Page 72 of Love and Other Goals

As we take in the view, Mateo asks me about my impressions of his family so far. Although I’d already met his dad, I gush about how adorable it is to see his parents together. “And Isa—oh my, she has so much spunk!” I say, drawing a knowing laugh from Mateo. “But I’m also really impressed by her grit to carve out a new life for herself. On the drive from the airport, she told me about her past struggles with drugs and rehab.”

I feel Mateo’s hand flinch in mine, and I look over to see his brows furrowed and face darkened. “So, she told you how much of a jerk I was to her?”

I pull Mateo’s hand to turn him toward me. “What? No, Mateo, not at all. Isa went on and on about how important you and Miguel were to her, about the difference you made for her that summer you were home.”

Mateo runs his hand through his hair and looks off in the distance. “Yeah, but that was after I was awful to her for a long time.”

I’m having a hard time computing, my brain malfunctioning trying to imagine Mateo being anything close to a jerk.

“She started struggling with the drugs right before I left for Townsend, and I just thought she was being dumb. And I told her so. I didn’t understand anything about addiction at the time. My whole freshman year of college, I would call her up and lecture her about how she was throwing her life away on this guy and disrespecting our parents and all sorts of other condescending things.”

Mateo is avoiding eye contact with me as he shares this information, and I don’t push it. “It wasn’t until she was in the hospital that I finally took time to learn about addiction and what she was struggling with. I learned how to support her better instead of just shaming her. That’s why I decided to go home that summer—not only to support her, but to repair my relationship with her.

I reach my hand up to Mateo’s cheek, encouraging him to meet my eyes. “You made a mistake, but once you knew better, you did better. And now you guys have an amazing relationship.” He gives me a small smile. “And I assume you’re both close with Miguel too? At least it seemed like it on the phone last night.”

Mateo nods. “Yeah, it’s a little harder with him being so far away, but we definitely all work to maintain that connection we formed. We even got matching tattoos that summer to serve as a reminder of our bond no matter where we go in life.”

“What? You have a tattoo? How did I not know this?” I ask, totally caught off guard. “What is it?”

“We got tattoos that say ‘te amo mucho,’” Mateo shares. “Te amo is written in my mom’s handwriting, and mucho in my dad’s. We all got them in different places—you should ask Isa to see hers on her wrist tonight.”

“That is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” I say. “Just when I think you can’t possibly be any more perfect, you go and tell me something like that.”

Mateo smiles softly at me. “You know I’m not perfect, Lana. I just told you about how terrible I was to my sister a couple of years ago. Not to mention I made the mistake of deferring to another guy and nearly missing out on you,” he adds with a teasing pinch to my waist.

“You know what I mean,” I counter as I softly punch him on the bicep. “Can I see your tattoo?”

Mateo hesitates a fraction of a second before responding, “Sure.” He unzips his jacket and then pulls the bottom of his shirt up to reveal the handwritten tattoo along his bottom left rib. I suck in a breath, taken aback by the simple beauty of the tattoo…aaaaand Mateo’s incredibly well-defined abs.

I reach my hand out to trace a finger along the writing, and it’s Mateo’s turn to suck in a breath. My eyes flicker to his watching me. “That’s really beautiful, and really special.” I draw my hand back, and Mateo lowers his shirt back down but never breaks eye contact with me. He takes my hand in his and draws circles on my palm with his thumb as the intensity in his eyes sends my heart rate through the roof.

“Lana, I would really like to kiss you now. Is that okay with you?” Mateo doesn’t move a muscle, waiting for me to answer. Even his thumb on my hand has stilled. My heart is pounding too hard to speak, so I simply nod my head as I hold eye contact with him.

With his left hand still holding mine, he slowly raises his right hand to my face, tracing the line of my forehead down past my ear and through my hair. His thumb comes up to brush down my jawline and across my lips, which part slightly at the contact. All along, his eyes follow the lines his fingers are drawing.

I see the puff of mist from my breath before I realize I’m whispering, “What are you waiting for?”

Mateo’s eyes flick back to mine as he cups my face in his hand. “Just making sure I don’t forget a single detail.”

With that, he leans in and presses his lips gently to mine. I close my eyes to drink in the sensation, my left hand reaching up to loosely clasp his forearm.

Everything I’ve learned about Mateo’s character—everything I’ve grown to love about him—manifests in the way he kisses me. His tenderness. His honesty and humble confidence. How considerate and thoughtful he is. The open affection that flows from him being so tuned in to his emotions. All of who he is, woven into the tender press of his lips against mine.

Mateo draws back slowly, eyes searching mine. My lips are suddenly whiny and sad, a toddler whose candy was just stolen. I wasn’t aware until now that my lips had their own sentient feelings.

I lurch forward and pull his neck back down to me, recapturing his mouth and sliding my fingers through the hair on the back of his head. He responds with a growl deep in his throat and possessively wraps his arms around my waist, tugging me closer to him.

Our first kiss was all of Mateo’s tenderness, thoughtfulness, attentiveness. But this kiss is all the years of his pent-up longing crashing through his lips to mine, flooding my body with fire. I’m drowning in it, and I never want to break the surface for air.

I’ve dreamed about kissing Mateo so many times I’ve lost count. Daydreaming during class, chapter meetings, walking through campus, lying in bed. In my literal dreams at night. In this moment, I’m Dorothy stepping into Oz for the first time. Because my imagination was black and white in comparison to the Technicolor reality of Mateo Alvarez kissing me.

He releases me suddenly and takes a step backward. We’re breathing heavy, our exhales sending small clouds into the air between us. Mateo gives his head a small shake, as though trying to clear his mind. “Lana, that…I just…you…wow.” Mateo trails off as he runs a hand through his hair and rubs his neck. He closes his eyes with a sigh.

“Yeah, same,” I finally offer. He opens his eyes and looks at me with a wry smile. That darn dimple is daring me to close the gap between us and pick back up where we left off. But I stay rooted where I am.

Mateo takes a small step toward me and takes both of my hands in his, intertwining our fingers together, tracing my wrist with his thumb. “Lana, I’ve said I’ll always be honest with you, and here’s the honest truth: I’m going to have to be really careful about how frequently I kiss you, or eventually I won’t be able to control myself to stop.”

My cheeks flush at his admission, but if I’m honest with myself, after the heat of that second kiss, I’m in the exact same head space. I give him an encouraging smile. “We’re still on the same page, Mateo. Thanks for being honest.”

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