I’ve been carefully silent about how I’ve longed for this closeness more than anything we could do while wearing nothing at all. He doesn't need me to say I miss the casually intimate contact with teammates more than years of sex with strangers. He doesn't need me to tell him that the memory of this afternoon will help get methrough the next few months.
But maybe he’s seen right through me and will give this to me anyway.
“The right way is cuddling on my couch?”
“I’m still not trying to get away with anything,” he promises. “But I want to hold you, and you want us to tell the truth. So, what else do you want to know—now, not when I'm gone?”
I blink once or twice, then grab a nearby throw blanket and lie down, my back pressed to his chest. Our legs slot together with no real effort, then he wraps an arm around my waist and nuzzles hair that must smell of chlorine.
“Do you believe in love at first sight?”
“No,” Mateo says.
“No?”
“I think love requires a little more time.”
“Why did you agree to drive me to the food truck that night?”
“Because I think love requires a little more time.”
I’m grateful to be facing away from him when I squeeze my eyes shut and do my best to breathe. “And you stayed until morning.”
“Just like today, you asked me to.”
“What will happen when the waiting is over? When we can always stay, and we don’t stop at a kiss?”
Mateo’s lips graze the back of my neck, or maybe I’m imagining broken rules. Either way, the heat of his answer raises goosebumps on my skin.
“We can do anything you want, but I want you to be loud. I want tomakeyou loud.”
“I want us to go slow,” I tell him.
“Okay. We can do that. We can be loud and slow.”
"You think about it a lot, don't you? I'm not the only one?"
"Of course not," he murmurs. "I think about it all the time."
It’s simple and honest, and now that we’ve said that much, I don’t feel his mouth anymore. I’m curious and aroused, and I want details from a man who's probably done it all. I also know we have to stop talking about a night that's still two years away. The rest can stay confined to my dreams, or the nights I’m wide awake and stroking myself off. I'm worried we've pushed today's boundaries as far as they will go.
"Do you like disaster movies?"
"Sure. Are we going to watch one?"
"If you'll stay a little longer."
"I will."
He stays long enough for us to watch a few. Pizza gets delivered somewhere among them. I find better pillows for us. Mateo borrows a pair of sweatpants. He massages my leg. I try not to cry.
He stays until morning because we want to believe it's that easy. We won't remind each other why it's hard.
Chapter Eight: Mateo
(I Listened to His Confession)
My grandfather dies six weeks after I said goodbye to Jamie on another oceanside morning.