Page 285 of Coach
“Last night was the most fun I’ve had in a very long time . . . because of you.” I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him close. “And you looked so damn hot when you took your shirt off in front of everyone. I thought Matt Rife might leap down from the stage and lick you right there.”
He grinned again, something I was beginning to crave. “I got a pocketful of phone numbers from the bridesmaids.”
I slapped his chest, grabbed the pan of eggs, and walked around him to the table. “How dare you cheat on me with drunk bachelorettes!” I said, pouring all the mock offense I could into my voice. “Here I thought you’d claimed me,” I added with a wink.
He growled as his arms shot forward, firm hands gripping me and pulling me back into him. “I did . . . I still do. You’re mine, Mateo Ricci. You hear me?”
My logical brain knew better. It tried to object. It ranted and screamed and hooted.
So I slapped that bitch back into the eighties where it belonged.
Chapter 41
Shane
Idon’t know what it was about Mateo—his unwavering smile, his inky hair that fell across his forehead and begged to be pushed back, or the way he said my name like it was some relic to be cherished. Whatever it was, he’d wormed his way past all my defenses and taken up residence far too close to my core.
Just thinking about him, picturing him in my mind, made something bubble within me, made me feel like I was a twelve-year-old boy passing notes in class and trying not to get caught. There was nothing tawdry or clandestine about our dating, but the nervous, jittery feeling mixed with a growing affection—a deep-down caring for another person I couldn’t quite wrap my brain around—that was what terrified me. And excited me. Hell, it thrilled me—and made me want to run for the nearest mountain where no one could find me.
For a guy who prided himself on controlling his emotions, on experiencing as few as possible, my whole being was churning with the darn things, and I had no idea what to do with them all. I felt like someone had implanted a chaotic chorus of singers inside me, and their discordant melodies rose and fell, making my heart beat faster, then slow to a titter, then race again.
Fucked.
I was well and truly fucked.
After breakfast, I reluctantly left Mateo’s house and headed home. An evening date was one thing, but the project currently paying the bills wouldn’t stomach me shirking a good day’s work.
I got home around ten and went straight to my workshop. I breathed in the scents of sawdust and wood stain, holding the breath for a blissfully long moment. To anyone else, it would’ve been annoying, smells to be cleaned away and wiped from the shop. To me, they were the greeting of a thousand pieces artfully carved and lovingly crafted.
Those aromas were home.
Already sweating from the day’s growing heat, I stripped off my shirt, not wanting to mess up good flannel, and tossed it onto the chair from which Stevie taunted me. She rarely came by on weekends, so I wasn’t worried about her mocking me for “takingher chair” with my nasty clothes.
By noon, I’d lost track of time. Sweat and sawdust coated my chest and shoulders, making me look like I’d just rolled on a sandy beach. Dark smudges where I’d wiped my brow, not realizing my hand was filthier than my face, streaked across my forehead and cheek. I was a complete mess, and I loved it.
It was only when my radio stopped blasting that I jarred out of my work-trance and looked up. Mateo stood in the doorway, a large brown bag cradled in his arms.
“Mateo?”
He smiled. Of course, he did.
“Hey. Sorry to interrupt. I was on this side of town, and, well, I knew you were working and wouldn’t stop for lunch, so I, um, kind of got us Chinese food. I hope it’s okay that I just showed up.”
I blinked a few times, trying to register him standing there. Had we talked about lunch? I didn’t think we had.
“Yeah, lunch is good,” was all my brain could manage. “It’s dusty here. Let’s go to the house.”
I blew sawdust off the piece I’d been working on, stood and returned my tools to their spot on the wall rack, and turned. Mateo hadn’t moved. I glanced down at my bare chest, at the layer of grime coating my body, and winced.
“I need to clean up.”
Mateo stared. “If we didn’t have Chinese to eat, I’d be crossing this shop and rubbing every part of you till you glistened.”
And damn, if my cock didn’t stand up and hear that.
“Food before . . . anything,” I said, not trusting myself to even discuss our bodies touching or lips meeting or the feel of him pressed against me . . . or me inside him . . .
Shit, I was hard as a rock and pulsing.
