Page 121 of Forget Me

Mateo’s gentle words reminded me we were gossiping about my friend. “I will. It was so weird. And I’ve never accepted a donation that huge. Jackson was over the moon when I called him. Though Ididn’tmention the tribute. I figured Natalie would tell him.”

“Family’s weird,” Ben said.

As if on cue, the intercom dinged.

“Why is everyone so damned prompt?” I muttered, turning toward the intercom.

In anotherwemoment, Mateo stepped up beside me to welcome my parents inside. For a moment, I imagined having him here all the time. We already spent every night together when he wasn’t on the night shift. The last night of his most recent string of nights on duty, I’d gone to his place even though he was working, just to sleep in sheets that smelled like him. To have him cuddle up behind me for an hour in the early morning before I got up for work.

But before I could say anything or even squeeze his hand, my parents appeared in my doorway. I hugged my dad while Mateo kissed my mother’s cheek. Then he stepped behind me to shake Dad’s hand while I hugged Mom.

“I smell something spicy,” she said.

“The brisket’s got a little Caribbean flair tonight. Rosa and Mateo made it.”

Dad sniffed the air. “If it tastes as wonderful as it smells, I might have to steal the recipe.”

“I’m sure it will,” I said. “Rosa and Mateo are a dream team in the kitchen.”

“I brought lemon cake.” Dad raised the cake container.

I hummed. Dad’s cakes were the best.

“Let me take your coats,” Mateo said.

“No, I’ll do it,” I said. “I have to get the candles out of the closet, anyway.”

“We’ll both do it.” He helped Mom out of her raincoat, then took Dad’s. He followed me to the hall closet, but instead of waiting outside and passing me the coats, he crowded in with me and dropped them to the floor. He pulled the string to light the bulb. In the dim light, his eyes had gone dark with only the thinnest ring of blue.

“What are you doing?”

“Having an amuse-bouche.” Avoiding my lipstick, he kissed down my neck to my collarbone. “The sound you made when your father mentioned the lemon cake…”

“You and your amuse-bouches.” But I buried my hands in his hair and held on tight, letting desire spark to a flame in my center. Mateo’s touch was so much better than even my dad’s baked goods.

His hand smoothed over my breast, swirling lazily over my nipple. He couldn’t feel it through my industrial-strength work bra, but my nipples pebbled with want.

“Two minutes?” he murmured into the valley between my breasts.

“Mimi?” My mother’s voice came through the thin closet door. “Do you need help?”

I clenched my fingers in his hair and reluctantly tugged him away.

“No, Mom, Mateo’s helping me.” I gave him a fierce stare.

“Okay. Want me to open the wine we brought?”

“Yes, please. We’ll be out in a minute.”

I gave her a few seconds to walk away and then said, “Reach that box of candles on the shelf for me, please.”

“Ah, my Mimi.” Mateo clucked his tongue. “So serious. So businesslike.”

“You love that about me.”

He smiled. “I do. But what I like even better is turning you from serious to sex-drunk.”

“I do not get sex-drunk,” I lied.

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