Page 79 of Deep In Love
“How could I? If I did, it might ruin myperfect hair.”
“I’m gonna go.” I throw a thumb over my shoulder. “If you need me, I’ll be floating in the ocean.”
I push to my knees, but Mateo rips me back down to the blanket, his chest rumbling with laughter.
“If you go overboard, I’d have to follow you, and our pasta would get cold.”
“You’d follow me?” I ask, hung up on the statement.
“I’d follow you anywhere, Charlie.”
Any response I have falls short, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he uncovers the plates, placing one in front of me. The aroma of basil and parmesan fills the air, and a perfectly grilled cut of chicken sits atop a bed of cavatappi pasta.
It’s my favorite meal. Down to the shape of the noodle.
He knows my favorite food, but I don’t know his, and the lack of that knowledge settles like a rock in my gut.
“What’s your favorite meal?”
“Pizza. Doesn’t matter the toppings,” he responds, “but if my abuela asks, it’s her barbacoa.”
I immediately store the fact, locking it away into a mental box.
He digs in, while I slowly pick at the noodles, too nauseous to enjoy them.
How much has he learned about me in the two years we’ve known each other? How little do I know about him?
“Is your food cold?”
It’s fucking delicious, but my stomach is already doing somersaults, and if I eat all the food, I fear I may vomit.
“I’m too jittery to eat,” I admit, smoothing out my dress. He lifts a brow, a silent demand for an explanation, and in the spirit of honesty and showing Mateo he’s worth the effort, I offer him an uncomfortable truth. “I haven’t been on a decent date since before my accident, and you know far more about me than I know about you, and I feel bad about that, and you look really good. I’m flustered.”
My cheeks flame as his smile grows into something magnificent—as glorious as the final rays of a sunset.
He sets our plates to the side, patting the empty spot between his legs. I crawl over the blanket to settle into the space and lean back, using his chest as a pillow and burrowing into the warmth he offers.
“What do you want to know?” he asks, his breath hot against my shoulder.
“Everything,” I admit.
I want to know every detail about Mateo, down to his sock preference. What he loves, what he hates, his fears and dreams. I want to knoweverything.
His fingers tangle in my hair, brushing through the loose curls, before pulling my head to the side and placing a tender kiss on my lips.
There’s no rush to it; instead, it’s an exploration, slow and unsure.
When we break apart, my head is spinning.
“All right, bruja. I’ll tell you everything, as long as you offer me the same.”
“Deal.” I place my hand on his thigh, right where the butterfly tattoo hides beneath his pants. “How many tattoos do you have, and what do they all mean?”
The question is rushed. I’ve wanted to know since he revealed the ink, but there hasn’t been a good time to ask.
Covering my hand with his, he huffs a laugh, and it skitters along my spine.
“My family is from a small town in Central Mexico. It’s where my grandparents were born, and it’s close to the area where the monarch butterflies congregate in the winter. My abuelo loved them and would spend hours talking about how they covered the trees and filled the air. I got the butterfly for him after he passed away.”
