Rivers end boxset volume.., p.43
River's End Boxset Volume 3, page 43
But he had a tattoo on his neck. She felt ashamed because that’s what had stopped her from knowing him in the past. That’s what had triggered the judgment. The cataloguing with unfair assessments. Distrust. All the wrong conclusions.
She was the jerk to their situation.
But after a real conversation with Mateo Alvarez, she met someone who amused her and made her relax a bit. He taught her how to be sarcastic when she wasn’t comfortable. And she saw vulnerabilities in him. Confusion. Things she wanted to explore.
What did she really want to do? Cuddle him. Yeah. He needed a lot of care. She was certain, deep in her gut, that affection and caring and all the things that she suddenly felt the impulse to do to him were necessary. Hug him. Hold him. Smile at him. Make him smile.
She realized how seldom he genuinely smiled. But when he did, it softened his whole appearance. His face. His cheeks. His eyes. His intent gaze. It made him so much younger and uncertain, and she loved to see it.
So there she was, standing at his little house with her arms full, kicking the door in her attempt at an awkward knock. He flung the door open and she grinned widely, showing all of her teeth. With a tepid contortion of his mouth, he grabbed the pizza box and guided her inside.
She set the drinks down on the small table and he put the pizza on the counter that was smaller than the box. “There’re some paper plates in there. It’s still hot, I hope.”
“Yeah. Thanks. Smells good. This from the River’s End café?”
“Yes. It’s a lot better than the pizza made on the ranch but don’t tell anyone that.” She began opening the box and took out a few pizza slices before dividing up the ready-made salad and setting it beside each slice on a paper plate. She slid his plate to the opposite seat. He stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to do next.
They sat in his warm oven-shack. The window overlooked the river and mountains. The lovely view and fading light supplied the ambiance. She took a bite and let the cheesy, loaded toppings melt over her tongue. “Ahh. Hell, yes.”
He was watching her and his eyes did that glittery thing. That hard-to-read thing where she had no idea if he thought she was stupid or wonderful. “Go ahead.”
“No way I can make it as sexy as you just did.”
She pressed her lips. “I wasn’t being sexy. I was starving. Don’t stare at me. Anyway, how was your day?”
“My day?” he repeated, caught off guard.
“Yeah, your day. This is how it works. We eat. We talk about big things and small things. We mention little specifics about what happened during the day to each of us. And that’s how we get to know each other.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Little specifics?”
She bit again and the cheese dripped onto her chin. She stuck it back into her mouth and sucked on her fingers. His gaze was fastened on her lips and tongue. She rolled her eyes. “God damn it, Mateo. I am not doing this. I’m eating pizza. Quit looking at me like you’d like to—”
“Like to what, Rosie?” His lips curled up at the corners in a soft, mocking smile.
“That…”
“Like I’d like to fuck your mouth?”
She almost choked while sipping her drink. His words made her sputter as she tried to keep the soda inside her mouth and nose. She grabbed a napkin and held it over the lower half of her face. She was burning up. Her entire face was an angry red. Crap. Then Mateo let out a laugh. It was a short, sharp snort and chuckle. Barely audible, she slowly lowered the napkin. He was shaking his head. “I might have been thinking that, but I said it for your reaction. You’re so easy.”
“Easy…”
“Easy to fuck with, Rosie. Not fuck. You can’t possibly think I’d say you’re easy about sex. Ha. You’re the opposite of whatever that would be. I just like how pink you get when you’re shocked. It’s kind of—”
Angrily, she smacked the napkin down on the table. “Kind of like a sport making fun of me?”
“No, you’re adorable when you blush and get flustered. You wanted to get to know me. Here I am. Sorry but I’m rude and crude and you make me laugh. I like it.”
She rubbed her hands together. Was that a compliment? At least he found her adorable… but… well, crap. She did ask to know him. The truth can floor you sometimes.
She tilted her head. “We are completely opposite.”
“Lord, Rosie, I would hope you noticed that already.”
She glanced down, staring at her fingers that were interlacing. Her nerves made her so unsure. “Yes. Do you think we can find enough in common to make anything work?”
“No.” His tone was as harsh as his expression. “But I… it’s fine if we keep… whatever.”
She darted a glance his way. It was like pulling teeth to get anything out of him. But when she threatened to leave him, it was actually a subtle request to stay near him. She had no idea what to do next. Where it could lead?
As long as she was careful not to get sucked in by those hot, sparking, dark eyes that promised so many things… things she barely had a taste of. And crap if she wasn’t eager for more.
Over the course of several such evenings that began with her bringing dinner to his place, Mateo started to talk a little more. Literally, he offered her little morsels of information.
She’d ask him a series of questions and he’d answer each question exactly as she asked it. No more and no less. It was so frustrating for her. She could not coax him to elaborate or explain and he could barely participate in an ordinary conversation, guarding everything he said or did in his history.
The most innocuous of questions like, where did you go to elementary school? made him squint at Rose with unmasked suspicion. He seemed to be looking for an ulterior motive behind what she asked. Something dark and manipulative. He honestly never hung out with a woman, or anyone else it seemed, just to get to know them.
“How did you become friends with Iris? You let her talk to you?”
“We had to. We worked together so we had no choice.”
“So you think someone needs a reason to want to get to know you?”
“Uh… I don’t know. Just… shit, maybe, yeah.”
Her eyebrows nearly crossed in the middle of her forehead. “Except for Iris, have you ever just had a good friend?”
His entire torso straightened and he bristled. “I know a shit-ton of people.”
Eye-rolling him, she shook her head. “No… I’m not talking about just hanging out with them but really knowing and seeing and interacting?”
Sadly, that made him squirm and fidget. He looked at her as if she’d stripped off her clothes and started singing “Cabaret.” He felt weird and uncomfortable. “It’s just talking and caring about what the other says. It’s not that hard.” She tilted her head. “At least it’s not supposed to be.”
He bristled and crossed a foot over his knee. “I’m not scared. I always answer you.”
She gritted her teeth. “Ask me something. Socialize with people. I’ve heard you do it with Iris. Do that with someone else once in a while.”
“But Iris and I discuss the cars and how to fix them… it makes sense. We don’t sit around confessing our feelings and shit.”
“Okay.” She released an exasperated breath. “Let’s start by talking about things that make sense to you and don’t involve feelings and shit.”
He perked up, but kept eyeing her with skepticism. “For real?”
“Yeah, for real. Tell me what you and Iris are working on? What did you do today? Tell me in the simplest terms so I can understand.”
“But you don’t fix cars. You know nothing about them. What do you care? Why would you want to know about that?”
“Um… because it’s a starting point? Conversation. Work with me here.” She smiled. “Relax. Just start there and let’s see if we can’t find something new to talk about that doesn’t involve me grilling you as if I’m reading you your Miranda rights.”
“And if we can’t?”
“Then we’ll know we should quit wasting our time together and we won’t sleep together again so it’s all done.”
His entire face contorted, then relaxed with surprise. “Huh.”
She had no idea what it meant.
He leaned forward and rested his hand on the table. His long fingers were almost elegant and her gaze landed on them. Maybe she was thinking about things she shouldn’t have.
“So a couple came in and the wife was trying to explain the noises her engine was making. But he kept talking over her and correcting her like an asshole. So I finally just started the car and low and behold. The woman was spot-on. I told her that and she gave me a relieved smile before they left to sit down and wait. He never quit grumbling about how wrong I was, and what a stupid place this was. But they waited for me to fix the car.”
“What an asshole he was, but at least his wife appreciated you.”
“Exactly.” He nodded and Rose almost clapped, nearly grabbing his hand to cheer, yes! Just like that.
He was finally talking about his day and she could ask, “Does stuff like that happen a lot? Where the women drivers are ignored by their husbands?”
“All the time. Guys are such assholes, to be honest. So many times, and if I was the wife, I’d kick the guy in the nuts. But whatever.”
She giggled and laughed, liking him all the more and they started talking more. Just talking about inconsequential things. Nothing. Getting an idea about what they both wanted. Getting an idea if they could stand to spend more than a few moments together.
The part that scared and thrilled her was she could not only stand it… she overly looked forward to it. But could she trust him? Date him? It seemed incredible and strange to imagine but… here they were… doing what exactly? Almost dating? Oddly… she thought so.
One week later, he was stuffing the pizza box, for she bought a lot of them, into the small trash can. He was trying to make it fit while pushing his hair back. It was down, falling long and untethered around his shoulders. “Stupid hair,” he muttered.
“Why don’t you cut it off if you don’t like it?”
“Cut it?” He straightened up and glanced her way.
“Well, if you don’t like it, change it.” Had that never occurred to him?
“I got the ugliest haircut when I was growing up. My mother did it to me. She didn’t give a shit how I looked so I was often ridiculed for the haircuts she gave me when I was young. I vowed I’d never get a stupid haircut again.”
Her breath hitched. That was so much information. So much more than he usually divulged about himself. Including his opinions. A glimpse of his childhood and a mother who didn’t care and how angry he was. Wow.
“I can cut it. I do Iris’s anytime I’m around. She always wore short hair and I have a knack for doing hair so I can do it.”
“I don’t want Iris’s haircut.”
“Well… No kidding. How about this?” She grabbed her phone and brought up a series of men’s haircuts, scrolling down until she found what she believed was ideal for him. “This?”
He took her phone and looked. He glanced back up at her and tilted his head. “You think you could cut it exactly like this?”
“Sure.”
“For real. I can’t go around looking like Iris.”
“I swear I won’t make you look like my sister.” She grinned as she got up and shoved him playfully on the shoulder. “I really can do it. I’ll bring my comb, razor and shears tomorrow.”
She showed up the next day with dinner, which they ate, before taking out her electric razor and sharp shears. His eyes followed her as if he worried she would stab his neck with them. Gulping he asked, “You sure you know how to use those?”
For a moment, she bristled but ignored it. “Yes. Now, slip your shirt off.” He gave her a suggestive eyebrow lift of interest. She rolled her eyes. “For the haircut.”
She stepped back and grabbed the scissors. She had to hold her breath when he tugged his plain white t-shirt over his head. His long torso was smooth and dark. He was strong, but slim. Muscles were visible on his strong arms and stomach, but everything was skinny. Like he needed to eat more. She also saw the collage of his life. Tattoos swirled from the waistband of his shorts to his stomach, climbing over his abdomen to continue around his pecs and shoulders. Pictures, symbols and letters. Sayings and scripts. There were so many. She didn’t know what any of it meant. The tattoos were mostly black lines and words. Most of the actual colors were absent. Her gaze wandered around the words and illustrations on his skin.
He turned and slipped into the kitchen chair. She smiled and went behind him.
“Do you hate them?”
“What?” she asked as she grabbed the elastic band that held his silky hair back. She tugged and he flinched. She gently unwrapped it from the strands, but many of them were caught and it hurt him when she undid them.
“I feel like you know what I’m asking.”
“I hate these more.” She stuck her freckle-covered arm in his face. He flinched back to see what she was showing him.
“What?” he asked.
“Freckles. White, pale, ghostly skin that never tans but stays either white or pink and then goes back to white again but not before being sprayed with brown splatter dots that number in the thousands.”
He tilted his head up to stare at her. His neck tattoo was nearly covered by the long hair falling around his shoulders. He looked dark and dangerous and her throat was parched. She regretted confessing her hatred of freckles to him. “You think those are worse than my tattoos?”
“I never said anything about your tattoos. But yes, I hate my freckles. I didn’t stick them on my skin. You chose those tattoos so you must have wanted them. It’s not the same thing.”
He ran his long fingertips up and down her arm. “I love these. They are what make you, you.”
She touched his shoulder, following the line of a circular image there. “And these are what make you, you,” she said softly. He stared up at her. She gulped down her nerves and a soft smile touched her lips.
“And these don’t disgust you? Or turn you off?”
Her tongue slipped out and she licked her lips. “Mateo, I think my reaction to you on the beach was evidence that they don’t.”
His severe, fierce look relaxed when his lips tilted up in a smile. “Yeah. Hmm, if that’s how you show stuff… You showed me a lot.”
“Then don’t ignore that.” She blushed furiously, turning to relieve her embarrassment as she took the black comb and brought it through his hair. She did that several times. She grabbed the spray bottle of water and quickly doused his hair. He shuddered as the cool, fine mist hit his bare skin. Taking the towel from her shoulder, she wiped his neck and shoulders before letting the towel rest there. Stretching his wet hair out with a comb, she snipped off a hunk. “You sure?”
“You said you knew what you were doing.”
“Your voice sounds like it’s trembling,” she replied, biting her tongue to keep in the smirk.
“It’s… I’m a little worried I’ll look like Iris.”
She laughed and only when she quit laughing did she snip. Then she snipped and again and again. In only a few seconds, most of his hair lay on the floor in wet chunks. He stared down, then said, “Wow, that’s a lot of hair.”
“Just wait.” She grinned as she started styling it then. She worked from the top. Then she blended the sides and shaved his neck and around his ears. She came directly in front of him and stared right at his forehead to get his bangs right. They flopped over his brow, so they were still long, but now they made him look breathtaking. A haircut changed his entire appearance.
She snipped and snipped again to layer it, standing back to check that the ends were straight and even. She was so busy concentrating on her task, she didn’t realize he was staring at her until she lowered her gaze.
She gulped. He’d been watching her face as she worked so intently on him. But he wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t interested in the end result. He was devouring her being so close. She licked her lips, physically affected by his proximity.
Dark, solemn gaze. How long did they hold eye contact? Ripples of energy flowed down her spine. Shivers broke out on her skin. He meant so much to her.
She felt so intense. She couldn’t hold it long. She was unable to be sultry and sexy enough to keep this dark angel interested. In her. But he seemed to be. Her gaze lowered and she focused on the place where she used to stare to avoid his gaze. She couldn’t hold it now. Not anymore.
Instead, her gaze drifted to the delicate illustration on his neck. It had the most detailed, intricate wings under almost translucent skin. She never realized the design was so exquisite. His Adam’s apple made it move. She released her fingers and the comb dropped.
She lifted her fingertips and brushed them over the design. She felt the warm, smooth skin of his throat. She rubbed his neck. She was entranced when she felt his pulse through his skin and it fluttered like she imagined a firefly’s wings would.
Her gaze lifted to his when he sucked the air through his nose. His eyes sparked. With annoyance? Lust? Emotion? She didn’t know. She never could be certain when he was like this. Her dark angel. He really was. So hard to read, yet what she discovered under his demeanor wasn’t dark or hard to be around. That still surprised her.
She set the scissors on the table. Her gaze was still riveted on his neck. She licked her lips. “Did it hurt?” She rubbed it as if she would smudge the ink.
“Yeah.”
“How old were you when you got this one?”
“Sixteen.”
She lifted her startled eyes to his. “So young.”
“Was it? I was never really young, Rosie. Not like you.”
Why? What was he then? Where was he from? What happened to him? What? She had so many questions. But tight lips and closed eyes were his response. She kept rubbing over the firefly. He swallowed and she could feel the vibration. She smiled down at him as he sat, making her taller than him. Just barely.
