Page 31 of Deep In Love
He moves around the room, comfy and ready for bed, and this image, this moment right here, should be illegal for all others to witness. His perfect hair is now unruly, and his beard is growing in, adding to the scruffiness of his appearance.
Not once since I met Mateo have I denied how handsome he is; I would be a liar if I did. But I was never affected by it. I was too busy with serious things—like establishing my academic dominance over him and hunting for my Willy Wonka.
But now, as Mateo tugs a shirt over his head and his back muscles undulate, I am wildly affected by him. I need a cold shower. My thighs tighten in a desperate attempt to release the pressure building at my core.
This would be a perfect time to use my vibrator if he wasn’t in the room.
I’m reciting the protocol for DNA extractions to cool myself down when Mateo crouches, his back facing me, to slide a small briefcase from his duffel bag.
Utter disbelief replaces my overwhelming horniness at the sight of slate-gray cotton and stripes of blue. I creep closer to Mateo until I’m hovering over him, a demented smile on my face. This is akin to Darwin discovering his finches.
Fucking groundbreaking.
“Mateo?”
He hums, focused on his task.
“Is that a CPAP machine?” A giggle bubbles out past my lips. “Oh, Neptune, this may be the greatest day of my life.”
This totally tops the dildo debacle.
Mateo’s glare could slice glass, but the exuberance thrumming in my body counteracts his scowl. He has a flaw. It’s a victory until I realize the small thing makes Mateo more desirable. Since I methim, he’s always been put together, but knowing he’s not flawless, that maybe he dislikes this part of himself…oh, shit.
No.
A thread weaves around my heart, squeezing, until I’m fighting for breath.
“The right side has a nightstand,” I grumble, disappearing into the bathroom.
I’m not fond of the tightness in my chest at the idea of sharing a bed with someone else. Everything is morphing, shifting into new, dangerous territory, and I don’t know what to do with myself.
I splash cold water over my face before reentering the cabin.
Mateo perches off the side of the bed, placing his glasses on the nightstand and popping a retainer into his mouth.
“Therewillbe a wall,” I declare, shoving each ornate cushion to the middle of the bed, fluffing them to increase their surface area. “Consider it impenetrable.”
I’m nearly through building the Great Wall of Pillow when I hear Mateo’s muffled laughter and realize my mistake. So many words in the English language and I chose the one word that containspenetrate. How I survived this long is a wonder to us all.
“Impenetrable, huh?”
Mateo’s eyebrows waggle, and I chuck a pillow at his face.
“Shut it, Darth Vader.”
“Are you crying?” Mateo’s voice is muffled by the CPAP mask, and a small click echoes through the room, followed by the whooshing sound of air before he turns off the machine.
“No.”
I sniffle again, giving away my lie. Amy sent me precisely forty-seven videos, and I’ve been diligently working through each one, offering my reaction. I didn’t expect to watch a dog adoption video.
“Look at me,” Mateo demands.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s going to look like I’ve been crying, and I don’t know how to spin the lie.”
