Page 7 of Deep In Love
“What have you done?”
“We know them. It’s better than strangers.”
That’s not true, not in theslightest.
I cling to the black tourmaline crystal hanging on my neck.Protect me,I plead to the stone,guard me against Mateo and his charming smile.
“Tired of staring from across the bar?” Mateo’s raspy voice travels along my spine, and the blood drains from my face. I flounder for a response, which is exactly what he wants if the tilt of his lips is any indication. “I’ve told you before, bruja, you can stare all you want.”
In a moment of sheer insanity, I take him up on his offer, drinking him in.
Keep your enemies close, right?
Starting at his worn brown leather boots, I leisurely drag my focus north, over the perfectly pressed chinos and cornflower-blue button-down with the top two buttons loose, revealing his sun-bronzed skin and a splatter of chest hair. I pause on the corded muscles of his forearms before moving to his soft cheekbones and supple lips hiding behind a five-o’clock shadow. When I meet his emerald gaze, it’s smoldering, and the intensity nearly knocks me from my barstool.
He’s so attractive it pisses me off, irrationally so.
“Like what you see?” he questions, but his teasing demeanor has vanished, and I don’t know what to do with that, so I bite my lip. I’m not a liar, but I amnotgoing to admit to Mateo that his appearance does some odd, medically concerning things to my nether regions.
His smile slips, only for a second, but I catch it before he plasters on another—a different one—for my best friend.
“Hi, Amy.” He pauses, surveying her hair. “New color?”
“Stained the bathtub pink,” she admits, twirling a curl around her finger.
No matter how many chemicals we threw at the stain, the acrylic is permanently stained a soft shade of pink. I say it’s an upgradefrom the melancholy beige, but I’m not sure our landlord will agree.
“This is Oliver. We were roommates in undergrad. He’s visiting from London.”
Mateo gestures to the man beside him, a tall blond with blue-gray irises framed by round metal-rimmed glasses. Amy glances at me, imperceptible to the men standing before us, but it conveys one clear message: she’s fallen in love.
“I’m also the reason he’s made it this far in life,” Oliver says with a crisp British accent.
Consider my interest piqued. “What do you mean?”
“It’s not really—” Mateo starts, but I cut him off. He will not ruin my opportunity to dig up dirt on him.
“Don’t be rude. Let Oliver tell his story.”
Oliver laughs and raises a brow, and Mateo sighs but gestures for him to continue. “First weekend of classes, there was a pool party off campus, where I met Mateo. Only, he was piss drunk, lost his initial roommate, and had switched to exclusively speaking Spanish.” Amy giggles, but my focus is locked on Mateo, who’s shaking his head. “I babysat him while he stumbled into a McDonald’s and inhaled twenty chicken nuggets, and then made sure he got home. He moved into my dorm room a week later, and I’ve taken care of him ever since.”
Huh. That story is more endearing than embarrassing.
“That’s not how I remember it,” Mateo grumbles.
“You don’t rememberanyof it.” Oliver turns to Amy and me. “It’s lovely to meet you both.”
“Amy Callagan.” She extends her hand, clasping Oliver’s and shaking aggressively. “So nice to meet you. I’m Amy.”
“So you’ve said.” He slides onto the barstool beside her. “Oliver Beauford-Taylor.”
The two get lost in conversation, and I swirl my straw, focused on the ice cubes in my cup rather than the awkward silence between Mateo and me.
He mimics my action, batting his straw back and forth, when a droplet flies out of the glass.
“Be careful with that drink, Mateo. I would hate to loseanotheroutfit.”
He twirls the paper umbrella in his fruity cocktail, then stabs a cherry and pulls it between his teeth.
