Page 82 of Coach
He didn’t look at me right away, just gave a small shake of his head and said, “Don’t apologize.”
But nothing could stop the churn in my gut, the part of me that assumed opening up meant pushing people away. That little voice nagged and screamed and accused. That little voice was an echo of the past, and I hoped—with everything in me—it wasn’t a foreshadowing of things to come.
I turned and watched Mateo. His eyes remained fixed on the TV, leaving me to ponder his olive skin, the curve of his chin, the curl of his midnight hair. He was stunning, more beautiful than any man had a right to be. He was kind and generous—and he listened. Hereallylistened.
And he hadn’t run.
But he hadn’t said anything else either.
Card Sharksbuzzed and beeped. Someone clapped. None of it could drown out the wail of the tightening knot in my chest.
I wasn’t built for this.
Not for the dinner or the smiles—and not for his hand covering mine, feeling like heaven made flesh, soothing and comforting—andwantingto be with me.
I wasn’t built for any of it.
But sitting next to Mateo—close enough to feel the heat of him, his quiet steadiness—made mewant to be.
He turned so suddenly I nearly jerked back. His eyes were pools of chocolate flecked with gold. He sucked in his bottom lip, then set it free to glisten in the lamp light.
I wanted to reach up and smooth the curls off his forehead, but something held me in place. I couldn’t move. I could barely breathe.
Mateo leaned into me, into my world.
I could feel his breath, hot against my skin.
I could taste him, the wine still lingering on his tongue.
God, I wanted to—
He pressed his lips into mine, and my mind went blank.
Card Sharksfaded away. The den vanished. The house evaporated.
There was only Mateo and the softest lips on the planet—and they were kissing me.
Blood rushed to every part of my body: my head, my fingertips, my cheeks—and holy cow, my cock. When was the last time that thing had stirred over someone live and in person? Screen time with Peachyboy or some other “star” didn’t count. I couldn’t remember—hell, I couldn’t think.
His tongue grazed my lips as he pulled back, our eyes coming together in a cosmic collision.
“I hope that was okay,” he breathed. I sucked in, willing his words inside me. “I’ve been wanting to do that, well, since the fair.”
I blinked.
Then blinked again.
“Really?”
His head ducked, and I swear, color bloomed in his cheeks as he smiled. “Really.”
“You wanted to kiss me? Seriously? Me?”
His brow furrowed. “Shane, do you have any idea how hot you are? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. I popped a boner while you went on about wood grain and proper staining techniques.”
I gulped back something. Holy shit. He’d been into me all along. Me. How had I not seen any of it? How had I been so—
Mateo, seeming annoyed by my constant retreats, advanced.
