Page 18

Chapter eighteen

Mike

I didn’t make it home.

I left Elliot’s house on unsteady legs, my body still buzzing, my mind a total wreck, and instead of walking straight back to my place like a normal person, I did something stupid.

I pulled out my phone.

Hesitating for half a second, I called Mateo.

It rang twice before he picked up.

“Mike,” he answered, mid-yawn. “It is too late for your bullshit. What do you want?”

I paused.

“Breathe. I’m kidding. It’s good to hear your voice. What’s up?”

Then, sounding borderline unhinged, I whispered, “I am so fucked.”

Mateo was silent for three whole seconds before asking, “What happened?”

I exhaled, shoving my free hand into my pocket, walking faster down the quiet street. “You remember how I said Elliot was hot?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, that was an understatement.”

Mateo snorted. “Are we talking ‘guy you see at the gym and make eye contact with in the mirror but never approach’ hot or ‘physically ruin your life’ hot?”

I groaned. “Both.”

Mateo laughed. “So . . . how many minutes into the date did you jump him?”

“I didn’t!” I protested. “I was a perfect gentleman.”

“Oh, so you didn’t make a move?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Mike.”

“Listen!” I said quickly, before he could start yelling. “Dinner was amazing. The man cooked like a goddamn sorcerer. I was stuffed, slightly buzzed, and very impressed. Okay, very buzzed and very impressed. We moved to the couch. Put on a movie.”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes.”

Mateo exhaled sharply. “Please tell me you didn’t put on a gay romcom.”

I winced.

“You did, didn’t you?”

“It was his fault!” I blurted. “He let me pick! And he was the one who got a boner first!”

Mateo made a strangled noise. “Michael.”

“What? It’s true!”

“Back the fuck up.” He sounded personally offended. “You got Elliot to pop one first?”

I grinned, walking a little lighter. “Damn right, I did.”

Mateo whistled. “Damn. That’s power.”

“I know, right?”

“So then what? You finally got your kiss?”

“Oh. I got my kiss.”

And just like that, all the teasing left my voice.

Mateo picked up on it instantly.

“Wait,” he said. “That serious?”

I swallowed hard.

Then, softer, quieter, “Yeah, I think it is.”

Mateo was silent for a beat.

“Okay. Talk to me.”

I exhaled. “I was teasing him, you know? Like I always do, but then he—he tripped. Backward over his coffee table.”

“Oh, good. He’s a klutz. That’s super hot.”

“Shut up!” I groaned. “Anyway, he fell, I went to check on him, and then somehow, suddenly I was on top of him.”

Mateo let out a knowing laugh. “Oh, that’s classic.”

“No, you don’t understand.” I stopped walking, gripping the phone tighter. “I could feel everything .”

Mateo made a noise.

“No,” I said quickly. “Not like that—well, also like that, but—his body, Mateo—”

“Yes, Mike, I gathered he’s built. He’s a lineman.” Mateo snorted.

“No, but you don’t get it. I didn’t get it. I knew he was muscular, but Jesus Christ . . .” I started pacing, reliving it in my head. “He was so . . . solid. Like, everywhere. Hard as a rock. I tried poking a finger, but his muscles wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t give. How does someone even get that hard?”

Mateo made a choked sound. “Michael.”

“What?”

“You can’t just say things like that when I’m drinking water.”

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 Woman good?”

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.”

“Then don’t.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Dude, if you like him, you like him.”

I groaned. “But that’s terrifying.”

“Yeah, well, so is eating gas station sushi, but you do that, too.”

“Wow. Stunning analogy.” I snorted. “And no, I don’t.”

Mateo laughed. “Look, man, if you’re scared, that’s fine, but don’t talk yourself out of something just because it got a little real.”

I exhaled.

Let the words settle.

Because he was right.

And I knew exactly what I wanted.