Page 53 of Fighting

Stef:

Hey, wait… you distracted me. You didn’t answer me…

Mateo:

What are you doing tomorrow?

Nessa:

Trying to prep for Rosh Hashanah. That’s Jewish New Year.

Mateo:

That’s the apples one, right?

Nessa:

Apples and honey, yeah.

Mateo:

Perfect. Get dressed. Wear something comfortable and cute and be ready to go around 11. We’re taking your car. It’s good top-down weather.

Nessa:

Perv

Mateo:

I meant the car, but if you want to hang out with me with your top down again, I’m not going to argue.

twenty-one

Nessa

At eleven a.m. sharp,Mateo saunters up in light wash jeans paired with a fitted henley that emphasizes the muscles rippling down his shoulders and biceps, covering the tattoo sleeve he has down his right arm that stops just above the elbow. It may be hidden but it’s burned into my memory.

The fabric stretches perfectly across what I now intimately know are a defined chest and a full six-pack. He even has that stupid hip bone V-thing guys who work out too much get. I can’t stop my mind from drifting.Shit.

I try to fix my red lipstick subtly but find myself forced to wipe a little drool from the side of my mouth.

“Give me a twirl, gorgeous,” he shouts with a spin of his finger.

“Who, me?” I press a hand to my cheek and toss my hair, feigning shyness, though I quickly erupt into a giggle.

Have fun today,I repeat to myself. I don’t want to admit it, but spending time with Mateo is fun.Don’t be afraid. He is his own person.These are the kinds of phrases my therapist and I work on when the negative thoughts creep in.

I hop down the porch steps and give a little pirouette.

He scans me up and down, eyes lazily lingering, causing heat to rise into my cheeks.Since when do I blush?

My hair is pulled back from my face with a bright red claw clip, showing off three gold hoops—one in each ear and the third in my left nostril. I typically wear a simple clear stopper that prevents the piercing from closing, but fun Nessa is here today, and she’s bringing it back.

“Whoa, rockstar. Look at you…” His words trail off, but the warm appreciation is there.

My reaction—the skin tingles and a longing to hug him—feels foreign. I open my mouth to reply, but my throat is dry and my voice is scratchy. Has all the moisture in my body rerouted to my panties?

I clear my throat and try again.

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