Page 4 of Deep In Love
His arms rise over his head, and the crisp hem of his linen shirt rises, offering a glimpse of his lower stomach and the dusting of dark hair that trails down his toned stomach. My heart races as I follow the path down to his waistband.
Do not look at his zipper.
I look at his zipper.
My breath hitches as I lose control of my thoughts, my imagination running around like a wild animal, creating images of him withoutanyclothing.
Ripping my gaze north, I find Mateo watching me, watching him. His lips tug up in a lazy, knowing grin.
Heat floods my cheeks—from anger, naturally.
He is exasperatingly sexy, emphasis on the first part. Worse, he knows he’s attractive, and he flirts with me like it’s a game to him. A way to establish his academic dominance. Fluster me into making a mistake.
I see right through his malarkey.
When we first met, I was foolish enough to believe we could be friends, but that dream died a brutal death after he won an award for best poster presentation at our first marine genomics conference. I was awardedsecondplace, and his smarmy smile when they handed him the certificate hammered the final nail in our friendship coffin.
That day, he became my academic enemy.
“Just you, bruja,” he purrs. His tone is low and raspy and makes me want to throw something against the wall.
I hate the nickname and how he mocks the crystals and essential oils by calling me a witch. They offer me a sense of peace, and every time he belittles them, it grates my nerves a bit more.
Besides, Amy and I tried to curse him with bad hair forever after a night of drinking wine coolers, but our spell failed, which means I am not a witch.
Who the hell even has hair that always looks that good?
I tap my Charles Darwin bobblehead, intent on ignoring Mr. Perfect Hair for the rest of the day, but he moves around my computer to wink at me. It only happens for one second, maybe two, but I get lost in the flecks of gold in his irises.
When I return to the real world, Mateo’s grin is shit-eating.
“Do you think I’m pretty, Charlie?” he croons, batting his eyelashes.
I scoff, clamping down on my lip to fight the awkward blush that’s creeping up my neck. Finding Mateo pretty andlikingMateo are two entirely different things. I wish my vagina understood what my brain does. Instead, she is a cavewoman.
“I think you’re maddening,” I grumble, but by the way his head tips back in laughter, my words don’t land how I want them to.
Annoying asshole.
Chapter 2
Charlie
“Have you seen my top? The purple one that makes my boobspop?”
Amy darts in and out of view, lifting throw pillows and seat cushions to find her favorite shirt. Midterms cover our thrifted rug on the living room floor, and she bends down to check beneath the papers.
“Hanging above the washer.”
Amy and I live in a perfect, harmonious ecosystem; she misplaces something, and I tell her where she left it. She zips back and forth between the living room and the full-length mirror in my bedroom.
“Whatcha doin’, Ames?” I ask, tossing another paper into the completed pile and treating myself with a piece of chocolate.
Complete a midterm. Eat chocolate.
It’s how I keep my brain from rotting.
“It’s trivia night at Bongos.” She peeks around the corner. “You’re going to come, right?”
