Page 3 of Forget Me

“Good morning, bella,” he said, stepping into my apartment.

I wrinkled my nose at the faint scent of cigarette smoke that wafted in with him. I’d known Mateo long enough not to feel any flutters in my belly. Everyone in his world—male, female, old, young—got a flirtatious nickname. He was an equal-opportunity player, and it meant nothing.

Case in point: at Ben’s party yesterday, he’d chatted up Marlee, Ben’s work-bestie. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever met, all smooth honey hair and fashion sense. But she was taken, and Mateo knew it. Still, I’d caught him looking at me over her head a couple of times. Like he wanted me to notice that Marlee was the kind of person he spent time with. Never someone like me. With me, he was silent and aloof.

In fact, why had he come here this morning? He’d never been to my place, not even with Ben.

“Why are you here?” I crossed my arms. “Fresh out of swimsuit models to seduce?”

His sparkling grin drooped. He looked…hurt? “I came to check on you. Are you feeling all right this morning?”

“Fine,” I said. “Though I’m actually in a—wait. What do you know about last night?”

His dark-blond eyebrows scrunched down. “Don’t you remember?”

I thought back to yesterday. I’d been buzzed already when I’d dashed from Ben’s engagement party to join Bree’s bachelorette party in progress. Had Ben noticed and sent Mateo to watch over me? It was the kind of thing my little brother would do.

I didn’t remember seeing Mateo at the first bar. Or the second one. I remembered the booth, the round table spread with shot glasses, Bree snort-laughing, sparkling plastic tiaras, holiday lights blinking around the window, and the room spinning around me as the drinks kept coming.

“No. Why? Were you there?”

The corners of his mouth turned down. “You don’t remember?”

“Should I?” I’d definitely have remembered if he’d been at the bar. Bree’s friends would have made him the king of their court. They’d have flattered him, touched him, flirted with him in a way that made me itch. They didn’t know Mateo like I did. He might be fitness-model gorgeous, but he was about as deep as a puddle.

He seemed to deflate. Then he pasted on a shadow of his usual teasing smile and held out a white bakery bag. “I brought you breakfast.”

My stomach roiled. “No, thanks. Hangover. I need coffee.”

“No.” He brushed past me. “You need carbs. Sugar. Do you have any ginger tea?”

I scurried to catch up with him, but his broad shoulders and the stink of cigarettes filled my entire galley kitchen. My throat burned. I didn’t have time for another visit to the toilet. I waved my hand in front of my face. “Sorry, but you smell like smoke, and”—I swallowed—“I’m afraid my stomach isn’t settled enough for that. Thanks for dropping by, but…”

His face fell, but he set the bag on the counter before he shoved open the kitchen window. Huh. I’d thought it was painted shut.

“Better now?” He stood beside it for a moment as if he could air himself out.

I took a deep breath of the cold, fresh air. “Better. Thanks.”

“Now, for your stomach.” He opened an upper cabinet. “You need something with ginger. Or prickly pear?”

Prickly pear? “No. I live in the real world where we drink coffee when we’re hungover. Thanks for coming, but I need to get ready.”

“Ready?” He shut the cabinet and turned toward me. “You look perfect.”

“Thank you.” The words came out flat, automatic. He said that kind of shit to everyone. In my oversize black sweater and jeans, I wasn’t anything approaching perfect, not compared to a demigod like Mateo. Obviously, he kept up his physique with daily workouts. He was the kind of guy who’d drink kale smoothies with his equally hot underwear-model partner. Who talked about supplements and reps and flipping prickly pear.

Not that there was anything wrong with that. It was just different. I preferred to work out my brain with spreadsheets, fueled by a bag of salt-and-vinegar chips. Hard pass on kale.

“I need to go. To a meeting. I’ll eat there.” I squeezed around him into the kitchen to shoo him out.

“Yes, your meeting with Larissa and Jackson. Shouldn’t you eat first?”

“My—my what? How do you know about that?”

He looked down at the bag and mumbled something.

Right. Ben must have mentioned it at the party yesterday. Get a couple drinks into him, and nothing was a secret. Not that my foundation meeting was a secret, but it definitely wasn’t any of Mateo’s business.

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