Page 35 of Spark
Cam bumps me. “Get up. You’ll hurt her feelings if you don’t get up.”
Mateo looks a little shell-shocked, but he stands with us, applauding. Then, to my surprise, he whistles and swings the boa in the air above his head. The crowd follows with more whistles and hoots and shouts of encores.
After the cast and crew have taken their bows and left the stage, I turn to Mateo, the tips of my ears scalding. “I’m sorry. Gran is kind of—”
“Fabulous.” The color on his cheeks makes him look like he's spent the day in the sun, and for the first time since I've known him, the air of exhaustion is absent.
Boa resting around his neck again, I grab it in both fists and tug him to me before closing the space. Our bodies flush against each other, I fit my mouth over his. It’s not a long kiss, but it has the promise of a more personal thank you when we're alone.
“Don’t ruin my boa. I have two more shows this weekend.” Gran’s voice shatters all suggestive thoughts of time alone with my date.
Mateo pulls away and places the boa around Gran’s shoulders, then hands her the bouquet of flowers he brought. “You gave a wonderful performance, Mrs. Mori.”
“Well, aren't you a man of good taste. Thank you." She ogles my date with an assessing eye. "And attractive. Have you ever thought of dancing? With that face and from what I can make out of that body, you'd make good money."
“Gran!” Aileene’s reaction is borderline panic. “Stop trying to recruit dancers.”
“What? I’m just saying… Do you know the stripper we hired for Estelle's eightieth birthday had a butt so saggy his cheeks fluttered every time the oscillating fan hit it?"
“Could younot, right now?” I plead.
Gran lifts her chin and pulls the tie to her robe tighter. “Fine.” Cam hands her the flowers he brought, and I reach under the table to do the same. Gran’s face lights up. “I have the best grandchildren.”
The six of us make small talk, Gran as outrageous as ever, but unlike the few men I’ve introduced to her in the past, Mateo seems to find her amusing. Thank goodness, because she thrives on shock value and seeing just how much she can embarrass us. Anytime I’ve brought it up, she claims not to know what I’m talking about, but there’s too much of a gleam in her eyes when she says something particularly shocking. Right now, she has Zeke in her crosshairs. The poor guy’s turned three shades of red in the last ten minutes. There isn’t a video game in the world that can prepare one for our grandmother.
Pressing my hand to Mateo’s back, I lower my voice. “Are you ready to head out?”
“Yeah.” He wets his lips, and the buzz of anticipation stretches taut between us.
I trail my fingers lazily across the softness of his cotton shirt and get a surge of satisfaction when he shivers.
“We’re going to leave.” I bend down and give Gran a kiss on the cheek. “Are you okay getting home?”
“Cameron volunteered to escort Estelle and me. Tomorrow is Hercules’s turn.” She pats my cheek—her timeworn hands splotched with age spots, one of the few things that gives away her age—and whispers, “I like him.”
"I do too," I whisper back.
When I straighten, Mateo places a sweet kiss on Gran’s cheek. “It was a pleasure to finally meet you, Mrs. Mori.”
“No more of this missus garbage. You must call me Cora. And I expect to see you the next time Finlay comes over for dinner.” She pulls a daisy from the bouquet Mateo gave her and places it behind her ear.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Cam claps Mateo on the back. “Don’t let Finlay keep you up too late tonight or wear you out too much. We need you full of energy for tomorrow’s game.”
Chuckling, Mateo gives him a hug. “No worries, Cam.”
No worries for him maybe. My stomach churns and my chest tightens, as they always do when picturing Mateo possibly getting hurt in a game. Worrying about Cam and Hercules playing was rough enough. The only bright spot of Herc’s injury was that he stopped playing. With Mateo, my anxiety is a million times worse. I haven’t told him how I’ve felt because things are so new between us. But with each practice and game that passes, keeping quiet grows harder.
I don’t want worries to ruin tonight. I have plans for Mateo that involve him and me and my bed.
We say our goodbyes and head out. With a slight curve to his mouth, Mateo is relaxed and seems to have genuinely enjoyed himself.
“Thank you for being such a good sport.” I wave to Herc’s grandmother, Estelle Foster, and hope for my friend’s sake, there are no wardrobe slip ups at tomorrow’s show either.
He holds the door open for me. “I had fun.”
“If you think that was fun, then you need to get out more,” I deadpan.
