Page 39 of Wasted On Us
You’re the girl who never came before until this man. And now you came three times in a row!
His hand slides around the side of my stomach. “We’re good together, Eden. No matter what happens in the future, you have to remember that.”
I turn to look at him, my mouth suddenly dry. “I should probably dry off before my hair turns into a rat’s nest.”
As I grab a brush to start detangling my hair, I have to wonder—what’s wrong with me? Why does the worst thing in the world for me leave me relaxed? The worst man I could choose, and he leaves me purring like a kitten. My mom was right. I must be openly courting disaster.
Chapter Sixteen
Mateo
“That espresso really was good. That girl at the gelato truck was right.”
Lounging by the lake with a beer in my hand, I reflect on the morning we’ve had. A lazy quickie in bed, followed by a shared shower, then onto the farmer’s market, where we had espressos and breakfast burritos and the most relaxing few hours of my life so far. If only it could always be this easy. The idea of going back to the dealership this week and being under those fluorescent lights is making me want to quit my job and start working at one of the lake restaurants tying pontoons to boat slips for rich diners somewhere over here.
“This is the life.”
Eden groans in agreement from her chair, reminding me of a housecat with her languid stretches. “You’d love it abroad. They know how to live. Much more of this and less of the rat race.”
“Sounds wonderful. We should go some time.” I picture us on a boat somewhere in the Mediterranean, wearing white linen clothing and drinking wine I can’t pronounce. Far away from where our parents can make us miserable or ashamed. “You could show me around. Forget just tiramisu, you could show me all the special places with the best food and drink.”
“Careful, Mateo. We don’t do that.” Eden’s shoulders tense, a grimace crossing her lips. I don’t see what the problem is or what’s so unappealing about my suggestion.
“Travel? Look at us.” I gesture between us with an open palm, pointing from our chairs to the lake and back again. “Clearly, we do.”
She sighs in annoyance, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “No, we don’t make future plans.”
“What if we plan a last-minute trip to Sicily in six weeks?” I drag the word Sicily out a little longer than necessary, hoping that the mention of Italy will tempt her out of this funk. It doesn’t work.
A tiny wrinkle appears between her eyes. “That’s the future.”
“I don’t think so.” If we can’t plan even a month and a half ahead—what are we doing here? I’m starting to fear that this weekend is the only one I’m going to get from her for good. And even thinking about that makes my heart hurt. “Six weeks… it’s like a grain of sand in the hourglass of life.”
“Yes, but it’s forty-two days on the Gregorian calendar that the rest of us use.”
I reach my hand over to her chair and lay it atop hers. “Make one exception. For me.”
“I make a lot of exceptions.” Eden jerks her hand away, wiping it on her thigh before standing up. I’m left wondering where the woman I spent all morning laughing with as we looked at pints of strawberries and baskets of okra has gone, and who this stone-faced woman is who has replaced her.
“Name one,” I plead, getting sucked into the vortex of disagreement right alongside her.
“I’m here,” she spits, scrunching her mouth up tiny.
She has a point. But if we’re going to get anywhere with any of this, she’s going to have to relax a little. That’s just the nature of our situation. We’re going to have to take risks. I sit all the way up, bringing my legs to the side of my lounge chair and facing her.
“Make one more. I wouldn’t ask. I don’t do this.” I realize as I’m saying it that I’m starting to reveal too much. The ‘L word’ keeps hovering somewhere around the back of my brain, and I’m terrified I’m going to say something stupid that I’ll regret. But Ifeelit… dammit, I do. And for me, that’s epic. I’ve never said ‘I love you’ to any woman outside of my mom and my abuelita. But when I’m with Eden, my heart swells and threatens to explode with the emotion that she inspires. Taking a swig of my beer, I try to shift gears. “We should get going soon. That concert is starting, and you wanted to get changed first.”
Eden pauses, squinting at me as she works through something in her head. “Right. We’ll go…” she slowly agrees. I don’t like the look on her face. “As soon as you answer two questions.”
I swipe at some condensation with my thumb. “One. You only get one question.”
A tight little laugh spills out of her mouth, biting and sarcastic. “Oh, I remember how this works. Cool. Yeah. Perfect. So, we’ll compromise.”
“Yes! A compromise. One question.” I hold my finger up in the air for emphasis, already dreading whatever the singular question is, but wanting to appease her.
“Yes, one question,” she pauses. “And a follow-up question.”
“I don’t think that’s how compromises work…” I start to argue, but she cuts me off. “That sounds a lot more like manipulating me to get your own way.”