Page 82 of The Lineman

That a student had picked up on me spacing out made me want to sink through the floor. I was supposed to be the responsible adult here, not another kid getting caught daydreaming in class.

“I’m fine.” I cleared my throat. “Just a little tired.”

She nodded, but the curiosity didn’t fully leave her face.

I waved a hand. “Don’t worry about me. Focus on your assignment.”

She turned back to her book, but I still felt like an idiot.

The rest of class passed in a blur, and when the bell rang, I let out a slow breath, relieved for the break.

I grabbed my lunch—yes, the one I’d actually packed myself—and made my way to the gym where Mateo was already waiting on the bleachers, scrolling through his phone.

When he saw me, he grinned. “Damn. You brought your own lunch? Who are you, and what have you done with my friend?”

I rolled my eyes as I sat beside him, setting my Tupperware on my lap. “Ha, ha. Look at the funny Italian making funny Italian jokes.”

“That’s a racial slur,” he said, donning mock outrage. “I’ll call HR.”

“We work in a high school. HR gave up years ago.”

He snorted. “Così vero.”

“Don’t start talking all sexy on me. I can barely resist your accent as it is.”

His eyes danced as he laughed. “You like my accent? This old thing?”

“I’m not afraid to dump my lunch on your perfect hair.”

He wiggled his ridiculously bushy brows. “Now you like my hair. Keep this up and I might think you have a crush.”

I groaned. “One baffling man in my life is more than enough, thank you very much.”

He eyed me a moment, watched my shoulders slump as I popped the lid on my lunch and quietly set about stirring without actually eating it.

“Seriously, should I be worried? You never bring food from home, and you look like you want to toss it across the gym more than eat it.” He smirked. “Did Elliot cook for you before he left? Because I know you didn’t make anything that isn’t charred beyond recognition, and I swear to God, if you’re out here getting homemade meals from your—”

“He’s not myanything,” I cut in, already feeling my face heat up.

Mateo cocked a caterpillar. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

I ignored him, stabbing my first bite and lifting it from the Tupperware. “And no, he didn’t cook for me. I just . . . didn’t feel like buying something today.”

I didn’t look at him, but I couldfeelMateo studying me. It felt like he could see right through my bullshit, and unfortunately, he probably could.

“All right,” he said, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Let’s hear it.”

I finally lifted the fork to my mouth, chewed slowly, debating how much I wanted to say. But it wasn’t like I could keep anything from Mateo for long.

So, I told him.

About that last night before Elliot left.

About the way I’d caught Elliot watching me sleep, like he was trying to memorize me.

About the way he’d asked if I’d wait.

About how much I already missed him, which was insane because, again, it had only been a few weeks.

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