Page 61 of Deep In Love
“That would be baller,” Jett exclaims. “I’m going to tell my followers!”
He’s gone in a flash, leaving Mateo and me alone on the deck. He slides to stand in front of me, removing his palm from my ass and allowing a sliver of rational thought to return to my brain.
“You were gone this morning,” he comments, crossing his legs as he leans against the railing.
“Wanted to get an early start.”
My stomach flutters at the sight of his bemused perusal. Has he always seen through my bullshit?
“The wordsearly startandCharlie Bowenhave never once been used in a sentence together.”
I gasp. “Not true.”
I avoid his eye contact, but we both know it is. Early mornings are the worst, especially on nights when sleep evades me. The pink stones surrounding his wrist steal my attention. He’s worn it since he stole it, since Ilethim steal it.
“Eyes up here,” he commands, and mine snap to his, his lip pulled between his teeth. “Why did you leave early this morning?”
He waits patiently until I muster up enough courage to say, “I’m nervous.”
My stomach revolts as the confession hangs in the air, but he closes the space between us, tipping my chin up.
“Now you know how I’ve felt every day for the last two years.” His irises darken to a shade of deep evergreen as he swipes his thumb across the seam of my lips. I frantically search the deck, making sure no one is witnessing what feels like an incredibly intimate moment. “We make the rules, Charlie.”
His words are casual, nonchalant, but nothing about this is easy or chill. I’m walking a razor’s edge; one wrong move, and I’ll slice myself open with no way to heal the wound.
Mateo drags me to a chair, and I protest, attempting to glue my feet to the ground. I’m afraid to face the impending conversation, especially in the daylight. I prefer to avoid the vulnerable chats entirely, but if I have to participate, it’s much easier to admit my weaknesses and flaws in the dark.
My phone chirps, one message right after another, and I ignore it.
“Do you needto get that?”
He jerks his chin to my pocket, where Amy is blowing up my notifications.
“It’s Amy,” I say, and when his eyebrow lifts, I add, “I told her we kissed.”
Now, I’ve seen a number of Mateo’s smiles since we met at orientation. His soft morning version when he leans around his computer monitor. The smug tilt of his lips when he outsmarts or flusters me. His victorious grin yesterday after we kissed.
But I’ve never been offered this smile, one that makes my toes curl and stomach plummet ten stories with anticipation.
This one…it’s intimate, selective, not meant for anybody. It begins small until it overtakes his features, illuminating him with joy.
“Is that so?”
I offer an odd choking sound in response.
“Well, let’s see what she has to say.”
He snakes his hand into my back pocket, stealing my phone, and like earlier, the contact sets my skin on fire. Mateo scrolls through the messages, and I peer around his bicep.
Amy: Charles, what the fuck?
I need more information!!!
Was there tongue? I bet there was tongue.
Was it a spiritual awakening?
Did he do that thing where the guy cups your jaw? I need to know forSCIENCE.
