by Karina Halle
“This is getting weird,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “This is why I don’t touch you.”
He grinned. “Maybe the more you touch me, the less weird it will get. You can start, maybe, with my toes.”
I let out a small laugh, grateful for it. “You are such a freak.”
He shrugged and finished the rest of his beer. A weird, thick silence wrapped itself around us. I started wondering if he felt hurt that I wouldn’t touch him. I started wondering if he had expected me to. I started wondering why I wasn’t, why I was so afraid.
I reached over and delicately touched my fingers to his temple. I slid them along his smooth skin, catching his silky strands and pushing them behind his ears. The tips of his lobes felt so soft, I had to fight every single instinct to not wrap my lips and tongue around them. I wanted to bite them, feel them between my teeth. I kept my fingers there, now gently nestled in the luxurious feeling of his hair.
His eyes slid to mine, burning, smoldering, like they were lit on fire and my gaze back only stoked the flames. I couldn’t look away, couldn’t take my hand away. I felt like I was drowning.
His full lips parted slightly, enough for me to catch a glimpse of his pink tongue. The heat inside me pooled between my legs, demanding I pay attention to my needs, to my wants, to my desires. I wanted to straddle him, right there and then, right on that stone wall, and feel his wide shoulders beneath my palms, his firm waist between my thighs.
There was only one way out of this. The moral police that I had never known existed had apparently taken up some real estate in my brain. They reminded me that he was married, and a bit drunk, and I should know better than to act on a damn crush.
Without warning, I suddenly blurted out, “I hope you’ll be satisfied with that. There is no way I’m touching your toes.” I then burst out laughing, a crazy, hyena-type laugh that was half-fake, half assfuck insane.
Mateo blinked a few times, shocked by my apparent descent into Crazyville. With the spell broken, he chuckled and gave me his patented shrug again. “It was worth a shot, yes?”
“Yes,” I agreed, giving him a wan smile. “So.” I cleared my throat and shifted my focus to the field in front of us. “Was that the question?”
“Oh, no,” he said. “My question for the day, my dear Estrella, is about your tattoos. What are they, what do each of them mean?”
I breathed a sigh of relief. I was used to this question. I started with my ankles. I pulled up my leg and rolled up the hem of my jeans. “This was my first tattoo,” I told him. “It’s a tattoo of the moon from the Little Prince. I got it when I was fourteen.”
“So young,” Mateo remarked.
“Yeah,” I said but offered no further comment. I rolled up the other leg and showed him the dots going around the ankle. “This is the constellation Auriga.” Knowing he could barely see it, I looked up at the sky and nodded to the horizon. “It’s right there. That bright star, that’s Capella. It’s part of it.”
“Are all of your tattoos of stars?” he asked, his eyes following my gaze.
“Most of them. I have the solar system on my back. I have Pegasus on my neck, Scorpius on my hip, Gemini on my ribs, Cassiopeia as a tramp stamp.”
“Tramp stamp?”
“Um, it’s what you get when you’re young and stupid.” I pushed at my lower back. “Right here.”
I showed him my newest tattoo on the inside of my right arm. “I got this done before I came here, Sagittarius…with skulls, to mix it up. Then I have the shooting stars on my shoulders and on my chest, plus a quote I like by Oscar Wilde right below it. I have a mermaid and ship on my bicep.” I flexed my arm for him. “And a maple leaf on my ass.” I quickly took a gulp of my beer and let him process that.
He laughed, his brows raised to the heavens. “Really?”
“Yup.”
“Did that hurt?”
“Nah. I have a lot of fat there. The stuff on the back of my neck hurt, ribs too. But my ass was fine.”
“I see. But, must be weird to have your ass in someone’s face, yes?”
I gave him a cheeky grin. “Not really. I have a nice ass.”
He stared at me for a few beats, then smiled and looked away. “As I said before, you are fascinating.”
I started peeling the label off my beer bottle. I knew what that meant—that I had sexual frustration—but I didn’t stop until the label was sticking to my fingers. I rolled it up and then flicked it off onto the grass. “I wish more people found me as fascinating as you do,” I said quietly.
“I am sure they do,” he said thickly. “It would be impossible to not be…enamoured with you.”
My heart seemed to pause, mid-beat. I wanted so badly to ask him point blank if he was enamoured with me. But I was afraid of the answer. It would be bad if he said yes and bad if he said no.
“You said I could ask you a question,” I reminded him gently.
He nodded. “Yes, I did. I am—how you say—all ears.”
I listened to the crickets for a few seconds. “Do you miss your family?”
His chin jerked down slightly and he gave me a funny look. “Do I miss my family? Of course I do. Why you ask?”
“I’m just curious,” I said. “Because I don’t miss mine. I don’t know what’s normal.”
“You miss your brother,” he assumed.
I nodded. “I do. I wish he was here with me, though.”
“You can miss people without wanting to be home. I wish my daughter was here.”
My face softened. “Oh yeah? Chloe Ann?”
“Yes,” he said warmly. “She would love it here very much. She loves animals. She would love the fields and the fat pigs and the horses down the road there. You would like her very much. And she would like you. You have the same sense of adventure.”
And now came the time for the question I could have ignored. “What about your wife. Do you miss her? Do you wish she was here?”
A hesitant look came into his eyes and he chewed on his lip. Finally he put the beer bottle down beside him and stared at his hands, blankly. “I could give you the good answer and tell you yes. But I would be lying and I don’t wish to lie to you, Vera.” He sighed while I was left wondering if it was he didn’t miss her or didn’t want her here…or if they were both the same thing. “As I said to before, women are complicated. My relationship with Isabel is…complicated.”
“Well,” I said somewhat awkwardly, trying to pave over it, “what relationships aren’t complicated?”
He gave me a sharp look. “The good ones.”
The thing is, I had to agree with him. That’s why I wasn’t even in relationships. Wham, bam, thank you dude, was way easier than getting your heart trampled on. The last relationship I was in nearly broke me to pieces. There was no way I’d ever go down that route again. And so, I hadn’t.
I kept all of that to myself though and only said, “I understand.” I could sense that he wanted to know more but so far my love life was not even close to being on the table.
“Vera, Mateo!” Angel’s slurred English interrupted us.
We both twisted around to see him stumbling toward us with a glass of wine in his hands and a stupid smile on his face. His white shirt was stained with purple red.
“Angel,” Mateo acknowledged him, pronouncing the “g” softly, like an “h.”
“I was sent here to tell you something,” Angel said, swaying a bit on his feet, his expression absolutely exuberant. It was only then that I was aware of the loud voices, music and laughter coming from the patio area. Their drinking game must have accelerated while I was in my own little world.
Our own little world.
“Yes, what is it?” Mateo asked him impatiently. He didn’t seem to appreciate the interruption either.
Angel’s eyes rolled back in thought and he rapidly tapped his fingernail against the wine glass. “Sammy…,” he paused. “Sammy told me to tell you ‘cunt.’ And if I said it, she would show me hers!”
Then he collapsed into a fit of impish giggles, turned on his heel and ran all the way back to the patio, his wine continuing to spill everywhere. A chorus of laughter erupted in the distance, everyone finding Angel’s dare hilarious.
I looked back at Mateo, my brow cocked. “Wow, you Spaniards are being corrupted more and more each day. Have you picked up any English that isn’t a bad word?”
Mateo chuckled and eased himself off the wall. “Wait until we have a chance to speak Spanish, I will teach you all the bad words.”
My face fell a little. “We’ll have to find the time before you leave. It probably won’t be tolerated until your last day.”
His smile was sad. He held out his palm, waiting for my hand. “Less than two weeks,” he noted softly.
I put my hand in his and let him help me off of the wall. Together we walked hand in hand until we were out of the dark and into the light. He then let go, but not before giving my hand a squeeze.
Chapter Ten
“Vera, get your butt over here!”
I opened my eyes and stared at the dark wood paneled ceiling. Sun streamed in through the open French doors, as did the shouts of whoever the hell was interrupting my nap.
I blinked a few times and slowly sat up. I’d passed out on the couch, my SLR camera on my stomach as I’d been reviewing all the photos I’d taken of the trip so far. I had no idea what time it was, but I had left lunch a little early, hoping to sneak in extra shut-eye.
After Mateo and I went back to join the makeshift party, I only stayed for about twenty minutes before I wanted to go back to my place. I was horny as hell and staring at Mateo as he drank another beer, knowing how soft his hair felt to my hands, was absolute torture for me. I went straight back to my room, locked the door, and brought out my vibrator. Normally my hands would have done the trick, but not for what I was envisioning.
Unfortunately, even after five orgasms in a row, imagining Mateo thrusting into me, jerking off, going down on me, I still hadn’t found the peace I so desperately craved. I tossed and turned all night and practically sleepwalked through the morning sessions.
After the nap, I still wasn’t that refreshed, probably because some hooligan was outside yelling at me. I growled in frustration and then got up. I flung myself at the iron railing and screamed, “WHAT?!” my hair blowing around me like a lion’s mane.
Down and across from me on the lawn of the dining hall a ragtag group of people had gathered, maybe a dozen.
I could see Mateo standing on the side of the group, wearing what looked to be jeans, a t-shirt and running shoes. My god, not a slick suit in sight!
At the front of the group was Eduardo who was wearing ridiculously tight shorts, knee-high socks and had a soccer ball under his arm. “We need another Anglo to make this even!” he yelled right back.
Didn’t these people realize that not only did I need some alone time each day, but I hated most sports. Give me tennis, give me skiing, give me my horseback riding but never sign me up for a god damn team sport.
Plus, Mateo was there and his forest green t-shirt showed off the V shape of his upper body, the strength of his tanned arms and his jeans looked really worn in, in that sexy mechanic kind of way. I couldn’t see his ass but I knew it looked amazing.
Maybe you’ll burn off your crazy libido, I thought to myself as I was getting hot and bothered all over again. It was either going to help or make it worse. Seemed I couldn’t really win while I was here.
I grumbled to myself and retreated to my room where I slipped on a pair of jean shorts that I knew made my ass look fine and my Chuck Taylors. Not the best soccer shoe but it would have to do. I quickly gulped down a glass of water at the sink and then ran down the stairs to join them.
“Okay,” I announced, waving my hands in the air. “I’m here, I’m here.”
I briefly made eye contact with Mateo before I was immediately sequestered over to the Anglo’s side. At least I got to see him turn around and join his team, proving that yes, his firm ass looked deliciously biteable in those jeans. Damn it.
“Vera!” Lauren snapped.
Oh great, she was here. I slowly turned around and glared at her.
She was already glaring at me through her glitter glasses, eyeing my boobs angrily. Was it because I was wearing an American Apparel top again? I thought we already went over this.
“Shouldn’t you be wearing a sports bra,” she said, “or something more appropriate for the sport?”
I somehow both raised my brows and narrowed my eyes. “Excuse me?”
Sure this top showed skin, but most of my shirts did. When did she become the cleavage police? Wasn’t she supposed to be a feminist?
Wayne stepped forward, dressed head to toe in Nike gear that looked like it was being used for the first time. He was trying really hard not to look at my boobs. “As team captain here, I say that what Vera is wearing is fine.”
“You too?” Lauren scoffed, turning to look at him, which kind of reminded me of Linda Blair in The Exorcist when her head goes all the way around. “What is it with you married men? Does the sanctity of marriage vows mean nothing anymore?”
Wayne’s expression turned into that of a scolded child. “I’m sorry?”
“I have to agree with Lauren,” Tyler said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Your top is distracting.”
“Shut up, you Brony,” I said. He looked appalled while I heard Wayne whisper, “What’s a Brony?”
“Come on, you guys,” Polly admonished, bouncing back and forth on each leg. Though she was wearing a tight t-shirt, her fake boobs still jostled around and yet Lauren wasn’t signalling her out. “It’s just a stupid football match. Let’s just play. Who gives a rat’s arse what anyone is wearing, I want that damn dinner.”
Apparently whatever team was going to win the match next week was going to get treated to a dinner in a fancy restaurant out in town, like we were episode winners on a reality show or something. The thing was, I didn’t want to spend yet another dinner with some of these people. If I won a dinner by myself, then yes, that would be a prize.
“Let’s hear it for dinner!” Wayne yelled and clapped his hands together, happy to have a segue off of whatever the fuck was going on with Lauren. “Okay team. Let’s go, let’s go.” While he waved everyone over to him to huddle and pick positions, I reached out and grabbed Lauren’s shoulder.
Kind of hard.
“What the hell is your problem with me?” I whispered as I spun her around to face me. Seriously, I had enough of her and her snarky, hateful attitude. She was pretty much the one thing that was putting a damper on Las Palabras.
She leaned in close. She smelled…not good. “I don’t like you,” she seethed, eyes wide and bright, like she was about to go apeshit on me.
“Why?” I asked. “I haven’t done anything to you.”
“Yes you have. You’ve done something to the whole female gender.”
Oh my god, what the fuck.
“I don’t like women who use sex to achieve what they want. Women are better than that.”
“What sex?” I asked, befuddled, pissed-off and a whole bunch of things. “I’m not having sex.”
She rolled her eyes. “You know his wife could find out everything.”
“There’s nothing to find out!” I yelled at her. By now it was quite apparent that we were having a little war on the corner of the lawn and the rest of our team was watching us impatiently. Thank goodness the Spaniards were further away and Mateo wasn’t picking up on any of this.
“You keep telling yourself that,” she said. “But I know girls like you. You make my life harder every single day.”
“Do you ever stop and think,” I said, waving my finger in her face, “that you make your life harder on yourself?”
She put her hands on her hips. “You have no clue, do you?”
“No,” I said just as I looked past Lauren’s shoulder and saw Sammy kick the soccer ball in our directi
on. I took a step back from Lauren and watched as the soccer ball slammed into the back of her head. “You have no clue.”
Lauren cried out, her glasses falling off her face and onto the grass.
“Heads up!” Sammy yelled with a smirk on her face.
I left Lauren to pick up her glasses and ran along to join the team, cleavage be damned.
After the little kerfuffle with Lauren, the rest of the game went pretty smoothly. Even though it was just supposed to be a practice match, Jerry was acting as ref and he was so into the game that he decided to cancel everyone’s first business session of the day and continue with the game instead. Everyone that wasn’t playing got to pull up the wicker chairs and watch from the sidelines.
I wished that’s what I could have done, instead I was running back and forth and pretty much fucking things up until Wayne put me in as goalie. Which would have been an okay gig if you were on the Spanish side, because none of the Anglos were even coming close to the net.
And the Spanish team had Mateo.
And Mateo was a fucking soccer god.
The one good thing about being in goal was that I had a very clear shot of the field (well, lawn), and the ball and wherever the ball was, Mateo was.
Even though we were playing on a lawn like bunch of grade-schoolers and the goal posts were nothing more than two orange traffic cones and Mateo was playing in jeans, he moved with the grace of a dancer, executed kicks and plays like he was in the stadium playing for Madrid. Everyone was kind of in awe, more watching him than actually playing seriously. And no one cared, because this was something you didn’t get to see every day.
The most amazing thing about the whole experience was the look on Mateo’s face. It was constantly lit up, like a spectacular sunrise that you never expected to catch. I sometimes caught glimpses of that look when I was talking to him but for the most part, Mateo came across as charming, witty, relaxed—and distant. There was always some edge, some darkness to him just rolling beneath the businessman exterior. But here, on the field, the way the ball danced with his feet, the way his supple body moved like he was in an intricate dance, it was like he’d come alive again.