Page 43 of For Cowgirls and Kings
I nearly choke on the bite in my mouth again, the thought catching me totally off guard.
Yes, I know I want her. But first, last, and forever? I just might be in over my head with her. And yet, I never want to come up for air again.
“Easy, your highness, you might bite off more than you can chew.” She stands, brushing crumbs off her lap, striding toward the kitchen effectively ending the conversation.
But not my thoughts, or my wanting.
Now that the idea has formed and taken root, I know I’ll have to see it through. I’m going to be my best friend’s first, last, and maybe, just maybe,forever.
SIXTEEN
MATEO
May 24th, 2014
I fearI’ve always been a littletoomature 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.
Grantedshe 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 kidto 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 proventime 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 nothingbutuse 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.
