MATEO

by K. L. Savage

  I toss my head back and laugh, the loud boom resonating off the walls. “Forty-three.”

  “Forty-three! Wow, you look…”

  “…What? I look what?” I prod, kissing the edge of her jaw.

  “Perfect.”

  We get lost in kissing one another until the water is cold and the bubbles are gone. They say the third time is the charm. Maybe Nora is my ever after. The love I thought I had lost so long ago.

  She’s my chance.

  Somehow hope has found me again.

  All I can hope is that it doesn’t lose me in the process.

  Five days ago, I did a thing that I have regretted since doing it.

  The morning after messing around with Mateo all night, I fled. The sun was barely up and it hit me what I had done—which wasn’t bad, at all. The entire experience with him was amazing. I learned so much about myself that I didn’t know I could ever have learned.

  My nipples are still a little sensitive from him biting and tugging on them. I didn’t know I wanted sex so much until him and being changed scares me.

  So that morning, I rolled out of bed, changed into the dress I came to the motel in, and ran. I hailed a taxi and had them take me back to my dorm. I still have not charged my phone because I know he would have messaged me and called. Don’t know how he would have got my number, but he is a powerful man. I’m sure getting a phone number is easy for him.

  I’ve never had to ‘face the music’ before when it comes to men. This is new, unchartered territory for me. So yeah, I am a coward. I’m afraid to talk to him. I don’t know what he expects. He got what he wanted right? We messed around, it was mind blowing, but now he can go back to his regular programming of models.

  Men and women.

  Jeez, talk about driving me insane. When he said that, I immediately had dirty thoughts with him and another guy. Another thing to throw me for a loop.

  I didn’t know I liked that either.

  I need to wrap my head around what I’ve learned about myself, and I hope he appreciates that.

  Libby knows what happened between me and Mateo. She was the first person I told, and she squealed so loud, I swear my ears are still ringing.

  “Ms. Thompson, am I boring you?” Professor Walton asks as he stands in front of the class, writing an equation on the chalkboard. He’s the only professor that uses chalk instead of a dry erase board. He is a short man, round in the belly, and has a bad combover where he tries to cover up his bald head. I don’t know why men insist on saving three strands of hair. It looks awful.

  Mateo has great hair. Thick, luscious, and shiny.

  Oh, stop it.

  He is too old for me. Not that I care about age, but it’s a good excuse to tell myself.

  “No, Professor Walton,” I finally answer, tugging on my plaid purple long-sleeve shirt I’m wearing today.

  “Then will you come up and show us how to do the equation from last night’s homework?” The damn smug smirk on his face rubs me the wrong way.

  Yeah, about that homework from last night…

  I didn’t do it.

  Because Mateo has my books, and in my escape, I forgot he had brought them to me, so I left without them. So the last five days in school have been fun without all my books.

  Luckily, I have my intelligence on my side.

  I get up from the chair and make my way down the stairs, feeling every student’s eyes bore into my back. I hate it when I have to get in front of a group of people. I feel naked. Exposed. It’s like everyone is waiting for me to fail.

  Well, even with my eyes shut I’d be able to ace this class and be number one in it, so they can shove it right where—

  “Here you are, Ms. Thompson. You have five minutes.”

  I can do it in three.

  I take the chalk from his fat fingers and give him a small, unconfident smile. I want to make him think I can’t do it. The chalk scrapes against the board as I write. Everyone behind me fades into the distance and my worry about Mateo disappears into the back of my mind as I do what I do best. I do not appreciate when someone tries to make a fool of me when it comes to academics, and Professor Walton has been trying since day one.

  Trying and failing. Yet it doesn’t seem to stop him.

  I write quickly, bringing down the X and N in the equation, and circle the answer, then hand the chalk back to Professor Walton, blowing the dust off the top like a pool stick.

  “Confidence: a state of mind. Self-reassurance arising from ones appreciation of their own abilities,” I define, sounding cocky, which only makes Professor Walton red in the cheeks. He snatches the chalk from me and points back to my seat, telling me to go to my desk without actually telling me.

  I roll my lips together to keep from laughing and turn around to head back up the steps. A hand reaches out for a high-five, and when I look to see who it is, I stop in my tracks.

  Benji Martin. The star wide receiver for the football team. He’s dreamy, with bright blonde hair and blue eyes, sun-kissed skin from practicing in the Vegas heat, and muscles for days. He’s another man all the girls want. and oddly enough, I’ve never seen him with anyone. He isn’t like his friends, who make it a mission to get with a new girl every other day.

  Still. He will never compare to Mateo. When I look at Benji, I know he is good-looking, but once again, that feeling of not experiencing any lust or want takes over. He does nothing for me.

  “Way to stick it to him, Nora,” he says.

  I slap his hand with mine in a high-five. I didn’t know he knew my name. Maybe I’m not as invisible as I try to my make myself out to be.

  “Thanks,” I reply, holding my head up high as another wave of confidence takes over me.

  I head back to my seat and sit down. I notice Benji turning around to look at someone behind him. Even from three rows back, I can hear his brown leather jacket squeaking every time he turns around. He gives me a wave, and that’s when it hits me that he is staring at me.

  Oh boy and oh no.

  Awkward: difficult to handle or deal with.

  Is it plastered on my face that I sucked a man’s cock or something? Since when do I get attention?

  Everyone gathers their books when it’s time to leave. It’s a rush of backpacks hitting the desks and zippers sounding as people shove their books inside.

  I can just leave since I don’t have anything with me. “Excuse me, sorry,” I say as I squeeze behind a few people, their backpacks rubbing against my chest, which makes me hiss, even through the fabric of my shirt. One of the zippers slides over my raw, swollen nipple and heat floods my core when I remember why.

  Only Mateo makes me want sex when I’ve never wanted it before. I blame him for… everything.

  “Read pages fifty through seventy over the next couple of days. You may or may not have a quiz on Friday!” Professor Walton yells over the rambunctiousness of the class wanting to leave.

  I pause in the middle of the hall when I leave the classroom, like always. For a minute there I forgot that Libby said she has a doctor’s appointment today, so she won’t be meeting me. I cross my arms and head through the sea of students, everyone cheering and pumped to be out of class.

  “Hey! Nora! Wait up.”

  That’s weird. No one ever calls out for me.

  I peer over my shoulder to see Benji dipping by one of his football buddies, who slaps him on the back as he passes him. I continue walking because I must have heard wrong and I need to find a way to get my books back from Mateo without getting sucked into everything… sexy Italian.

  “Nora!” My name is closer this time, and now I have no doubt Benji wants to talk to me. Maybe he needs help with homework.

  Now there is an idea. I could tutor a few days a week and bring in some extra cash and start saving for whatever I’m going to do after graduation. I keep walking and press the silver handle of the door in to swing it open. The bright sunny day is cooler than what it appears to be, and unlike some girls, I’m comfort
able because I’m wearing long sleeves.

  “Hey, Nora. Didn’t you hear me calling you?” Benji asks, placing a hand on my shoulder to stop me from trying to get as far away as possible.

  “Uh, yeah, but I thought it was a mistake, so I kept walking,” I explain. I wait for the urge to define a word, something I do when I’m nervous, but I don’t seem to be with Benji.

  I only make a fool out of myself in front of Mateo, the guy that matters.

  Awesome. I was hoping for a little consistency.

  “A mistake? Why?”

  “You haven’t talked to me before, so I guess that’s why.” When the sidewalk forks, I hang a right to head toward the student union, which is where the mailroom is.

  “Yeah, sorry. It’s not because I haven’t wanted to, but you’re intimidating. It’s obvious you’re smarter than everyone in class, so it makes it hard to get up the courage to talk to you.”

  I stop in my tracks and stare up at him. My face must say it all, because he laughs. It’s loud and guttural, turning a few heads as people pass by. They are probably wondering what the hell he is doing with me.

  Honestly, I have no idea.

  “Courage? Why? Do you need help in Professor Walton’s class?”

  “No.”

  I wait for him to elaborate but he doesn’t, so I start walking again. “I need to go check my mail, so I’ll see you later or around or… something….” I mutter. “It was nice talking to you.” There. That was a nice thing to say. I could pat myself on the back. Look at me, interacting with other people. Libby would be proud.

  “Wait, let me,” he says, opening the student union door for me.

  I scratch the inside of my wrist, more confused than when a squirrel isn’t sure if it should cross the road when a car is coming. “Uh, thanks.” The air conditioning breezes over me and a slight chill makes me shiver.

  “You need my jacket?” he asks, slinging off his backpack and shrugging out of the jacket before I can say no.

  If I say no now, it’s rude because he has already gone through the trouble of taking it off. If I put it on, I open the possible issue of him thinking I’m interested, which I should be, because he seems kind and handsome, but I’m not. At all. Not even a little.

  I’m more than happy to be his friend.

  Internally, I laugh at myself. Benji is just being nice to me. He wouldn’t be romantically interested in me.

  “Um, thanks,” I say as he throws his jacket over my shoulders. It’s warm from his body heat and smells like pine. If I were different, I’d be swooning, and part of me wishes I were.

  He is wearing a plain moss green t-shirt that stretches over his tan biceps and the women around me are checking him out from head to toe, then curling their lip at me. How is this my fault? I don’t even know what’s happening. For a smart girl, I lack common sense in some areas. I’ve been told that a hundred times from Libby.

  My keys jingle as I pull them out of my back pocket and once again, Benji opens the mailroom door for me, a crooked smile tilting his lips. A dimple appears, and while it’s charming, all I can think about is Mateo’s mouth. It isn’t cute or charming, but deadly and sinful, gripping onto the sexual being that’s been hibernating my entire life and yanking her to the surface.

  Ugh, I hate him.

  But I know if given the time, I’d love him, and love usually leads to bloodshed.

  “So I was wondering if I could have your number?” he asks and I trip over my left foot, then slam my forehead into my mailbox.

  God.

  If 3141 is stamped on my face, I will want to find the nearest hole and bury myself in it. “Cumbersome: complicated and inefficient,” I define because this time I am embarrassed.

  “What?” he asks on a half unsure laugh as he stares at me with enjoyment. He takes a step forward to get close to my personal space. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Sorry, I tend to define things when I’m embarrassed. Right now, I’m cumbersome. I know, it’s a horrible quirk to have.” I rub the spot on my forehead and scowl at the keyhole as I slide the metal key inside and twist.

  “I think it’s cute. I have a personal challenge to get you to define all the words you can now.”

  He’s flirting. Oh, god. What do I do?

  I’m single, right? I’m allowed to do this. Have friends, talk to guys. This isn’t a big deal. I should be able to flirt back without having to worry.

  When the lock sounds, I swing the square door open and reach in to gather my mail. “Gumption: resourcefulness and clever, also courageous.”

  “Impressive. I don’t know how you do it,” he pushes a piece of my hair out of my face and tucks it behind my ear. “I knew you were brilliant, but to just spew words at the drop of a hat, that’s awesome. I bet you got a perfect score on your SAT,” he jokes.

  I rummage through my mail without looking at him, trying to pass time. I did get a perfect score on my SAT, but he doesn’t need to know that. Oh look, a catalog for Victoria’s Secret. Ugh, I have no use for this. I have got to tell Libby to stop signing me up for these things.

  “Oh my god, you did!” He leans against the wall, one hand at his side while the other grips the strap of his backpack. “I don’t have a chance in hell now,” he kids around with me, nudging my arm so it doesn’t seem so serious.

  I hold my breath when I see a letter from the Nevada Department of Corrections. Benji is talking, but I can’t hear him. My vision blurs and I think about a hundred things all at once. What if it’s telling me she isn’t on death row anymore? What if she’s out? What if I have to see her? A field of cotton stuffs down my throat, causing my mouth to go dry as the freaking desert I live in.

  My heart races and a cold sweat drapes over me, causing my plaid shirt to stick against my skin.

  “Hey, are you okay? You look like you’re about to be sick. Is it something I said?”

  I rip my eyes from the letter and stare at Benji. He really does seem so nice. His eyes frown at me and his hands grip my shoulders. My eyes water when I think about my mom. I don’t have a normal life like he probably does. Benji probably goes home every holiday and probably some weekends to say hi to his mom and dad. I bet they have been married since they graduated high school and he has a younger brother he likes to throw a football around with.

  He’s very Brady Bunch, which isn’t a bad thing, and I might be an ass for assuming when I know nothing about him. But he’s not my type.

  I have a type now.

  “We don’t have to go out. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he adds. “I’m more than happy being a friend.”

  “It isn’t that. I just…I got this letter and I’m not really sure what to do with it.” It’s the truth. A half-truth, but at least it isn’t a full-blown lie. “I’m sorry, Benji. I need to go.” I shut the mailbox door and lock it and begin to walk away, then remember I’m wearing his jacket. “Oh, here.” Shrugging off the expensive leather, I take one last sniff because it smells so damn good, but he stops me.

  “Keep it. Gives me a reason to see you again, Nora.” He reaches for my hand and unzips his backpack to pull out a pen. “Here’s my number. Text me, call me, whatever. I look forward to hearing from you.” The tip tickles the inside of my palm as he writes his number onto my skin. He clicks the pen when he’s done, then brings my hand to his mouth.

  “You’re something different, Nora Thompson. And I like it.” He presses a kiss across my knuckles and there’s a small fluttery sensation in my belly. It’s faint, not nearly as strong as when I’m around Mateo, but it’s there.

  I bite my bottom lip, then stop when I hear Mateo’s voice in my head about chewing on it. “Bye, Benji, and here,” I shrug off his jacket anyway and hand it back. “I’ll forget and you might not ever see it again. It fits you better than me,” I try to keep the moment light as he takes it from me.

  “I beg to differ,” he protests, keeping his eyes on me as I walk out the door.

  I shake
my head and give him a departing wave. When I’m not around him, I exhale and relax. I’m not sure why Benji talked to me today out of all days, and I’m not sure if talking to me was a joke or what, but I learned that I’m personable. After talking with him, I feel good about myself.

  Obviously, nothing is going to happen between us. It isn’t fair for me to go out on a date with him when I’d only be thinking about Mateo anyway.

  My dorm is right across from the student union. It’s taller than the other buildings, old, and made out of brick. I cut across the yard and the dust from the sand swirls around me and gets in my eye. “Balls,” I curse to myself, blinking the grains away. My eye begins to water, which makes it easier to give in to cry if I wanted to.

  This letter from the correctional facility has me all messed up.

  I open the door to the building and Matthew is behind the desk. He lifts his head when he sees me and grins. “Hey, Nora,” he waves.

  He has never said hi to me before. I blame the birthday dress. I give him a pressed smile and glance toward the couch to see Sleepy Sam napping away. A nap sounds good. I might do that instead of reading the letter. Maybe I’ll burn it or tear it up. I have no intention in knowing what is going on with my mother.

  Holding the mail close to my chest, I decide to crawl under the covers when I get to my room, pull them to my chin, turn on the TV and watch old episodes of Friends while eating my weight in chocolate cupcakes that I’ll order and have delivered.

  Yeah, that sounds nice.

  A man should take note that when a woman wants and needs chocolate, she’s having a bad day. No one can make it better except the sweet escape a rich, dark, molten lava chocolate cupcake offers.

  Molten lava chocolate looks a lot like Mateo’s eyes. In a way, he is the cupcake.

  “Ridiculous: absurd, mockery, and laughable. That’s me right now,” I say to myself as I open the door to my room. The note Libby left in purple marker about her going to the doctor is still there on the small dry erase board hanging below the peep hole. I erase it with my hand before walking inside. The heavy door shuts and the slam echoes down the hall. I blow a raspberry with my lips and pinch the bridge of my nose, exhausted, confused…