Page 22 of Deep In Love
His laughter follows me out the doors and into the hot, dry California air.
I whip around to flee into the airport, where air-conditioning reigns, when I make contact with the wall of muscle that is Mateo’s chest.
The two hits have rattled my brain.
“It’s not that hot.” Mateo chuckles when my face twists, but he’s not wearing leggings and a sweatshirt. A droplet of sweat forms at the base of my neck and glides down my back. My skin crawls.
“That’s because you’re Satan,” I grumble, pulling my crewneck in and out to create a breeze. I try to slip around his frame, but he easily slides to block me.
Who the hell has this much muscle, anyway?
Mateo’s laughter is deep and throaty before he chokes out, “Satan?”
“The fiery pits of hell don’t bother him. This horrid heat isn’t bothering you. Considering I’ve never seen you and Satan in a room together, I can’t rule out the hypothesis.”
His laughter worsens, a duffle bag slipping from his shoulder as he doubles over. I stand like a pole in the middle of the road, awkwardly and out of place, as people pass by.
We begin to draw attention before he finally rises.
“You’re funny, bruja,” he declares, stepping up to the taxi.
Something rotten, almost like pride, blossoms in my chest, which is crazy because I shouldn’t care if Mateo finds me funny.I shouldn’t.
Shifting my head to disguise my burning cheeks, I slip into the back seat, thankful for a small reprieve from sitting beside Mateo and having to suffer his intoxicating, subtle citrus scent.
Not only does he have perfect hair, but he smells like a cool summer breeze, and I want to huff the scent until I can identify every note. He drives me fucking insane.
Right as the tension in my shoulders washes away, he slides into the seat beside me with a goofy smile.
“Ready for an adventure?” he asks, winking.
Neptune, have mercy on my soul. I don’t know how I am going to survive this trip.
Chapter 7
Mateo
The skin on my palm burns where Charlie’s hand clutched mine like a lifeline thrown in a raging sea. The cinnamon and mint aroma of her perfume lingers in my nostrils on every inhale.
She leads us into the outdoor bar connected to our hotel, and I allow myself three seconds to admire how her hips sway back and forth beneath her leggings.
We find the table reserved for the crew, and Charlie avoids my gaze as we order drinks. She’s been doing it since we slid into the taxi.
I’m not foolish; I know she’s not my biggest fan. Do I know what I did to get on her bad side? No, but since we met at the beginning of our PhD program, she’s remained closed off from everyone but Amy.
I’ve tried to scale those walls, flirt with her to show her I’m interested, and offer her an ear when she’s having a bad day, but my efforts have failed. Dozens of times, I’ve nearly worked up the courage to ask her on a date, only to change my mind at the last moment.
But this trip may be my opportunity to show her we could be something great, if she wants us to be.
If you want to be seen, you need to stand in the spotlight.
Her blond hair sits atop her head in a messy bun, the subtle breeze swaying loose tendrils in front of her face. She pushes them away as she scans the crowd, and I watch as her finger catches on her scar. She passes along the edge, and the shift in her demeanor is instantaneous.
Charlie’s beauty is raw and uncut, but her smile, the way every feature joins in on her joy, is like reaching a mountain peak and looking out in the great expanse while wondering how lucky you are to lay witness to something so spectacular.
My knee bounces beneath the table as I search for potential topics of conversation to pull her away from whatever thought rattles in her mind.
Did you have a good flight?Poor choice, considering her panic attack.
