Page 73 of Deep In Love
Shitting yourself is for seasoned relationships.
Jett slides into a seat beside Mateo, whose cheeks are so red they resemble a fire hydrant, and asks, “What are you guys doing?”
“Catching up on some PhD work. Charlie is working on creating lesson plans for her lab course”—Mateo gives me a look, and I stick out my tongue—“and I’m grading reports for the invertebrate biology lab I run.”
Jett looks unimpressed, so I add, “For every hour we work, we get a chocolate.”
His demeanor shifts instantly. “Does finally responding to comments on all my social media pages count as work?”
“Does the idea of completing the task make you want to bang your head against a wall?” I ask. That’s how I make my lists. Minor inconveniences at the top, and “this is going to lead to a meltdown” at the bottom. He mulls over my question, then nods. “Then, yes. It’s work.”
Mateo sets the timer on his phone, and we each work in silence. Jett snickers to himself every few minutes, and Mateo hums while he grades his papers.
The first alarm goes off right as I finish the lesson plans I’ve pushed aside for weeks, and I patiently wait as Mateo digs a chocolate out of the bag and places one in my hand, then one in Jett’s awaiting palm.
He restarts the clock, and I accomplish another task. The hours fly by, and somehow, I’m deep into my to-do list, completing the duties I thought were a long shot to reach.
The chime rings through the air, and without looking away from my screen, I stick my hand out. Jett does the same, never glancing away from his phone.
I only look up when my palm remains empty and Mateo snorts. He peers down to our hovering hands, then to the timer, and finally to me. His face quivers as he attempts to restrain himself.
“What is so…”
I blink, stunned, as my brain catches up to his realization.No fucking way.
He’s going to talk about this forever, and I will never live it down. The day Mateo Alvarez managed to Pavlov Charlotte Bowen will be marked in the history books as the worst day of my life.
It might be dramatic, but I think this is worse than my accident, if only because the cocky grin on Mateo’s face makes my toes curl even if I want to throttle him for turning me into an experiment.
“I cannot believe you fucking ‘Pavloved’ us.” I seethe as his laughter deepens, the sound smooth like honey. “We are not his dogs, salivating every time you ring a bell.”
Except, maybe we are. But that’s not the point. The point is, my…whatever Mateo is, has trained us both, and he thinks it’s fucking hilarious.
“It wasn’t intentional, I swear. But when you held out your palm as the timer went off, well…I connected the dots.”
Leaning over the table, I steal the bag of candy, snatching a handful and splitting it between Jett and me. If we’re going to be Mateo’s lab rats, we’re going to get paid. With chocolate, of course.
We’re talking about this later, puttingNo experiments on the other personon our odd rule list.
“You will pay for this, cariño,” I say, and his grin grows even brighter, amused I’m calling him by his shitty nickname.
He calls me a witch constantly, so it’s only fair I call him an annoying asshole, even if using the endearment makes my cheeks heat and my stomach flutter. There’s something intimate about giving another person a nickname, sharing the small inside secret with them.
I’m lost in the bright green of Mateo’s irises, tracking the way they brighten when I call him cariño,when Jett asks, “Who’s Pavlov, and why are we dogs?”
Oh, hell, I don’t know how to explain this, so instead, I offer him another piece of chocolate.
“The less you know, the better,” I say, patting his shoulder.
Mateo laughs again, and when Jett looks away, I mouth,You will pay for this later.
He winks.
The cocky asshole winks, and fuck me, my stomach flutters.
Chapter 22
Mateo
