Page 56 of Deep In Love
I leave him with the uncomfortable truth, returning to the cabin to pack my belongings. I’ll ask to bunk with Sofía, and if she says no, I’ll beg Vivian, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll hunker down on a deck chair. There’s no chance I can look Mateo in the eye after my angry, yet truthful, monologue.
And once I find a new place to sleep, I need to devise a plan to survive the rest of this voyage with Mateo.
Chapter 17
Mateo
I fly out of the shower, nearly slipping on the wet tile, as Charlie’s words ring in my ear.
Water drips down my spine as I wrap a towel around my waist, and my brain scrambles, frantically putting the pieces of Charlie’s speech together.
Crush. Feelings. Hard to breathe.
Oh, Dios. I’ve been an asshole. A big, grumpy, jealous asshole.
Thoughts of her with Shaun tore apart my sanity—his hands on her skin, in her hair, tracing the scar on her cheek. Each one stoking the flame of jealousy in my chest until the fire consumed me wholly and burned her in the process.
I’m wrapping a towel around my waist, trying to convince myself this is real, that Charlie is telling me sheseesme. The door to the bathroom slams open, and steam wafts around me as I scramble into the cabin.
She’s shoving clothes into her duffle bag, gently laying her Darwin bobblehead on top.
Why is she packing?
“Charlie?”
Her head jerks up, spearing me with her wild, red-rimmed eyes.Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck,fuck.
Only twice in the years I’ve known Charlie have I witnessed tears, and in those vulnerable moments, I ignored her flushed cheeks and soft sniffles. It’s only ever happened after she had a meeting with Cheryl, and when she would disappear to the bathroom, I would leave her an extra chocolate. Something was going on in her head that she couldn’t process without tears, and witnessing her discomfort led to my own.
I’ve seen her lose the war against her emotions, but I’ve never been the catalyst, and recognizing I’m the origin makes my stomach roil.
Two steps, and I’m standing in front of her, the cold cabin air causing goose bumps to form along my wet skin.
“Did you mean it?” I ask.
“I’m not a liar,” she responds, her nose scrunching like my question is an insult to her character.
One more step, and I’ve closed the space between us. A single, barely perceptible move, and I could touch her, kiss her, claim her.
“You like me?”
I ask the question like a schoolyard boy and not a grown man, but none of it feels real, and I need to hear the words again to know I’m not hallucinating.
“Yes,” she snaps, her patience fraying, “I like you and it’s maddening—what are you doing?”
Her scar pulls taut as I palm her cheek and graze my thumb over the raised flesh. My focus darts to her lips, and I imagine what she would taste like on my tongue.
A thousand unspoken words hang between us as those mesmerizing blue irises stare into mine, so full of fear and hope. She pulls her head back, but I lift my other palm, keeping her close.
I trace her cheekbone with the pad of my thumb, the flesh soft and plush against my calloused skin. She’s so beautiful it aches deep in my chest. The kind of ache you can only crave, demand more of, until you’re consumed by the feeling.
“Charlie.” Her name is a prayer and a plea, a new beginning and years of history.
“Mateo,” she responds, peering up at me beneath long lashes.
Time slows, creeping to a halt, as I dip my head and brush my lips against hers. It’s questioning, hesitant, before I pull away, only a few millimeters.
Barely a kiss, but my heart is pounding, and my brain riots for more.
