Page 135 of Coach
I adjusted the sleeves on one of my halfway-decent button-downs. It still felt weird—dressing up—but Mateo had insisted. “It’s Christmas Eve,” he’d said, voice all bright and bossy. “You can’t go to Mrs. H’s dressed like Paul Bunyan and expect to come out alive. Trust me on this. Mrs. H makes Sisi look like a kitten.”
“That’snotencouraging.”
An espresso-laden chuckle that sounded more like a cartoon villain’s laugh than that of my unofficial boyfriend was all the response he offered.
I glanced at the clock. It was almost time to leave. The last thing we wanted was to be the final couple to arrive. The gang would be unbearable, but Mrs. H would make us wish we were celebrating on another planet. I’d only had one encounter with the woman in her lair, and Mateo claimed that had been a “tame” experience. I was terrified of what more the woman could dish out—both figuratively and literally.
I never got nervous. It wasn’t in my DNA. Others were intimidated by my size or stare or lack of banter.
Why, then, was there a low buzz just beneath my skin? Why was my mind spinning in four directions, unable to settle on one? Why had I just adjusted my collar for the sixth time? On a button-down thatdidn’t move?
The upcoming evening felt like a family reunion on steroids, one in which the aforementioned family chooses to eat the guests alive, leaving behind only scraps of flannel and gore as evidence of their heinous crime.
Mateo and I had hung out with various members of his little family, mostly in pairs or small groups, but I’d never been around the whole crew gathered under one roof. This was either going to be the best night of my life or an utter shambles that made me rethink all the life choices that led up to those moments.
“I swear,” I muttered, buttoning the last cuff, “if she serves us some Scottish roadkill stew again—”
“Relax.” Mateo came out of the bathroom, grinning, damn near glowing in a soft red sweater that clung in all the right places. “Everyone’s bringing backup food. You won’t starve.”
“Good, ’cause if dinner starts moving on the plate, I’m not responsible for what happens next. I will protect our family.”
Oh, shit. Had I just called us a family?
Mateo didn’t seem to catch it.
He laughed, grabbing a covered dish from the counter. “You’ll be fine. They love you.”
“Youlove me. They tolerate me.”
He shot me a wink. “That’s more than enough.”
I wanted to reach out and grab Mateo around the waist, pull his tight body into mine, and rip that red sweater off his sexy skin. The look he gave me said he wished I could do it, too, but before I could say something dumb—like how hearing him say “love” sent my chest sideways—headlights swept across the windows.
A second later, a car door slammed.
“Expecting someone?” Mateo asked.
I frowned. “Nope.”
I opened the front door just as Jeremiah—my delivery guy—jogged up the steps, his breath fogging in the cold. Despite the early-winter chill, the boy wore his tight-fitting polo shirt, the one that showed just how far his biceps could bulge and how cold his nipples really were.
And they were freezin’.
He grinned. “’Sup, mountain man.”
“Jeremiah. You lost?”
“Package.” He held up a slim box, eyes twinkling. “Last-minute Christmas miracle.”
I took it, arching a brow. “You’reworkingtonight?”
He shrugged. “Pays extra.” His grin faltered just a little. “And it’s not like I had other plans. My mom lives out west, little bro is in New York with hisboyfriend. It’s just me and Oscar.”
“Oscar?”
He reached up and shoved blond hair out of his eyes. I couldn’t remember ever seeing the guy with a fresh haircut.
“My weenie dog.”
