Page 73 of Hostile Rival
All of my weapons are untouched. The photo of my mama is still there, and my phone is on the bedside table. I stare at her healthy-looking face, grateful for this particular image to remind me of how it used to be. Not her gaunt, hollowed cheeks and dull eyes, full of pain. No, this picture is how I choose to remember her—happy.
We both were in that snapshot. But after that, everything turned to shit, and I never felt that way again.
I think back to the last few days we’d spent together. How she’d made me promise to open my heart to someone else. If only she knew I was destined to have a broken heart and a lifetime of loneliness.
Exhausted and stiff, I crunch the pills with my back teeth, peel off the clothes I’d borrowed, and sit on the bed to untie the cool custom biker sneakers, noticing all of my purplish and red bruises. Some huge and others little blotches like fingertips.
Truth is, I had started the Di Rossi war because of Matheus. I shouldn’t have kissed him back or fooled around with him on the balcony. And once Giana had spotted us together, I should have played dumb and walked away, ignoring her long painted nails sinking into him.
Well, that would have been the smart thing to do.
But one kiss had me hooked from the start.
Then feeling his thick dick move inside me…God, that had me obsessed.
And what's more unsettling is how he’s proved he has my back. Or maybe that’s a Souza tactic to shake the ground out from under me?
Perhaps I should have a little faith in him and direct more of my anger at Tomás Souza rather than the whole family. After all, he was the asshole who had given the order to set me on fire.
I shiver from tiredness, throw on a long baggy t-shirt, and climb onto the bed, just needing a place to lay my head for a few hours before I call Blanco. But the second my eyelids close, the door opens.
Pretending I’m asleep, I stay still, listening to Matheus’ light footfall. Instinctively, I know it’s him. From his confident gait to the muskiness of his cologne.
I don’t have the energy to talk, or dive into the reasons why my heart is hammering when he moves to my bedside table, shifts its position, and sets something on it.
Curiosity gets the better of me and I open my eyes. He’s not next to me anymore and I find myself missing how he usually pushes his luck to touch me in some way.
“Don’t burn your mouth,” he says with his back to me, facing his bed. “I heated the milk up in the microwave. It won’t be as good as your mama’s, but it’s something to help you feel better.”
“Are you going back to your brother's place?” I ask, secretly happy he’s here with me.
Rolling to my good side, I put weight on my elbow and study the fresh croissant dumped on a napkin next to a steamy mug of milk. Other than my mama, no one has ever taken care of me like this. Cared about me.Lovedme.
A lump of gratitude sticks in my throat. I cough to clear it and distract myself by staring at his tight ass in those loose-fitting joggers and how his muscles are visible through his t-shirt.
When he drags it up and over his head, my temperature rises from cool to scorching. I curse myself for imagining my hands slipping under his waistband to play with his dick.
“This is where I’m based, remember? I’m your roomie. Nothing has changed. Giovanni still expects business as usual.”
I reach for the mug and take a sip, suddenly feeling a warm kick of nostalgia. He’d sweetened it with honey. It's hard to breathe and my senses are in overdrive. He did that…for me. And his effort doesn’t go unnoticed. Not at all.
I could easily let my guard slip. Overdose on him and never sober up. Call him my new religion and worship the guy.
“Thanks, Mat,” I say softly, my voice a little shaky. “My mama would’ve rated it ten out of ten.”
He doesn’t say anything, rather bends his knees to squat, grabs the bed frame, and starts dragging his bed across the tiles, coming closer.
“What are you doing?” Frowning, I put the drink down and sit upright.
Once his bed is in position next to mine, he moves around to the other side and shoves it again, so the gap from my mattress to his disappears. He stands straight and assesses his handiwork, casually raking a hand through his hair.
“You like your space and I want to be close to you.” The corners of his mouth lift to a cheeky grin. “This is my compromise, little firecracker.”
He lowers his joggers from his hips to his ankles and kicks them off. Next to come off are his boxers and then he confidently climbs onto his bed and flops onto his back, throwing an arm over his face.
A little speechless, I stare at his relaxed mouth and the dark scruff on his jaw from hours spent watching me sleep.
I bite my lower lip and carefully shuffle down the bed, not taking my eyes off him. Resisting Matheus was a challenge I’d failed from the minute he walked into my bathroom, naked and full of confidence.
