By the time I stepped out onto the sidewalk and the wave of late spring heat punched me in the face, it was too late. The stupidity of inviting Matty over started to sink in.
Things were about to get A.W.K.W.A.R.D.
I could feel it in the words of yesterday's text message—he's pissed. As he has every right to be. Ignoring his texts and phone messages all week was a total jerk move on my part. It wasn't fair to him. He's been nothing but wonderful to me and he deserves an apology.
As I neared my apartment building, I realized I needed a plan to make things right between us. Restitutio in integrum. I glanced up and a pair of fleece adult onesie pajamas caught my eye in a storefront. A dinosaur and a unicorn. An odd but magical pair, strange and comfy and perfect.
That's when it hit me—a pajama party was the only way to patch things up with Mateo.
I knew that a night of popcorn, disgusting green smoothies and cheesy romantic comedies was the ticket back to that comfortable, happy place we’d carved out for ourselves back when we were teenagers. Plain, old hanging out. Without the pressure of getting in shape and crossing resolutions off my list.
This is the grown-up version of the PJ parties we used to have back in high school. Yes, we had PJ parties back in high school. I know it sounds weird, but trust me, it wasn’t. Back then, we spent a lot of time together and sometimes, it was just too late at night to brave the New York streets to go home. Matty always slept on the floor and per our parents’ rules, the door stayed open at all times. It was innocent. No funny business.
Anyway, tonight, I want Mateo to see that I'm serious about taking myself less seriously.
I can let my hair down.
I can have fun.
So now, here we are, standing in my apartment decked out in fleece in the middle of a May heatwave. God bless the resourceful soul who invented the air conditioner because it’s the only thing keeping me from melting to the ground tonight.
When Matty saunters from the couch over to the kitchen area, happily whistling along to the end credits of the Sandra Bullock flick we just finished watching, I know the pajama party apology currently in progress is a roaring success.
I'm setting an empty pot on the stove to make our popcorn refill when he yanks the refrigerator door open and sticks his head inside. His onesie-clad ass is the only part of him I can see from where I'm standing and he wiggles it with shameless abandon—long, green dinosaur tail and all—in time with the music pouring in from the television. What a sexysaurus. Raarrr!
My chest vibrates and my shoulders shake as I try to keep my laughter in.
He eyes me questioningly as he emerges from the fridge and kicks the door shut with his foot. “What's wrong?” he asks around the carrot stick tucked into the side of his mouth like a cigar.
What's wrong?
Nothing, actually. In this moment, everything feels right.
Most of the night was spent watching silly movies and trading war stories about what life has been like over the past few days that we’ve been apart. I told him about my twilight-zone massage experience and my mother's adventures in finding me a man. He told me about the group of Instagram followers who tackled his shopping cart when they recognized him at Duane Reade the other day. It felt like the good old days, laughing and poking fun at each other.
And now, I've got Instagram's favorite smoothie-making underwear model twerking in front of my fridge with an armful of vegetables clutched to his chest and a carefree twinkle in his eye.
The best part? This is all for me. I get the parts of Mateo Ramirez no one else gets to see.
My eyes scan over him, top to bottom. The zipper won’t go all the way up because the onesie is a little too tight across the chest. Also, the sleeves are way too short, revealing several inches above his wrists. Even still, Mateo looks wickedly sexy tonight. His thick arms and shoulders spread the fabric taut over his body. I want to trace my fingers up the swatch of muscled chest at the opening of the pajamas. And that hug he gave me at the door? It made me a little tingly in the girly bits.
Damn, this feeling is strange. Matty is one of my oldest friends, so I’ve done my best not to think of him “that way” over the years. But tonight... Tonight, I’m feeling curious. And a little turned on, which is testament to Mateo’s appeal. Because if he can make me feel this way when he’s wearing a green dinosaur onesie, what would he make me feel when he’s not wearing it? What would those big hands feel like on my hips? Would Matty be a greedy kisser or would he take it slow? Logically, I know there’s no way to get an answer to those questions without risking irreparable damage to our friendship. But a girl can dream.
“Why are you grinning like that?” he asks, sporting a grin of his own as he dumps the veggies next to the blender on the imitation-granite countertop.
I smile even wider as the opening score for the next movie starts up in the background. “I’m a lucky girl, having you in my life. That's all.” I throw some popcorn kernels into the pot and turn to face him, propping a hip against the counter.
“Yes, you are lucky, Al. My other clients pay good money for an hour of my time. And you get all of this—“ he motions with his hand up and down his dinosaur-clad body, “—for free.” He tosses me a wink.
“No, seriously. It was wrong of me to shut you out all week, Matty. I was embarrassed that you saw me acting like a drunken idiot and that you had to haul my dumb ass home to keep me from ending up in the back of a squad car.”
With eyes full of tenderness and sympathy, he leans forward and tucks a stray lock of hair under the hoodie of my pajamas. “I’d never judge you for having a weak moment, Al.”
I feel incredibly vulnerable with him looking at me like that and touching me like that and being his usual sweet self. "I know," I whisper. “I know that you, of all people, have my back. You always have.”
That's the truth. He'd been there for me when my dad died, when I was floating aimlessly through ninth grade. On New Year's Eve, when Mr. Benson and my coworkers crushed my spirit, Matty was the one helping me keep it together. And five days ago, when happy hour devolved into a four-ring circus, he dropped everything to come and make sure my clown-ass got home safely. Without harassment charges.
Mateo Ramirez is more than a hot body and a breathtaking smile. He’s one hell of a guy.
I push down my lustful, inappropriate urges and bring my eyes to his. “At the end of the day, we're friends, you and me. Above all else.”
Something passes over his face, but it fades before I can read it. His eyes shift away from me as he shoves a fistful of kale into the blender. “Sure. Friends above all else,” he mutters quietly. He picks up a knife and starts hacking away at a cucumber on the cutting board.
Okay, then... I guess I haven't managed to diffuse all the weirdness between us after all. But I'm willing to be patient if he needs a bit of time to forgive me completely.
A heavy breath escapes my lips. “What I'm saying is, I appreciate you. Not just because you're helping me with my resolutions and you're whipping me into shape. I appreciate you for the person you are, Mateo.”
“And I appreciate you, Allison. And I can't wait till you're fully aware of how awesome you are. It doesn't matter if your dumb boss thinks you don’t deserve a promotion. Or if your coworkers think you aren't fun enough to hang with them. Or if your mom thinks you need to be popping out babies like a human candy dispenser. You're beautiful. You’re smart. You’re...sexy.” His gaze drops briefly to my breasts before rebounding to my face. “You’re enough. Just the way you are. And you don't ever have to apologize for the woman you are.”
Did he just call me sexy? Oh fuck. I am so reading too much into that. Right? Mateo’s just being nice. As always. Saying whatever it takes to brighten my mood. “You always know how to make me feel better,” I whisper.
He sets down the knife and takes a step forward. The fingers of his left hand swipe across my cheek before gripping the edge of the counter next to me. He throws on a go
ofy smile. “What kind of Matty would I be if I didn't know how to make my Al feel better?” He cages me in when his right hand falls to the counter on the other side of my waist.
This man is pretty fucking amazing. Inside and out. Any woman with a pulse would fall for a guy like him and as I'm standing here with him, I'm starting to forget my reasons for resisting my attraction to him for so long.
In that moment, a realization sweeps over me...I am a woman with a pulse. A pulse that's beating like crazy at the apex of my thighs.
Finally, it's crystal clear to me that the reason I felt so embarrassed to face him in the aftermath of my happy-hour meltdown is because...I like him. For real. And it's mortifying that he knows my biggest secret; underneath my sharply cut blazers and my quick-witted legal jargon, I'm sort of a mess, a woman fumbling around for her place in the world.
I grow jittery as his hot gaze penetrates all the way to my soul. When Matty looks at me, he sees me. It's unnerving. Desperate for some reprieve from his intensity, I break eye contact and allow my attention to drift past his shoulder. My gaze falls on the list of resolutions taped to the refrigerator door.
“Matty?” My voice is quiet but thick, and I can feel my blood raging in my veins.
“Yeah?” he whispers, his voice coarse and gravelly.
My tongue darts out and licks my lips. “I know you're probably all out of favors for me but...I sort of wanted to ask you…” I hesitate. My focus falls to his chest and I swear I can see his heart thudding under the velvety green fleece of his onesie.
His finger hooks under my chin and he lifts my face so that our eyes connect again. “Anything for you, Al…”
I swallow as I look up at him. “I want you to help me with another one of my resolutions.” My chest expands as I fill my lungs with air. “I want you to help me perfect the art of kissing.”
His broad shoulders go tense above me. His body nearly vibrates with restraint. His Adam's apple bobs. “Are you sure, Allison?” Voice rumbling with lust, his attention falls to my mouth and his tongue draws a trail across his lips.
Eyes hooked on the slow movement of his tongue, goosebumps rise along my skin. I nod a little too vigorously. “I am. I'm sure.” Whoa, Allison. Eager, much? I blink and my gaze snaps back to his eyes. “I-I just mean, it's May and…”
Matty's big, rough hand lifts from the counter and comes up to cradle my cheek.
“…and I'm thinking I need to cross a few more of those resolutions off that list…”
He leans down, coming closer and bringing an avalanche of heat and hormones along with him.
“…because th-those resolutions aren't going to resolve themselves, you know?”
The whole room fades from my awareness as the tip of his nose touches the tip of mine. At this point, I don't think he's even listening to me but I keep rambling on nervously anyway.
“…have you heard that statistic? The one about what percentage of people actually fulfill their New Year's resolu—“
My words grind to a halt when something low and dangerous grumbles in Mateo's chest. His free arm comes around my waist. “Al, shut up.”
And that’s all the warning I get.
The jolting impact of his mouth pressing hard to mine causes my knees to falter. My arms flail for a fraction of a second as my hands search for stability, something to cling to. I find it when my fingers grasp tightly to the padded dinosaur abs at the front of his onesie. I yank him closer.
Mateo's big body invades my space without restraint or apology. My lips part when I groan and his tongue sweeps through the crevice like a conqueror seizing the slightest opportunity to stake his claim.
He’s taking the lead. I feel myself losing control. And for once, I don’t even mind. This feels good. Hot and fluid. Soft. My thoughts are swimming, drifting downstream, out of my grasp. Because I never knew that letting go could feel like this.
It's that feeling of zipping across the foam pit at high speed. The exhilaration of taking the leap with no guarantee that I'll make it to the other side.
The thrill of throwing an axe without knowing if it will hit the bullseye...or accidentally decapitate a bearded lumberjack halfway across its trajectory.
Okay, brain. Have a seat because you're drunk and you're distracting and you're not making any sense.
All I know is Matty's arms around me and his mouth molded to mine feels a thousand times better than any risk I've ever taken. Because Mateo Ramirez has never let me fall.
His hand shifts lower and lower until his fingers are splayed out over my butt. He shoves my unicorn tail aside and squeezes me through the fabric of my onesie. He groans. I tangle my fingers in his silky, dark strands, getting more and more lost in this kiss.
I'm vaguely aware of an annoying pop-pop-pop sound trying to infiltrate my consciousness. I close my eyes tighter and ignore it, thinking only of Matty and his lips and his hands and his hard body crushing mine against the side of the counter.
But the pungent scent of charred something followed by the urgent wail of my smoke detector? Sadly, I can't deny that, and neither can he.
He jumps back and his eyes dart around before landing on the nearly empty pot. He snatches it from the burner as I cough, fanning smoke from the air. There are popcorn kernels lying all around the kitchen floor.
“Did you really forget to put the lid on the pot?” Mateo gags as he drops the skillet into the sink and turns on the water.
“Oh my God.” A jerky, broken laugh erupts from my lungs as I climb onto a barstool and rip the smoke detector from the ceiling. He pushes open a window and a rush of air seeps in, dissipating the smoke and heat and lust in the room.
I turn to him with wide eyes and a hanging jaw. “Well, then... I guess I've mastered the art of kissing... Damn, we nearly set the building on fire.”
Matty's eyes swim in a pool of mirth. He steps closer and his arms come around me again. "Don't get complacent, Al. One explosive kiss doesn't make you a master. We could all benefit from a few more lessons." His lips brush mine and fire roars to life inside of me all over again. “You know what they say: practice makes perfect.”
And I hope the fire department is on the way because I wouldn't mind kissing this man until this whole block goes up in flames.
17
Allison
June
“Al, we’re almost at jump altitude,” Mateo shouts over the roar of the Cessna’s engine. “Remember, when we push out, cross your hands over your chest, grab your harness, and arch like a banana.”
I nod to acknowledge his instructions and repeat the mantra in my head.
Arch like a banana.
Think like a banana.
Be the banana.
You can do this, Allison, I tell myself. This is all part of the new you. You don’t get more adventurous than throwing yourself out of a plane on purpose.
Oh shit. I’m going to throw myself out of an airplane!
On. Purpose.
How did I let him talk me into this? After my axe-throwing badassery, Mateo decided I needed to take it up a notch. He said I wasn’t challenging myself enough. As a certified skydiving instructor, he painted this pretty picture of floating through the air, taking in the magnificent scenery as the parachute does its job.
But what if the parachute doesn’t do its job?
Kersplat! That’s what.
I must’ve been drunk on his kisses when I agreed to this. There’s no other logical explanation.
Stupid awesome kisser.
“Al!” Matty shouts. “Did you hear me?”
No, I didn’t hear him. I’ve been too busy imagining plummeting to my death. “Huh?”
He gives me a crooked smile that would do all sorts of things to my girly parts if I wasn’t knocking on death’s door right now. “I said we need to hook our harnesses together. It’s almost time to jump.” He pats the floor in front of him. “C’mon, just like we practiced in the hangar. Sit between my legs and I’ll do the rest.”
I crawl over the threadbare carpeting and position myself between his muscular thighs. This tiny deathtrap is stripped bare—only the pilot is lucky enough to have a seat—the jumpers have to sit on the hard floor. Jet fuel permeates the air to the point where I feel like I’m huffing gasoline out of a plastic bag. Surely that’s not normal, right? Or maybe that’s how they get you to exit the plane—scramble your brain a little and then magically, jumping sounds like a fantastic plan!
Oy vey!
Mateo has his back pressed against the captain’s chair as he attaches our harnesses together. The plane tilts sharply, giving me a dizzying view of the ground below through the plexiglass window. I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth several times, hoping to calm my racing pulse. I suppose having a massive coronary would be one way of getting out of this.
“All set!” Matty says excitedly. “Put your goggles on, Al.”
Goggles. Right. “Where were those at again?”
Mateo laughs and fingers the rubber straps hanging from my neck. You know, the ones attached to my goggles? I roll my eyes at my own stupidity. As the door is opened, the cabin floods with wind, whipping my ponytail against my cheek. Holy shit, this is really happening. I’m going to jump out of a plane, 13,000 feet above ground, and hurtle my body toward the earth.
At over one hundred miles per hour.
Mateo must feel my body tense because he rubs his hands down my arms and rests his cheek against mine. “Relax, Al. I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ve done this hundreds of times. You’ll love it, I swear. Leaving the plane is the hardest part.”
I take a few more breaths. “Matty, I swear to God, if we die, I’m going to be so pissed at you.”
He chuckles as he taps my leg, prompting me to scoot toward the door like we practiced. We do this weird forward crab walk until I see a patchwork of green and brown sprinkled with miniature buildings. Mateo hooks my legs over his and plants my feet on the edge of the plane. He then pulls my head back to rest on his shoulder, getting me in the necessary fruitlike position.
Happy New You Page 13