Page 126 of Coach
I did as instructed as Mateo pulled the car out of the lot.
The next thing I remembered was Mateo leaning over me. He stood on the passenger’s side of the car, my door open, gripping my shoulder and shaking, maybe half pulling, like he wanted to drag me out. Whatever he was doing, it wasn’t working. I was too heavy, and he had no leverage. It did, however, wake me up.
“Did I fall asleep?” I said, my head clearing a bit. I no longer felt the urge to laugh between breaths, but my bladder—definitely my bladder—was screaming with all its powerful might. “I really have to pee. Like bad. Don’t make me do a pee-pee dance.”
“I’d love to see that.” Mateo huffed a laugh. “For now, I’ll settle for you standing and walking inside. Come on. I’ll help you.”
I lurched out the door and nearly took us both down with me. Mateo was stronger than he looked, but I was, well, bigger than most. He managed to keep us upright, and we staggered toward the door. He’d already unlocked everything and had the door open. As quickly as possible, I stumbled, Mateopropping up my shoulder, as we wove between the coffee table and sideboard toward the back of his house.
“Oh, look. I made that,” I said, pointing at the sideboard as we passed.
Mateo’s amusement vibrated through my chest. “Yes, and you did a beautiful job.”
“I know. I’m great with wood.”
Mateo grunted again.
“Do you want my wood? You seemed to like it last night. Both times.”
He patted my chest with his off-hand as we entered his bedroom. “Let’s focus on peeing. We can worry about your wood after I find you some cookies.”
“Oh, cookies! Did I tell you I like cookies? You’re so smart.”
He shoved me into the bathroom and shut the door behind me.
“How am I supposed to pee without you?” I called through the door.
An Italian-laced groan was followed by, “Aim for the toilet. You’ll be fine. I promise.”
Aw, he promised. That was sweet.
So I aimed.
And missed.
I fired again . . . andmissed again.
By the time I was done peeing an entire bar out of my body, I’d made a complete mess of the tile around his toilet.
The door creaked open for Mateo to find me on my knees, scrubbing furiously with wads of toilet paper. The roll looked like a cat had decided to play and unspool as much as possible, but the pee disaster had been cleaned . . . mostly.
“I take it your aim is off tonight?” Mateo said through a smirk.
I looked up. He was so pretty. A tear dribbled down my cheek. Then another. Before I knew it, I was full-on ugly-crying on the floor of his bathroom.
Mateo was on the ground in a flash.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
“I . . . Mateo . . . you’re so nice and sweet and handsome and . . . your accent makes me feel like Journey’s singing inside my chest.”
He stroked my hair and wiped a few tears from my face. “That sounds good, doesn’t it?”
I heaved. The tears were uncontrollable.
“Yeah, I guess, but Mateo . . . I did something terrible.”
His face sobered. “What’s that?”
