Mateo's shirt is open when he wraps his arms around me again. We sway, his mouth next to my ear. "You've stayed before."
"Not when we've been like this."
"We weren't like this when you first said no to spending the night. You'd probably decided that before you left your house."
He's right, and he knows it, and he only holds me closer, almost grinding against me to a song that doesn't demand it. It's agonizingly slow, and I let it happen because I've never stopped wanting to be wanted. And by this man more than anyone I've ever met.
"I don't know how to be less than everything with you either."
"We're going to have to wait longer than a few more weeks, aren't we?" he asks, his question pressed to my temple before he drops his head to bite at my shoulder, frustrated in a way I'm unable to fix. "It can't be right after graduation, because everyone would know."
"Yes, we'll have to wait," I rasp.
One of his hands slides down my back and stops just below my waistband. The pressure there keeps me in place when he knows I'm about to run. I'm weak enough to stay for another terrible, wonderful minute, and if he pushes any harder, I might stay forever. Then I remember a year ago, on the bench, when I was in Mateo's lap and rocking forward and more aroused than I'd been in years. Even my prom night mistake with Melanie couldn't compare then, and he and I are closer to trouble now.
"Go."
For the second time tonight, he startles me, that single word almost a kiss left on my cheek. I nod because the hair on his face feels so fucking good against me. Then I press my hand to his chest as I back away, his heartbeat as wild as mine always has been.
I'm still fully clothed, my shoes, phone, and keys all I need before I leave. Mateo doesn't move from the middle of the living room when I walk toward the door. Actually, his head is tipped downward, like I've given him a reason to pray.
I step outside and pull his apartment door closed behind me. The night greets me with a haunting hum of near-silence, and I start walking to my car with a prayer of my own—unspoken, but so loud inside my head.
Don't stop being everything.
Don't stop loving me.
Don't stop waiting.
Then I stop and turn around.
Chapter Ten: Mateo
(I Asked Him to Let Me In)
Ishould jump when I hear the knock at the door less than a minute later, but I don't. Maybe I'd noticed the footsteps, or maybe I'd just hoped hard enough for Jamie to return. I look down my body, where my shirt is still hanging open and my legs are now bare. My pants have joined the pile on the floor because my entire body is vibrating with need that hasn't allowed me to be tidy. I give myself a couple of quick strokes over the pale blue boxer briefs left behind and pause at the small wet spot that would give my secrets away if I had any to keep.
I step forward and remind myself to be careful because that faint line hasn’t gone anywhere, and even if Jamie has changed his mind about spending the night, it hasn't changed anything else. I'm so hard I think I could cry, but I've ignored it before and I can do it again. There's a month until graduation, and so much unknown after that, so for tonight, we'll continue to be friends.
Being everything has to wait.
It's so late—early, really—and while I don't expect anyone to be wandering past my door at this hour, I only crack it open, confirmit's him, then duck out of the way before the rest of the apartment complex can see me half-naked. Beautiful and bothered, he falls against the door as soon as it's locked again, and I won't pull him any closer. I stay a foot or two away and don't apologize for standing in front of him with a dick weeping for attention. Jamie doesn't apologize for failing to meet my eyes.
"Are you going to stay?"
"No."
That surprises me, I think. If we can't cross lines, and he won't spend the night like he's done before, there aren't a lot of options left for us. I watch as he turns his head toward the kitchen, and the empty glasses we left on the counter when I asked him to dance. I can't drink any more bourbon, but I won't stop him if he's thirsty. My phone is still there too, the playlist nowhere near over, just in case he'd like to dance again. Maybe I could take his shirt off this time.
When he gives up on the kitchen, he makes eye contact for a moment before he looks past me instead, finding the dark suit pants crumpled on the floor. Then his big blue eyes open wide.
"You weren't in your bedroom yet. You weren't getting ready to sleep. When you took off your pants, you—you were right where I left you."
"I was feeling pretty desperate. Didn't think I'd make it any further."
"Your bedroom's only twenty feet away."
I shrug. "My couch is right there."