Page 12 of For Cowgirls and Kings (The Trauma Bonded #2)

NINE

ADALENE

In a few short months I’ll be graduating high school, and although I’m excited, I’m also dreading it.

Everyone always asks “what’s next” , and the truth is, I have no stinkin’ clue.

What happens to the shy, sheltered, and extremely inexperienced girl after graduation?

The world swallows her hole, that’s what.

Or that’s what I imagine anyways. And it’s terrifying.

Happy thoughts, Adalene Maria.

Sighing, I shake my hands at my sides, trying to dispel the nerves from my body.

My parents are expecting me to show up and present the dutiful, demure daughter they’ve raised.

And even though I don’t feel like my parents know me at all, I’ll show up and be who they expect me to be. It’s easier than disappointing them.

I wipe a hand over the cotton, baby blue dress my mother says always brings out the softness in my eyes, and readjust the white bow in my hair. I feel like a doll—I get dressed in whatever’s expected of me, and play whatever roll I’m given.

I have nothing that’s truly mine, and no one who actually knows me.

“Come, Mija.” I hear my mother’s firm voice before I see her perfectly styled hair come into view.

She’s dressed in her Sunday best, the cream pants and white blouse making her look like a mid-aged Latina model.

She’s beautiful, and there are days I hope to look just like her when I get to be nearly fifty.

And then I think about how I absolutely do not want to be as vain or fixated on my appearance as she is. I want to love myself for who I am, not what I look like.

“Coming, Mama,” I scurry to meet her, and she does a quick once over of my appearance, noting each imperfection with a tick of her jaw.

“Mrs. Mendes, you look lovely today.” I halt, the familiar smoky voice sending a wave of unwanted chills to skitter down my legs. I knew he’d be here, but being near him is an entirely different thing.

“Oh, Mateo, how wonderful to see you. How’s your family?

Are they here already?” My mother’s voice raises a notch, a note of wonder filling it.

She’s kind to everyone she meets, but she has a soft spot for Mateo.

I don’t think it has to do with the fact that his family’s beyond wealthy; she’s not like that.

But I know she notices how he’s always been nice to me, and has this delusional idea that he’ll someday be interested in me.

Guys like Mateo don’t like the timid, sheltered, mousy girl.

They want someone with an air of power about them—confidence and beauty.

I’m none of those things, and unless I can somehow crawl out from under the thumb of my wonderful— yet smothering —parents, there’s no universe that version of me exists.

I can’t even picture what I would have worn today if my mother hadn’t been here to pick it out for me.

“My sister’s getting out of the car now, but my parents are regrettably busy.” I peek a look at him over my shoulder to see him smiling at my mother, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

I quickly turn back around—I hate his sister, Valentina. If you were to look up ‘bully’ in a dictionary, her picture would surely be there. She always comes after me for liking Mateo, reminding me that we’re two very different classes of people.

I know that—I don’t like, like him. I just like that he’s nice to me. Very few people are.

I have one good friend, but she has a horrible life, and always talks about getting out of Texas.

She dreams of a world beyond this one, and I envy that about her.

I envy being brave enough to leave my family.

But I know our situations are different—her family is abusive and evil.

My parents biggest crime is loving me a little too much.

I can’t complain.

“Oh, what a shame. Well, I insist you sit with us.” My mother smiles brightly back at him, and if I was a braver person, I’d tell her maybe he doesn’t want to sit with us. But I’m not. And I don’t.

“We’d appreciate that, thank you, Mrs. Mendes.”

Mama turns around, signaling us to follow.

“I’m sorry, I’m going to wait for Valentina.

We’ll be in shortly though.” I start to shuffle behind my mother’s bobbing head, “Adalene, will you wait with me?” I don’t even raise my head as I open my mouth to protest, but my mother shoots me a disapproving look.

The only thing worse than my parents waiting on me to join them in silence, is turning down an offer from a potential suitor.

Which sounds super dumb, I know. Welcome to my life.

I turn around and offer Mateo a small smile, Mama huffing behind me before she walks inside the old sale barn, the door clicking shut behind her. I sag, a breath I didn’t know I was holding wheezing out of me.

Mateo watches me thoughtfully, his cropped black hair glistening with gel, a white pressed button up tucked into black slacks giving him the air of importance. He doesn’t yet run his family’s empire, but he sure looks the part.

It’s a good stinkin’ look too.

“Mateo, how are you?” I twist the front of my dress in my hands, trying desperately to maintain eye contact even though I feel like I might burst into flames at any moment.

“You looked like you needed rescuing,” he states it so dryly, I straighten.

“What, no. I’m always happy to do what my family wants to do.” It sounds pathetic even to my ears. His eyes narrow a fraction, and I shrink.

“Exactly. What do you want to do, Dale?”

I suck in a breath—he was the first to call me Dale, and only calls me it when we’re not around my mother. It’s a small light in the darkness—a chance to be someone different, and it always makes butterflies erupt in my stomach.

“I suppose come to church, like I am.” He shakes his head, his eyes narrowing farther. “Fine, I’d rather be home reading probably.”

His eyes begin to gleam with my admission, like I just revealed some dark secret to him. “What a bad girl you are Dale.”

His mocking makes me stand taller, annoyance flickering with another emotion low in my belly that I always get when I’m around him. “I’m not as innocent as I seem, Mateo. Truly. I do plenty of bad things.” This makes him smile, and I swear the ground sways beneath me.

“Tell me just one bad thing that you do.”

I blink at him. We’re standing in front of the Sale Barn that doubles as the local church on Sundays. There’s people milling around, and the priest has to be somewhere nearby. Heck, god is present and listening with a watchful ear.

But at this moment, I want to tell him every dark secret I have. Like I’m at confessional, and he’s my priest, waiting to absolve me of my sins.

“I—” He waits, his smile growing in time with the heat crawling up my neck. “I like to read dirty books. And even though I’ve never been kissed, I like to imagine each of the men in those books kissing me, the way they do to those they’re in love with.” My eyes widen.

Why the heck did I tell him that much?

His grin doubles in size at that, and I can hear his wheels turning. And then his smile melts completely.

“Did you just say you’ve never been kissed?” His voice is barely a whisper, but it’s husky, and my embarrassment grows.

“I mean, I did, but?—”

“You’ve never been kissed?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Would you like to announce it during prayer requests today?”

He shakes his head, a look of confusion spreading across his face. “How can you go out into the world where people will be hungry to take advantage of your innocence, and not even know what is and isn’t a good kiss?”

Another good point as to why the world is going to destroy me in a matter of months. Thanks for that, Mateo.

“I’ll find someone willing eventually.”

His head snaps up, eyes blazing for a second before he looks away. I suck in a ragged breath, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his mood.

Mateo’s always kind, level-headed, playful even sometimes. But I’ve never seen him angry, and certainly never been on the receiving end of such ire. What did I say?

“No.”

“No, what?” I grumble, getting more and more frustrated by the moment.

Before I can demand answers, he grips my elbow, and begins to pull me back toward the parking lot.

He looks back over his shoulder, but not down at me—back at the doors to see if anyone is watching.

Considering service is about to start, most people are already at their seats.

Which is where I should be.

I tug on his hand, but he only grips tighter and I hiss. I can do nothing but stumble along behind him, tripping on my shoes and the constricting hem of my dress.

“Where are we going?” He doesn’t respond, instead walks a little faster. “Mateo, slow down. I can’t keep up.”

We round the side of the building, and instead of continuing to the cars like I half expect, he pulls me into a shaded part of the building, tucked out of view from watchful eyes. My chest presses against the fabric of the dress as I suck in panicked breaths.

“Mateo, what the heck are we doing?” I don’t dare say it louder than a whisper, afraid of how this might look to someone who stumbles upon us. God forbid my parents —my mother would have a heart attack.

The thought makes me pull back, but he doesn’t let my arm go.

His eyes search my face, something desperate crossing his features.

I’ve never seen him so out of control before, and even as it terrifies me, it electrifies me too.

As if my body has a mind of its own, I reach my free hand out, resting it on his cheek. A part of me aches to reassure him.

His eyes flutter closed, leaning into my touch a second as his chest rises and falls rapidly.

“What’s going on?” I whisper again, this time softer.

Without opening his eyes, he leans towards me slightly, pulling my gripped arm behind his back, and holding my hand to his face with his other.

“You’ll not find someone to kiss you eventually .

You’ll not go into this world this innocent.

I refuse to let someone else kiss you first—what if they don’t care about you? ”

“Mateo, I’m okay.” I try to be reassuring, but the tornado of emotions in my stomach proves that I’m anything but.

“Kiss me instead.”

I stare at him, my mind no longer forming full thoughts. Did he…Does he want…Is he saying…

“Let me kiss you first, Dale.” He sounds afraid. This suave, powerful, dominating boy is afraid. Afraid of what? Afraid I’ll say no?

That thought fills me with dizzying power.

“You don’t have to do this Mateo. We’re just friends, this isn’t necessary.” He shakes his head, gripping both my wrist and hand tighter, like I might slip through his fingers.

“Don’t make me beg.”

My jaw unhinges, every thought floating away beyond my absolute feral desire to make him do just that. To see him beg to kiss me.

His eyes snap open, looking down at my lips, and I know in this moment he can hear my thoughts. His eyes darken, and heat coils in my stomach like a bolt of lightning.

Is this real?

Before I can blink, he shifts his grip, his massive hands wrapping around both of my small wrists, and then he drops to his knees. In the sand. Where his perfectly pressed clothes that probably cost more than my car will get dirty.

He’s on his knees, his head tipped up just a little, because at this height, I’m an inch or two taller, his eyes level with my quivering lips.

He’s on his knees.

I think I’m short circuiting.

“Dale, please let me kiss you.”

Everything fades away, except my overwhelming need to have him kiss me like my life depends on it.

I nod my head, barely a tip of my chin, and he’s standing, towering over me once more.

He drops both of my wrists, his fingers running up my arms, before they land on either side of my face, tipping it up to him.

I stare into his eyes—normally a warm, chocolate brown—glittering black and hungry. I want to swim in the pools of darkness; I want to drown in those voids of light.

I’ve never cared for dark colors. But black is now my new favorite.

One minute I’m looking at his face, tracing every sharp line, and curve, and the next I’m being consumed by his closeness. His lips hover over my own for a breath, his woodsy smell imprinting into my brain, the feel of his hands branding into my body.

And then his lips press into mine. He’s tender at first, just brushing his firm warm mouth onto my own. But when I step into his hands, leaning into his kiss, something snaps in him. He steps closer to me, his hand sliding into my hair, pulling my head back farther to give him better access.

His lips push on my own, encouraging me to open for him, and I do.

Willingly and without question. His tongue swipes against my own, and I don’t think I’ve ever been more alive in my life.

Electricity dances over my arms, and fire blooms in my chest. He groans, the sound sending vibrations down my body, causing my toes to curl and my hands to fist in his shirt.

He shifts his head the other way, his mouth covering my own now. Gone is the tender kiss, replaced with something feral and hungry. And I never want it to end. I want to die here, in this moment, with his mouth on mine.

Because it’s all downhill from here. Nothing, and no one, will ever be as good as this kiss.