco groaned. “You’re all hopeless.”

I smirked, sipping the drink Jacob had slid my way. “Wow, says the guy who gets it morning, noon, and night. Honestly, Franco, we should call you The Human Water Dispenser.”

Franco gasped in mock offense. “Rude!”

The table erupted in laughter, the kind that filled the whole corner of the bar. No judgment, no weight. Just us—this odd little family I had chosen, and who had chosen me back.

By the time we left, it was nearly one in the morning. Hugs, waves, casual goodbyes—the usual. Some went home, some went off to someone else’s bed. Me? I was just fine heading home alone. For now, self-worth tasted better than anything else.

---

The next morning—or technically, the next afternoon—I woke to pain hammering behind my eyes.

I groaned, burying my face deeper into the pillow. The sunlight slicing through the curtains felt like knives, and the steady tick of the clock on the wall mocked me. I cracked an eye open, reached for my phone on the nightstand, and swore under my breath.

1:00 PM.

“s**t,” I muttered. I had slept nearly twelve hours.

Before I could even process that, a sharp bark tore through the fog in my head.

“Piper, not now,” I groaned. But of course, he barked louder, the sound urgent, relentless.

I dragged myself out of bed, every muscle aching, every nerve protesting. Piper was waiting at the kitchen door, tail wagging, golden fur catching the light like he was the sun itself. His bark pitched higher the moment he saw me.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. You’re hungry.”

I scooped kibble into his bowl, the sound of it hitting the metal dish almost too loud for my headache. Piper dove in immediately, tail wagging harder.

I leaned against the counter, watching him. Piper had been with me for years. A gift, though the word gift never quite fit. More like… leftover. From Axel.

The thought pulled me backward—six years back.

***

“Happy third anniversary, love,” I said, grinning as I handed him the gift.

But Axel didn’t grin back. His face was stiff, his eyes distant. I knew that look. After five years together, I knew every twitch, every silence.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

He shook his head, like it was nothing. But I didn’t buy it.

“Come on, tell me. I can tell something’s off.”

His chest rose and fell in a deep breath, and then he said it. Just like that.

“Love… can we end this?”

I laughed. I actually laughed because for a split second, I thought he was joking. “Not funny, Axel.”

But he wasn’t joking.

The air left me, sharp and brutal. “Tell me why. Did I do something wrong?”

“It’s not you… it’s me.”

I clenched my jaw. That cliché? Now?

“What’s really going on?” I pushed.

He hesitated. And then the truth dropped between us like a knife.

“I got someone pregnant.”

The words split me open.

“You cheated,” I whispered. My throat burned, but I forced the words out. “With a woman.”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen,” he muttered, eyes dropping to the floor.

I wanted to scream, to cry, but instead I said, “I’d still accept you. We can fix this.”

“No, Nicco. You don’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand just fine,” I said, voice sharp, steady, deadly calm. “You’re in love with her.”

He didn’t deny it.

Something inside me shattered, but I laughed anyway. Bitter, ugly laughter. “Fine. Let’s end this. Let’s end this f*****g relationship.”

And I walked away.

***

The memory snapped apart as my phone rang.

A client. Perfect timing. Work was the one thing that never betrayed me. Twenty-nine years old, and I’d already built projects across the country, some abroad too. Nicolai Conrad Samaniego—the engineer people requested by name. But everyone just called me Nicco.

The phone rang again. Jacob this time.

“Yo! Coffee later, okay? That new café—Caffeine Chapter—you in?”

I rubbed a hand over my face. “Just the five of us. No extras, Jacob.”

He laughed. “Of course. No drama.”

“Cool. I’ll get ready.”

I hung up and headed for the bathroom. One glance in the mirror made me grimace. Puffy eyes, unshaven jaw, hair a mess. I looked like a man who’d lost a fight with himself.

Shower. Razor. Clean shirt. By the time I was done, the mirror looked kinder. Not perfect, but passable. Masculine. Sharp. The kind of man who could walk into a boardroom or a bar and fit anywhere.

Aside from engineering, I had another reputation too—one that mattered just as much. Coffee. Food. Reviews. My words could make or break a café, a restaurant, a chef’s reputation. And tonight, the five of us were headed somewhere new. Caffeine Chapter. The internet was obsessed with it already, calling their coffee “life-changing.”

Alright then. Let’s see if it lives up to the hype.

By the time I got in the car, my phone wouldn’t shut up. Calls, messages, the group chat spamming me with “Where the hell are you?” I finally answered Jacob’s call, putting him on speaker as I drove.

“I’m already driving, okay?”

“Classic latecomer,” Yasser grumbled.

“Hurry up or we’ll finish all the coffee without you,” Jacob teased.

“Don’t tell me you squeezed in a last-minute booking,” Franco’s voice chimed in.

“Oh, shut up,” I laughed. “I would never let a hookup into my condo. Ever.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Venice added, dry as ever.

I ended the call, focusing on the traffic. Rush hour was a nightmare—horns blaring, brake lights flaring red as far as I could see. My patience thinned with every stoplight.

And then I saw him.

A man, masked, dressed in black, darting across the street with a cat clutched tight to his chest. I slammed the brakes so hard my heart leapt into my throat.

“s**t! Are you trying to die?”

My hand hovered on the door handle, ready to let loose on him, but then he turned. Just for a second. Raised a hand in apology. And for that second, I froze.

His eyes. The way he moved. Something about him scratched at the edge of memory.

The blare of a horn behind me yanked me back. I shook my head, drove on, pushing the thought aside. Just another stranger in a city full of them.

By the time I pulled up in front of Caffeine Chapter, it was already a quarter to seven.

The moment I walked in, the room shifted. I felt the weight of eyes, the hush of whispers, the not-so-subtle click of phone cameras. It was nothing new. Being Nicco Samaniego came with that.

I scanned the place. Warm lights. Wooden shelves stacked with books. The air smelled of roasted beans and vanilla, layered with the faint musk of old paper. The name made sense now—Caffeine Chapter. It was part café, part library, part art exhibit. Elegant. Instagrammable.

And maybe, just maybe, worth the hype.

I spotted my friends by the window, all of them waiting like I’d just come back from the dead.

“After five thousand years, you finally show up,” Venice announced.

“Exaggeration much?” I shot back, sliding into the empty seat.

“Ugh, Nicolai, you’re always late,” Yasser muttered.

“Don’t call me that,” I snapped, sharper than I meant. I hated that name. Nicolai was the engineer, the magazine feature, the company man. Nicco—that was me.

“Let’s just order,” Jacob cut in, raising his hand for the staff.

A server approached with a sleek tablet. No counters. No queues. Everything brought straight to you. Premium service. Premium detail.

Vibes? Already a ten. But vibes didn’t matter if the coffee failed.

When it was my turn, I didn’t hesitate.

“Iced Americano. No sugar.”

Straightforward. Strong. Just the way I liked it.

Now let’s see if this place was worth the noise.