Page 104 of Deep In Love
There has to be a cooling-off period, right? Where my hormones rebalance and I stop feeling like a goblin obsessed with Mateo and his every movement.
He makes a soft sound, and warmth blooms in my chest, spreading to the tips of my fingers.
Is staring at him while he sleeps creepy? It feels like something a creep would do.
Amy would know if it’s socially appropriate or not. Do the rules change if you sleep together? Like if the person you’re watching is your boyfriend, does it make it okay?
When Mateo rolls, I slip out from his grip and run into the bathroom.
I perch on the toilet as the phone rings. Amy’s head pops onto the screen, only the top of her forehead and eyebrows visible. Her eyebrow piercing jiggles, her brows raising.
“Hi, Charles,” she cheers. “I miss you.”
“Is it normal to watch someone while they sleep?” I blurt out.
Whew. That question was eating me alive.
“Uh…good morning?” She stares at me incredulously. “Why are you whispering?”
“I’m hiding in the bathroom and don’t want Mateo to wake up and hear me.”
“And the person you want to watch is Mateo?”
I grimace. When she says it, it sounds creepy.
“My initial response is that watching people sleep is a no-no.”
“Once I asked, it became pretty obvious.” She nods in agreement. “Wait,” I scream a bit louder than I intend, and nerves flutter in my chest. “I had sex with Mateo.” She gasps. “With the lights on.” An even louder gasp. “In missionary.”
“What thefuck?” Amy screams, and I slam the phone against my chest to muffle the sound. Mateo doesn’t need to know I’m talking about him to my best friend. I’m sure he knows it’s happening, but I would like him to stay ignorant. “Charles, that breaks all of your rules.”
“And I think we’re boyfriend and girlfriend,” I whisper into the microphone.
I can’t let her see the massive blush on my cheeks. I almost threw up yesterday when I called it a relationship. It feels too fast to call it that, and though I know little about being one half of a couple, it feels like that’s what Mateo and I are—two halves of a whole.
“Rewind and tell meeverything,” Amy demands.
I give her the CliffNotes version of the last few days, and she responds with the appropriateoohsandaahs as I tell the story. When I finish, she’s quiet, her brow furrowed in thought.
Every time Amy goes mute, I know I’m in for a hard-hitting, emotionally devastating question that will force me to reevaluate my life. I hate it. She doesn’t do it often, but when she decides to impart her infinite wisdom or ask a probing question, I’m left reeling.
“Do you think you’re falling in love with him?” she asks.
The air whooshes from my lungs.Case in point. She just shoved me over the cliff with no parachute, tumbling toward collision with emotions I’m not ready to address yet.
I can’t look at Amy in fear she will see what’s written on my face, so I scan the bathroom. His toothbrush sits beside mine, next to both of our contact cases. A pair of my underwear hangs on the towel rack, like Mateo picked them off the floor and left them where I could find them. His glasses sit on the edge of the sink,ready for him to put on after he stumbles to the bathroom when he wakes up in the morning. The space is an ode to two regular people whose lives have merged, even for a short time.
She’s going to let me stay silent, but she’s not fooled. Not for a moment.
“When you admit it, I am the first person who gets to know.” I raise a brow. “Fine.You can tell him first, but then I get to know.”
“Deal.” There’s a long pause before I add, “I love you, Ames.”
My voice cracks with emotion, and Amy sniffles. “I love you, too, and I’m so, so proud of you.”
“Proud?”
Here come the tears. Amy’s opinion holds weight, and so do her words. But I don’t know why she’s proud.
