“Appreciate it.”
He hangs up, and I lay back on the couch, staring at the ceiling again. Fuck.
I wake up to the smell of coffee and a heavy weight sitting on my chest. I open my eyes to see a pair of alarmingly green feline eyes glaring back at me.
“Don’t show weakness,” I mutter. Without blinking, I sit up slowly, staring Tuna down. Her face scrunches up and she raises a paw at me. How exactly do you establish dominance over a cat? Dogs I get, but this thing? Not so much.
I lean in harder, expecting her to back down but she doesn’t. She reaches up and smacks me on the cheek, twice, before scampering off. I’m going to win that damn cat over if it’s the last thing I do.
11
Julia
Isleep like shit. It’s bad enough that Mateo is like twenty-five feet away, but to have left our conversation like that… It’s no surprise that sleep doesn’t come easy. I lied, and that never sits well with me. Not the stuff about Javier. I was way too honest about that. I almost wish I’d been drunk, so I’d have an excuse for everything I said.
But the part where I said I don’t know what I want… a gigantic load of donkey shit. I want a family and babies and someone that loves me more than anything. But in that moment, all of that was a distant whisper of a future that might never happen.
Then what do you want, Jules?
Even with his eyes burning into me like he was daring me to say it, I’m pretty sure there was no acceptable way for me to admit what I actually wanted. Not when all I wanted in this whole stupid world was to climb on top of Mateo and see how his lips felt on my body. I wanted him to wrap his arms around me and make me believe I wasn’t a selfish asshole for thinking that way about my friend.
So yeah. I didn’t sleep great.
I’m awake before the sun is up and lay in bed watching the first hints of soft blue morning light give way to weak golden rays. Finally, after giving up on getting any more rest, I get up and take a long shower. I debate putting on real clothes but it’s chilly and all I want is to feel cozy so I opt for a sweater and yoga pants again. And, just to prove to myself that I’m not trying to be sexy, I pull on a pair of thick fuzzy socks.
Making my way through the living room toward the kitchen, I stop dead in my tracks, frozen by the sight in front of me. Mateo, asleep on the couch, seems to have gotten overheated at some point. The pillows are in a heap in one corner of the room and he’s kicked the blanket down into a puddle at his feet. He’s flat on his back, one forearm under his head, the other dangling off the too-small sofa, fingertips skimming the floor.
Mateo is shirtless, his thickly muscled chest and stomach rising and falling with each breath. He has a tattoo on one side of his chest. That alone would have been enough to give me pause. I didn’t know he’d even gotten one. I’m so curious about it, dying to get a better look, but I don’t dare get any closer to him.
I don’t dare because the sight of what’s going on in his sweatpants makes my mouth go dry and I have to clap a hand over my lips to stop myself from swearing out loud. Calling that ‘morning wood’ would be a grave disservice. ‘Morning ancient redwood’ might be more apt. All other men are cedar saplings by comparison.
Oh, lord.
He shifts in his sleep, and the movement is enough to send me scurrying to the kitchen. The last thing I need right now is to get caught drooling over his credentials. Also, as a healthcare professional, I have logistical concerns. Like that thing would require some serious foreplay, right? Industrial grade lube? A mental image of Jennifer Lawrence frantically screaming, “I volunteer as tribute,” flashes through my mind and I laugh out loud as I open the fridge. I pull out the carton of eggs, reaching for a tube of sausage, but put it back because now I can’t handle it without thinking about Mateo’s trouser snake. Trouser anaconda?
God, I’m a mess. And, apparently, an immature child.
Coffee first. Everything's better with coffee, right? Working as quietly as I can, I pour the beans in the grinder and hold it under my sweater, trying to muffle the sound so I don’t wake up Mateo in the next room. I might as well fill a blender with ice and metal shavings and run it right in front of his face for all the good it does. The stupid thing is so damn loud.
It’s almost worse once it stops and I listen in the silence for the sound of Mateo or Luis stirring, but the house is quiet as I start the coffeemaker.
The first drops are just falling into the coffee pot as I crack eggs into a pan.
“Smells good,” a deep voice rumbles behind me. I jump, dropping the spatula as I whirl around.
“Jesus,” I gasp. “Could you please not?”
Mateo leans a forearm against the doorway in his sweatpants. He’s thrown on a t-shirt, but it’s so damn tight that he’s basically a one man advertisement for lycra. His muscular torso twists, flexing in the morning light. The whole freaking package is just perfectly designed to glue my tongue to the roof of my mouth.
Well shit.
“Sorry, Jules. What can I do to help?” Mateo asks, running his hand through his sleep-rumpled hair.
He can help me out of my damn underwear, is what he can do.
“Plates?” I point at the cabinet, watching him out of the corner of my eye as I pick up the spatula and toss it in the sink.
Mateo sets the plates next to the stove. He steps up close to my side, reaching around me to open the bread box and pull out a loaf of bread. For just a second, he rests his hand on the small of my back, his chest brushing against my shoulder, the warmth of his skin seeping through my shirt. And then it’s gone and I don’t know whether I’m more relieved or disappointed.