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I ignored him, still spiraling. “And then we kissed.”
Mateo hummed. “And?”
I stared up at the sky.
“And it was the best kiss of my life.”
The words hung there, heavy, undeniable.
“Well . . . fuck.”
“Yeah.”
“Like . . .Pretty Womangood?”
I exhaled, finally sitting on a bench down the street from my house.
“Julia’s probably a little moist tonight and can’t figure out why.”
“Shit.”
“I know.”
“Okay, so what’s the problem?”
“Well, fuck me if I know. One minute, we’re making out like teenagers at a drive-in, the next, I’m tearing up and he’s cupping my cheek and telling me he’s got me.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Exactly! We went from kissy-kissy, humpy-humpy to ‘hold me and make me feel safe’ in two seconds flat!”
“Jesus. You’re screwed.”
“Thank you, wise one.” I let out a dry laugh. “The problem is, I think I—”
I stopped.
Because I couldn’t say it.
Couldn’t even think it.
Mateo, because he was annoyingly perceptive, caught onto it anyway.
His voice softened. “Mike.”
I dragged a hand over my face. “I wasn’t supposed to feel like this yet.”
Mateo sighed. “You can’t control that shit.”
“He’s not exactly the deep and meaningful type . . . but he is, damn it. I think he actually is . . . once you peel back the layers of granitelike muscle. I don’t know, Mateo. I just wanted this to be fun, you know? Easy.”
“But it’s not.”
I swallowed hard. “No.”
“And you don’t want to stop.”
“Hell no.”