Page 115 of Deep In Love
I’m going to die, right here on this ugly carpet.
Neptune, mighty ruler of the sea, take me away from this place.
“Why are you whispering?” Jett sticks his head between Sofía and me, and she whirls, her fist landing in his gut.
“Bell,” I yell. “Someone needs to get you a bell. You move like an assassin.”
He smiles proudly. “Thank you.”
“Let’s go,” Vivian says, locking her arm around mine.
“B-but,” I sputter, searching the hallway like my cariño will magically appear and I can get back to the purpose of my mission: telling Mateo I love him.
“We have wine,” Sofía whispers. “Let’s have some fun.”
“Fuck, marry, or kill,” Vivian says, pouring wine into the plastic cups we stole from the kitchen. “Dracula, bigfoot, and a centaur.”
“Oh, easy. Kill bigfoot. Fuck Dracula. Marry the centaur,” Sofía responds, draining her glass and stumbling over to the desk.
It’s littered with empty bottles and snacks. After the first bottle, we devoured Sofía’s stash of crackers. The second bottle of wine was followed by Vivian’s pre-packaged pastries and Pringles.
The third bottle of wine—now emptied into Sofía’s glass—is paired with my chocolate stash, the lemon bars Amy gave me, and the half-smashed, bulk-size bag of animal crackers I forgot about in the bottom of my duffel bag.
It’s quite the spread.
“Agreed.” I raise my cup. “Centaurs are the obvious choice. Great pectorals and free transportation.”
Like every normal preteen, I was obsessed with mythology. Creatures with chiseled muscles in particular. They were often tall, brooding, and the owner of very squeezable pectoral muscles.
My dream man at ten years old.
Now my dream man has annoyingly perfect hair, dimples that appear when he’s pleased with himself, a slightly crooked smile. Andverysqueezable pectoral muscles.
Twenty-six-year-old Charlie is still very much on that train.
“Centaurs arefine.Too bad they aren’t real,” Vivian says, falling onto the bed beside me.
Sofía flops down in the chair, popping chocolates back like they’re nothing. If the bag wasn’t still half full with only a few days left, I would be watching her like a hawk to make sure she’s not eating it all.
But I’m too tipsy to care right now.
Plus, Mateo has a whole bag. He just refuses to tell me where it’s hidden. I have a feeling it’s on the top shelf in the closet where I can’t reach.
“You know who else isfine,” Sofía says, hiding her smirk behind her cup. “Mateo.”
I fall back on the bed, throw an arm over my face, and kick my feet like a schoolgirl.
He is pretty hot, isn’t he?
I’m in this limbo state of smug pride and utter bafflement where sometimes it’s hard to believe Mateo and I are together, and then other moments I look at him and all I can think is how he’smine.
“I don’t even bat that way, but I will say his features are very symmetrical,” Vivian says, tugging at a strand of my hair. “Your man is hot and down bad. I think you hit the dating lottery.”
They don’t know the half of it.
Couldn’t imagine how he understands my soul—sees the scars and darkened edges and cherishes them. They’ll never know how his thigh twitches when I trace his tattoos, or how his breathing changes when he falls into a deep slumber.
Vivian and Sofía will never know of the way he holds me while he sleeps, like I’m what tethers him to the real world, or how he methodically rubs balm into my joints.
