Page 21 of For Cowgirls and Kings (The Trauma Bonded #2)

SIXTEEN

MATEO

I fear I’ve always been a little too mature for my own good.

For example, when people my age are trashed, puking into the bushes, or running naked through a corn field, I can’t help but think about how sick they’ll feel tomorrow, or how many bruises will pepper their bodies that they don’t know the origin of.

Fun in theory, although I can’t see what theory that would be.

Which makes me a lame date to parties.

Granted she didn’t exactly invite me as her date.

I growl in frustration, the sound drowned out by the obnoxious twang of some country song, and the drunk chants of the crowd around me.

She didn’t even invite you at all, Mateo.

You invited yourself, when you heard her mention she was going to be attending her first party.

Not that anyone here minds that I've come.

I always get invited to things—everyone wants the quiet, filthy rich kid to show up to their parties. The same girls always want the mysterious, hard to get , guy to end up in their bed. They want to feel privileged. They want to feel like they got something no one else has.

Which is precisely why I don’t typically do either.

I don’t like feeling used for my “stamp” or “gold star.” I want to be invited because they like me, because they want me there for my jokes or ability to play beer pong. Then again I’m not funny or good at beer pong, and I’ve made very little effort to have friends.

Is it my fault I’m not cool? Definitely .

A hand slaps down on my shoulder, jolting me and my lukewarm beer, the latter splashing onto my favorite Tecovas.

Fuck head.

“Mateo, can’t believe you’re here man! At my graduation party—I feel honored!” I roll my eyes, and shoulders, hoping to rid myself of his sticky, beer soaked hand. I saw him chugging earlier and that shit went everywhere.

“Yeah man, happy graduation.” Get me the fuck out of this situation.

“Haven’t seen you at parties much. Or anywhere outside of school. Running a mafia hard work?”

I turn to stare at him, trying to decide whether he’s stupid, drunk, or trying to pick a fight. I assume the first, but as I take in his cocky grin and hazy, yet angry eyes, I quickly realize it may be a mix of the second two. I won’t fight a drunk idiot. Even if he throws the first punch.

I’m not better than anyone. But that’s certainly beneath me .

“I don’t run a mafia.” I take another sip of the foul liquid, and force my voice to remain calm, but firm. I don’t want to provoke him, but I also have no interest in allowing him to think I run a mafia.

Even if most kids from school think that’s what my family does.

That’s one of the main reasons I don’t have friends. Well, besides Dale, much against my better judgment. She’s proven time and time again, she either doesn’t think that, or doesn’t care. And she doesn’t ever seem to want anything from me.

Not even my cock.

Which is both refreshing and maddening. Because part of me is grateful to have someone in my life that doesn’t seem interested in taking advantage of me, and the other part wants her to do nothing but use me.

Use me to make herself feel good. I shouldn’t have these thoughts about her, I know that—she’s too innocent and kind, not to mention my friend. But, damn. Sometimes a guy can dream.

I shift, both trying to relieve the pressure growing against my zipper at the thought of sweet, pure Dale using my dick to make herself good, and to get the hand still gripping my shoulder, off.

Kevin, I think his name is Kevin , narrows his eyes and tilts his oversized head to the side. He’s shorter than me by at least six inches, and from what I remember seeing from school, suffers from severe short-man syndrome.

I know he likes to get drunk and fight, just to prove his dick’s big. Or at least, that he has one because someone who’s so insecure that they have to fight other adults to prove their “size” must have a small penis, full of self-loathing.

Lucky for me, I seem to be his target this evening.

I almost smirk at the realization that he sees me as the true alpha here, and he’s intimidated. Cute.

“Kevin, it’s Kevin right? This is a great party, the beer’s great—I raise my still nearly full red-solo in a salute—“you really know how to throw a rager and I’m just grateful I was invited. I’m just here to chill.”

Not stroke your ego, big guy.

This seems to appease him slightly, and he nods, squeezing his grip on my shoulder tighter before letting it go. “Cool man, well, have a good night and tell the don I said hi.”

He saunters off, high fiving a taller red headed guy who’s name I’ve never even made an attempt at learning. Don’t care. Even if his parting comment about my dad being a don was a very pointed attempt at getting under my skin.

He thinks I’ll get drunk enough to want to fight over it later. Little does he know I’m not a total jug head like him.

“Little does he know he’s talking to the don .” Dale’s voice fills the space behind me, and I try to ignore the bolt of lightning that races through me at her nearness. She has no idea what effect she has on me, or those around her.

She’s too innocent.

I face her with a teasing smile, but it instantly melts as I take in her appearance.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” My words come out as a bark, every rational thought fleeing my mind almost as quickly as every cell of oxygen flees my lungs.

She tips her head, her inky black hair typically in soft curls, or a braid, or a low bun with a fucking bow in it, now sits in a high, slicked-back ponytail.

The tresses brush past her waist and it’s where they end that my eyes zero in on.

Her body’s covered in black: a sheer black top over what looks like a lacy black bra that stops above her belly button, black skinny jeans that hang low on her waist, and tall black cowboy boots that go well above her knees.

Who is this fucking girl and why does she look like… this?

She huffs, pulling a red-solo to her lips that I hadn’t noticed until now, and drinks deeply, the liquid spilling past her nearly black lips, running in little beads toward her chest. She takes another swallow, and then must reach the bottom of the cup, because she lowers it, the rim tipped downward, pinning me with a glare.

I’ve never even seen her irritated. And seeing her pissed, glaring at me for who knows what, is hot. Like too fucking hot. Like get on your knees and beg for forgiveness, hot. My knees quiver and I contemplate doing just that.

“God, everyone’s being so weird tonight. I thought you’d at least act normal, seeing as you’re turning more heads than me, and seem to hate the looks.” What she’s saying makes sense, or at least it should. But I can’t seem to reconcile the girl I know with… this girl. Woman? Goddess? Devil?

“Wh-what?” I stutter.

“Really Mateo?” she sneers, more pissed than before.

I shake my head, desperate to clear it from the fog and sirens filling it. “For real, what’re you wearing Dale?”

She looks down at herself, and then raises her face upward again, her eyes wide and those dark lips in a perfect ‘o’ , her expression full of mock surprise. Brat. “Oh my gosh, I forgot to wear my church clothes to a rager. Mama will be so mad!”

She’s mocking me, but I know there’s truth in her words. Not only will her mother be mad she’s at a party—drinking by the way—but also, wearing what could only be described as the Coyote Ugly uniform; she’ll be furious.

God. Dale may never leave her house again.

“Your mother’s going to be more than mad,” I hiss, finally snapping out of my stupor at the thought I might never see Dale alive again, and grip her elbow, ready to pull her from this party and take her home. She yanks against my grip though, surprising me enough that I let her go.

“I don’t need you to take care of me, Mateo. I know what I’m doing.”

I let my eyes sear over her again, unable to control myself from staring a beat too long on that strip of skin between her shirt and pants, and then finally travel back to her face. Which is now crimson with blush, but also full of indignation and irritation.

“You’ll never be let out of the house again if they see you.”

She grips her ponytail in a tight fist and then throws it back over her shoulder, the mane so shiny and soft it glitters even in the dim lights of the party. “They won’t see me.”

“How can you be so certain?” I growl, my frustration growing both at her defiance and her ignorance.

And the several male gazes I’ve already clocked taking in— and appreciating —her appearance.

“Because I’m not going home tonight.” It’s so nonchalant that I almost take the statement at face value. Like, duh Mateo.

But then I think better of it. “Where the hell are you going then?” I instantly regret the question.

Gone is the pure, innocent, sweet Dale I knew. This vicious, feral, wild woman has taken over her body, and I have a feeling she’s here to stay. I don’t know what happened, but something switched, or broke, and I know with deathly certainty, it’ll never be the same again.

“Anywhere. As long as it’s home with someone who can take care of me.” She stares into my eyes, her chocolatey orbs never wavering as she says the words.

“Dale,” I growl, reaching for her again. “I’ll take you home, let’s go.”

“Your home?” she challenges, and I instantly let go of her elbow. She doesn’t know what she’s saying, what she’s asking of me. She doesn't know what she’s implying.

Because if she did, she certainly wouldn’t be willingly propositioning herself to me or any man here who might take her.

“Are you going to take me home”—she pauses to lick her lips for dramatic effect—“and take care of me? Or will we remain friends like we’ve always been?”

Or maybe she would.

“Dale, listen to what you’re saying. You’re drunk.”

“I’ve had one beer Mateo,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes and I’ve the overwhelming urge to bend her over and spank her ass for it.

“Everything going alright over here?”

I snap my gaze to the annoying, and far too familiar, voice of Kevin, as he saunters over to Dale and I. His eyes take in her appearance hungrily, and every cell in my body instantly calls for violence. For blood —his blood.

Which is entirely out of character for me, and I don’t know what to make of the sudden surge of anger coursing through my veins.

“Nope, just discussing if Mateo here is man enough to take me home or not.” Dale’s words hit me like a blow to the stomach.

“What the fuck, Dale?” I step closer to her, calculating how I’ll get her over my shoulder and out of here without causing too much more of a scene.

“I’m tired of everyone acting like I’m breakable, or some precious doll they don’t want to even take out and play with for fear of ruining my perfect exterior. I want to be ruined, I want to be played with.”

My heart pounds frantically against my rib cage, and oxygen fights to reach my brain as I’m doing more than taking short, jabbing gasps of it. I want to be played with.

God, give me strength.

“I’m more than happy to help with…Dale?” Kevin walks closer, his cologne and beer scent clogging my nose. It’s putrid, and repulsive, but Dale doesn’t even seem to notice as she steps closer to him—into his chest, placing her hand above his peck, looking up at him with her eyelashes fluttering.

He doesn’t even know her fucking name, and she’s what? Going to go with him? Fuck him?

Over my dead fucking body.

“Dale, that’s enough.” Every rational thought flees from my mind. I’ll break his sternum and remove the skin where her hands rests if she doesn’t take it off him. Now. My skin vibrates with the need to exact violence on this man that only moments ago I was indifferent to.

She turns her head, her face devoid of emotion, eyes glittering with a mix of both anger and fear. But there’s also determination and resignation there, and I know in my heart of hearts, I won't stop her from walking down this road.

My choice now lies in if I will be the one to walk with her, walk beside her, or walk away. And none of those feel like the right option.

As much as I’m attracted to her, I also don’t want to lose her friendship—I can’t. She’s the only real friend I have. And having a lame, one night stand feels like a good way to permanently end our friendship.

Walking away isn’t an option, even if it is the one my rage filled brain is screaming at me to do.

Fuck this, and fuck her for putting me in this situation.

But I also can understand her, sympathize with her.

She’s never been allowed to make a mistake in her life, and the weight of that burden would become too much for even the strongest person.

So walking with her, even if it kills me, is the only option left. I’ll be here, when she needs a friend, and nothing more. Because I can’t lose her, and I can’t be with her either.

Nodding, I will my trembling body to fold back into itself, showing her, she wins.

But when I look back at her, there’s only disappointment left on her face.

And I can’t help but wonder if I just made the greatest mistake of my life.