Page 115 of Not For Keeps
He leans in, voice low, and warm against my ear. “Please don’t make my dick hard right now, chula. Not when I can’t rip off your pants and fuck you the way I want to.”
I smirk, cheeks flushed. “Soon enough, baby.”
He gives me a look, equal parts heat and affect, then presses a kiss just below my ear, his thumb sweeping over my knuckles.
Before I can respond, Maya’s voice rings out from across the gym. “Mami! They’re starting the pie booth!”
Mateo groans again, dramatically this time. “Pray for me.”
“I thought you liked whipped cream,” I call after him as he heads toward the inevitable.
“I like it better in private!” he throws back, and I laugh so hard it almost hurts.
I settle back in my seat, crutches resting against thechair, and watch as Mateo jogs toward the crowd forming near the pie booth. Maya is already there, bouncing on her toes like she’s just chugged three Capri Suns, her tiny hands clasped together like she’s begging the pie gods for a direct hit.
The gym is buzzing. Kids weaving between tables with sticky fingers, neighbors greeting each other, and volunteers darting around with clipboards and cash boxes. It’s chaos, but it’s good chaos.
Mari slides into the seat beside me, a cookie in one hand and her phone in the other. “You see Seba almost get decked by that toddler with the juice box?”
I grin. “Only because he stole the last brownie bite.”
“Justice was served.”
We sit together for a beat, watching the town move in waves of laughter and sugar highs. Then we both turn at the sound of whipped cream splatting and a chorus of gasps and cheers.
Mateo stands frozen, face dripping with pie, Maya doubled over in laughter next to him. He shoots me a mock betrayed look.
“Worth it,” I mouth, and he shakes his head with a grin.
He’s wiping whipped cream from his eyelashes as he walks back over, Maya tugging on his arm. “Did you see me, Mami? I got him right in the face!”
“You were incredible,” I say, pulling her in for a side hug.
Mateo leans down and kisses the tops of both of our heads, his fingers brushing over my shoulder. “You two are dangerous together.”
“Get used to it,” I tease.
A voice cuts in over the speakers. “And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for—our grand total for tonight’s fundraiser.”
The gym hushes, everyone turning toward the sage.
“We’ve raised,” the MC says, voice rising with emotion, “$18,765. And counting.”
The entire room erupts. Applause, cheers, a few people outright crying. My throat tightens, eyes stinging. That’s nearly double what we hoped for.
Mateo squeezes my hand again, his lips brushing my temple. “Told you we’d do good.”
We did better than good. We did incredible. And we did it together.
We’re back home from the fundraiser.
I ease back against the pillows on the couch, my crutches leaning against the side table. Mateo insisted I take the recliner, but I wanted to be here. A throw blanket is draped across my lap, still smelling faintly of lavender from the last wash. A mug of tea rests on the coffee table in front of me, untouched.
The fundraiser was a success. More than a success. It was a reminder of who we are when we come together. This town is made of grit and heart. And tonight proved that again.
Maya’s already asleep, curled up on her bed with a belly full of cupcakes. She wore herOfficial Volunteername tag until she finally passed out, refusing to take it off, even when she changed into pajamas.
Mateo walks in from the kitchen, his hair still damp from the quick shower he took after coming home pie covered and sticky with whipped cream. His T-shirt clings slightly to his chest, and his sweatpants hang low on his hips. He’s barefoot, humming something under his breath as he sets a bowl of ice cream down in front of me.
