I take another sip, simultaneously watching him lift a beer, my old beer, to his lips. If you’d described the scene to me two weeks ago, my first thought would have been ew, germs. Now . . . it makes my mouth go dry, and I find myself watching his mouth long after he lowers the bottle. I clear my throat and take another sip to wet my inexplicably parched throat. I don’t know why anyone would choose beer over something like this. I tell him, “It’s really good. Thank you.”
He’s looking away from me and out at the party as he says, “For you, Nell, I’ll make as many bad decisions as you want.”
Then his gaze tracks back to mine, and he winks, and I know if I touched my skin now, it would be burning.
Chapter 6
Mateo
Nell blushes, and my throat constricts because she reminds me so damn much of Lina. If I were already buzzing, I might even believe that I was dreaming or hallucinating or something. It’s just so fucking unreal.
From the minute I’d met Lina in sixth grade, I’d been half in love with her. She was smart—smart enough to be the best in every class and to give a thorough tongue-lashing to anyone who tried to mess with her. She had more confidence and control than any pubescent teenager should have, and it was hard not to put her on a pedestal, because she shined so damn bright.
And I was just another Mexican kid. Nothing special. I wasn’t that smart. We didn’t have much money. I was scrawny and entirely uninteresting.
As we got older, she grew into her strong features, started dressing more femininely, and her body filled out in all the right places to match those new clothes. And bam. Just like that, she was the smartest and prettiest girl no matter what room she walked into.
Or she was to me, anyway.
In my head, I’d been courting her since middle school, but in reality, I didn’t make a move until late sophomore year. I’d bulked up for football, and I’d learned how to talk to people, how to be interesting. I didn’t fade into the background anymore. We sat next to each other in a class. One of her friends was dating one of mine, so we got thrown together a lot. We started talking. Flirting. And then somehow, miraculously, she was mine.
This girl that I’d wanted for so long. We were together, and it was fucking special.
Until I fucked it all up.
And a girl like that doesn’t give an idiot like me a second chance. She’s way too smart for that.
And Nell . . . she has the same kind of strong features, same figure, same dark hair. From the side, I might even believe she was Lina. And I can’t help but feel like she’s a second chance of a different kind.
When I come back into focus, I realize I must have been blatantly staring at her. She’s determinedly not looking at me and gulping at her drink so fast that she’s nearly polished it off already.
“Hey. Easy,” I say, taking hold of her wrist. “It may not taste much like alcohol, but trust me, it packs a punch.”
“Right.” She nods. “Of course.”
“So . . . you and Dylan are roommates?”
“Yes. Since the beginning of last year.”
“Are you part of her hippy group?”
“Hippy group?”
“You know, all her activism stuff. Is that how you two met?”
“Oh. No. We had a class together freshman year. We both have an interest in making the world a better place, but Dylan does that by working with people. I . . . don’t.”
“Then what do you do?”
“Well, nothing much yet. But I’m studying for a career in biomedical engineering.”
“Biomedical engineering, huh? What is that? Like . . . designing medical equipment?”
Her eyebrows lift, and she turns so that she’s facing me, leaning her hip against the counter. She cocks her head to the side, and I’m pretty sure that’s a good thing, but I’m suddenly far too distracted by the perfect view I have down her shirt, and those damn pigtails that make my blood rush south.
It’s a good thing I’m wearing a snug pair of compression shorts beneath this damn loincloth.
“It can be, yes.” She sounds impressed, and I’m grateful that all those years spent chasing after Lina made me take more interest in studying. “It’s a growing field, but it can encompass everything from inventing or operating medical equipment to prosthetic design to research. It covers basically anything where the study of machines and technology meets the study of the human body.”
“So, what you’re telling me is that you’re a genius.”
She pushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear and answers, “I’m not a genius.”
“Look around the room, sweetheart.” I pause to let her view some of the alcohol-induced stupidity going on around us. “In this place, I think Darwin would definitely deem you among the fittest to survive.”
A brilliant smile blooms across her face, and I send up a silent thanks to Mrs. Ehrhardt, my high school biology teacher, for being such a hard-ass and never letting me get away with sleeping in her class.
“I think it’s safe to say that you would also be considered in that top tier.” She fidgets with her cup, but doesn’t lift her eyes to mine.
“Oho.” I grin. “A compliment. Softening to me already.” She rolls her eyes and sighs. I lean down until my mouth is close to her ear and ask, “You think I’m fit, girl genius?” All I can think about is how well I think she’ll fit against me. What I wouldn’t give to fill my hands with her perfect curves.
“Don’t be absurd. It’s perfectly clear that you know you’re . . .” She trails off and gestures primly in the direction of my bare chest.
“It’s perfectly clear that I’m what?”
“You’re an athlete. So, of course you’re in very good physical shape.”
“Personally, I prefer your physical shape, but thank you all the same.”
“How do you manage to make everything dirty?”
“It’s the curse I bear. I just can’t help myself.”
“Yes, well . . . I’m going to help myself to some fresh air. I think that”—she pauses to fan at her face a few times—“the alcohol has made me too warm.”
I want to tell her it’s not the alcohol. Or I want to believe it’s not anyway. Surely with all the blushing and her nerves, she must be feeling the same connection to me that I’m feeling to her. Or is it only that I’ve teased her too much? Did I take it too far? Damn it. I just can’t help it. I like the fire in her eyes when she’s flustered. It’s almost as much of a turn-on as that damn outfit.
I finish off the last of my beer, her beer actually, and say, “I’ll go with you.”
“Oh, thanks. But . . . I wanted to make a phone call. I’ll come back in a little bit.”
I frown. I’m almost positive she has no intention of making a phone call, which means I was right. I’m screwing this all up. Again.
With Lina . . . I had years to get to know her, to figure out how to talk to her. We were at ease with each other. Nell is most certainly not at ease with me. And I can already tell she’s a complex girl, and I’m going to have to do a hell of a lot better if I want to get to know her.
“Okay,” I say. “Just be careful. It’s dark out, and there are a lot of people around. If you need anything, come find me or one of the guys.”
She nods, takes two steps away from me, and hesitates. Then she turns and says, “Thanks for the drink.”
As if watching her walk away weren’t frustrating enough, the bounce of that short skirt just below her delectable ass is enough to give a healthy man heart failure. If I don’t find a way to get my hands on her tonight, I’m likely to go insane before morning.
TIME DRAGS AFTER Nell leaves, and no matter how many conversations I get pulled into, nothing holds my interest. Partying is what I do. Interacting with people is my strong point. And that makes Halloween pretty much my favorite day of the year. And yet . . . all I want to do is kick everyone out, put some gory movie on Netflix, and be alone with my thoughts.
God, this girl is m
essing with my head.
Maybe it’s because for the first time since Lina and I broke up, I’m not looking at the world in terms of distractions. All the things that used to entertain me, the things that helped me get over her . . . now they’re just annoying the hell out of me, and I wish I could drown them all out.
I’m half tuned into a conversation with Brookes and Ryan and a few more people about next week’s game when I spy Silas across the room. He gives Dylan a peck on the cheek and then takes her cup and heads for the kitchen, presumably to get her a refill.
I walk away from our group without making an excuse. Zay calls after me, but I wave him off. I dodge around people as quick as I can, and snag Dylan’s wrist before anyone else can pull her into a conversation. She freezes up, whirling around to face me, and I immediately let go of her arm.
“Sorry. I . . . Sorry.”
She shakes her head. “It’s fine. You just caught me by surprise. What’s up?”
“I need you to tell me about Nell.”
Her brows furrow, and for a few silent seconds I think she might actually help me. Then she bursts into laughter.
“I’m sorry, Torres. But you’ve got to be out of your mind. There is absolutely zero chance that I’m going to help you hook up with my roommate.”
“Come on. I’m not that bad.”
“I didn’t say you were bad. You are charming and funny and incredibly loyal. But you’re also a flirt. And you’re easily distracted by new, shiny, scantily clad things. And Nell is . . . she’s different. She may not seem fragile, but she is. And I would like to continue hanging out with all of you and keep my roommate. I’m not sure that would be possible if I let you anywhere near her.”
My spine locks up, and the tension starts creeping up around my shoulders, down my arms, all the way to my clenched fists.
“I’m not going to hurt her.”
“Listen, I respect that you’re up front with girls about your nonrelationship style. But Nell hasn’t dated much. I don’t know how she’d handle being with someone like you, so I think it’s better if it just didn’t happen.”
“You can’t stop me from pursuing her.”
And that was the dumbest thing I could have said. Dylan straightens, squaring her shoulders and giving me an intimidating stare. I can see the protective fire in her eyes, and combined with her Statue of Liberty costume, she definitely doesn’t look like anyone you’d want to mess with unless you’d like to get clobbered with a fake torch.
“What I meant to say is . . . I like her. If this were just about getting into her pants, I’d turn around and leave with my tail tucked between my legs. Honest. But I think she’s . . . interesting. I don’t know how to talk to her, though. Every time I think I’m gaining ground, she locks up tight or runs away. I just need to know what I’m doing wrong.”
Dylan sighs and stares at me.
“You promise me that you’re serious about this?”
“I am. I just want to get to know her better. And I promise I won’t let things go too far until I’m certain I’m in it.”
Dylan rubs at her eyes and groans. “Tell me something. The only time I’ve ever seen you pursue a girl longer than one night is when she’s not interested. Is this some kind of subconscious thing you do because you don’t really want to be in a relationship?”
“Maybe I just don’t see the point in going after someone I’m not willing to fight for.”
She purses her lips and begrudgingly replies, “Good answer.” She examines me a moment longer and sighs. “I’m so going to regret this.”
“Ah. Captain Planet. You’re the best.”
“Just tell me what you want to know.”
“What kind of guys does she like?”
Dylan blinks at me. “You know . . . I don’t have the slightest clue. She’s never seemed all that interested in guys.”
“Are you saying she’s—”
“No. I don’t know. Nell’s life doesn’t revolve around social things like parties or dating. She’s all about school. She’s focused and driven, and she puts her everything into her classes. I think it’s because she was the first person in her family to go to college. She feels like she has to prove herself, so she’s never really made any time for anything else.”
Well, damn. I certainly know what that’s like . . . feeling like you have to prove that you’re worth people’s attention.
“Then why is she all of a sudden coming to parties?”
She bites her lip, worrying it before she answers. “That would be my doing. I told her that she wasn’t getting the full experience out of college by just focusing on classes. Now I think she’s trying to broaden her horizons a bit.”
I smile, and Dylan immediately pokes a finger into my sternum. “Whatever you’re thinking, not that broad.”
“Chill out. I was just thinking that explains why it seemed like she’d never tasted alcohol before. She’s trying new things. That’s cool.”
“And that’s exactly why she needs to take baby steps. And you like to jump in the deep end.”
“Sometimes that’s the best way to learn how to swim.”
“Mateo Torres. I will kill you if you hurt her.”
I tuck an arm around her and pull her close in a half hug.
“Jeez, I thought you were a pacifist.” When she bristles, I continue: “Relax. There will be no harm or deaths of any kind.”
Silas shows up then with new drinks for both him and Dylan and says, “Dude. Hands off.”
I back away, my hands raised, still grinning.
“You snooze, you lose, man. I’m going to steal her from you one of these days.”
Dylan shoots me a warning glance, but I’m pretty positive that it’s not a reaction to that comment. I take a few steps back and she says, “I mean it, Torres.”
“Gosh, Captain Planet. Careful or Moore here might find out about the sweet nothings you’ve been whispering in my ear.”
I leave before Dylan can frown at me again or before Silas can glare.
Couples, man.
Then I forget about them and set off in search of Nell.
Chapter 7
Nell’s To-Do List
• Normal College Thing #6: Drink alcohol (and not at church).
• Survive Halloween (preferably without popping a button on this shirt).
It takes me a long while to find any semblance of calm at this raging party. For a moment I’d thought of leaving, but then I fished my phone out of my bag to discover it was only half an hour since I’d arrived. I decided it probably wouldn’t be honoring the spirit of my bucket list if I were to let myself leave after thirty-one minutes.
Finally, I settle myself down beside a mesquite tree on the side of the house and pull my bag into my lap. The only reason Dylan let me get away with bringing it was that I insisted it added to my schoolgirl persona. If she knew I’d also brought along a few spirals and the latest issue of Scientific American, she likely wouldn’t have been so accepting.
But it’s not the magazine I reach for when I open my bag but the familiar spiral, the contents of which have been plaguing my thoughts nonstop for days.
I’m a list kind of girl. I make a lot of them. I make them in the morning, in spare moments throughout the day, during classes when the professors move slower than my thoughts. I make them in notebooks, on my phone, on sticky notes, and just in my head. But now I flip forward to that list and start scanning through it. With a smile, I retrieve a pen and draw a line through
6. Drink Alcohol (and not at church).
The rush of satisfaction that tears through me at the simple action is astonishing. It’s not as if I’d accomplished any great feat or had a brilliant intellectual breakthrough. I’d had a rather yummy cup of Torres’s signature concoction, and most of the people here had probably been doing something similar for years now.
The thought of Mateo—no, Torres—pinches something in my belly, and I glance back at the very first item on my list. I run
my finger over the words, and it is terrifyingly easy to imagine completing that task with the handsome athlete. Then my eyes dip down to item number five on the list.
5. Lose my virginity.
The pinch in my belly progresses to a twist, and I cannot decide if it’s a good feeling or a bad one. And for a moment . . . I seriously consider the idea.
What if I lost my virginity to Mateo Torres?
It would knock off two items on my list in one go, and I’m nothing if not efficient. But I’m not silly enough to think I should let some list cobbled together from my own imaginings and the offerings of the Internet decide my first sexual experience.
But I have to admit . . . the idea has appeal. He’s attractive, that’s for certain. Perhaps not as conventionally handsome as Dylan’s boyfriend, whose looks just scream a career in film or modeling if football doesn’t work out. No, Torres isn’t quite that pretty. His forehead is large, and his nose rather blunt. But when he smiles, which he does nearly all the time, it softens his edges and makes him plenty appealing. My own features aren’t exactly perfectly formed either. My nose has always been just a tad too large for my face. Well, in my younger years there was no tad about it. And while my hair is long, it’s never been all that soft or shiny. It’s a tangled mess most days, which is why it’s most often piled and knotted atop my head.
Beyond that, though, I’m fairly confident that he’s attracted to me, which should make the experience enjoyable for both of us. And if his blatant sexuality is any clue, he would be no novice.
I’m partly scared by that. Would he be disappointed that I don’t know what I’m doing? Would it make it less . . . well, just less for him? What if after all this buildup between us, I bore him?
It wouldn’t be the first (or last time) someone found me boring. It’s something I’ve come to terms with in the rest of my life, and I’m happy enough with how I am not to care. But doing something like this . . . for the first time, well, I’m not sure my self-assurance could withstand that kind of blow.
The part of me that isn’t scared is intrigued by his confidence and probable experience. Why start completely from scratch when I can use a trusted source of knowledge to further my education at a much faster rate? Maybe he’ll understand, and he’ll guide me through it with as little turmoil as possible.