Page 55 of Deep In Love
“What’s your problem?” I stomp toward him until there’s nothing but a hair’s breadth between us.
Mateo meets my gaze, and there’s something dangerous emanating from his aura. A warning that if I push him too far, whatever’s happening between us will change—evolve or devolve, I’m unsure.
“Let it go,” he demands, dismissing me and opening the closet.
I push anyway.
“What the hell is your problem with me?” My voice is shrill, overwhelmed, pleading, as the anger washes away and my shoulders slump. “You’ve changed.”
He lifts his chin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’ve stopped teasing me! No more jokes or calling me bruja. No morning chocolates.” My face contorts into an ugly snarl. “We were finally becoming friends,” I whisper, “and now you won’t look at me. Why?”
“Why do you think, Charlie?” My name is sinful on his tongue, and as his face flushes a bright strawberry, I regret every word I said. I wish I could shove them back into my mouth and run away.
“I-I don’t know.” The walls close in, the temperature spiking as he glares at me.
“I think you do.” Mateo takes a step, then another, until he’s inches away. “It’s the reason watching Shaun touch you made me want to throw him overboard.”
I instinctively step back, my knees hitting the mattress. I have nowhere to run, not from this conversation or the rapid beating beneath my ribcage. I clutch the crystal dangling around my neck,gripping it with godlike strength, as if it can prepare me for what Mateo’s about to admit.
“It’s why I can barely look at you,” he continues, his voice lowering, “because you look at him in a way you haveneverlooked at me.” He laughs, but it’s a hollow thing. “There’s nowhere for me to go. I have to share this fucking room where it smells like youall the time.Sleep in the bed beside you and pretend you’re not inches away.”
“What are you saying?”
This conversation is so overwhelming my body shuts down and enters a state of hibernation so I don’t have to process what he’s insinuating.
Mateo shakes his head, resignation settling over his face.
“You consume my every thought,” he admits, stealing the air from my lungs. “Every morning, I leave a chocolate at your desk with the hope I can see your smile when you take the first bite. I’ve read every paper you’ve ever written because your mind is brilliant and I want to explore every cavern of your brain to understand how you work.”
His chest heaves, and his fist clenches tightly at his side. I’ve lost the feeling of my limbs, unable to do anything but stand rooted in place.
“I’ve flirted with you for two years, desperately hoping one day you wouldseeme, but it’s clear now you never will, sopleasespare me the discomfort and try to hide whatever you do with Shaun.”
He searches my face before disappearing into the bathroom, leaving me alone with his massive, world-changing confession. I’m frozen as the shower turns on, my heart racing in my chest and a thousand unspoken words clogging my throat.
What would Darwin do?
I don’t think he was ever the recipient of a confession of a magnitude close to Mateo’s, but his words, his theory, flicker through my mind: adapt, change,evolve.
I storm into the bathroom, fueled by tentative hope. Steam fills the tiny space, suffocatingly humid as I march up to the curtain and jab my finger against the fabric until I hit flesh.
“Get out,” Mateo screams, followed by the thud of a shampoo bottle hitting the floor.
Everything in my body short-circuits like someone spilled water on my mainframe. If I was of sound mind, I wouldn’t be in the bathroom, ready to admit to Mateo I’m into him, but I left my critical thinking skills on land.
My only response is to scream right back at him, but louder so he knows I mean business.
“I was staring at you, asshole! I don’t fucking care about Shaun.” There are half a dozen emotions battling for control, but anger is winning, overwhelming the hopefulness and fear. “I can barely think when you’re around, and it’sinfuriating. My thoughts are jumbled by your kindness and annoyingly perfect hair and the way you smell like a summer breeze. You’ve got me so screwed up, Mateo, I’m comparing your smell to a goddamn breeze like I write fucking poetry.”
I poke the curtain a few times for good measure, jamming my nail into Mateo’s body.
“I had to call Amy and admit I have a crush on you. Do you know how embarrassing that is? Twenty-six years old, and I had to call my best friend and tell her the boy I like won’t talk to me and it’shurting my feelings.”
The words tumble out, the shower curtain a shield granting me the strength to spill every secret I couldn’t say to his face. Behind the thin plastic, I’m fearless, but if he pulled it away, he would see what I really am: petrified.
“I don’t know how youthinkI look at you,” I murmur, the water nearly drowning out my words, “but when I look at you, it’s hard to breathe.”
