Page 58 of Spark
“Yep.”
I lead them up the stairs to the master bedroom and strip the bed of its sheets. The delivery guys lift the old mattress and haul it downstairs.
“Finlay, what’s going on?” Eyes narrowed, my name stretches taut with the slow sternness in the tilt of his voice.
"I bought you a pillow-top mattress like mine." I give an exaggerated jazz-hand kind of move but quickly shove my hands into the pockets of my shorts when it’s apparent he’s not as excited about his surprise as I am.
Mateo sighs with the force of a fifty-mile an hour wind gust. When he looks at me, it’s not with the exuberance I was hoping for. In fact, the weariness, present earlier in the day, has returned. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know, I didn’thaveto. I wanted to.” Taking his hands in both of mine, I give them an encouraging squeeze. “I wanted you to have a comfortable bed here and at my place.” I scoot closer and nuzzle his neck, relishing the scratch of his stubble. “We can test it out with the make-up sex,” I purr before giving him a light bite and soothing it with my tongue.
A soft groan as if he doesn’t know whether to bite me back or put me over his knee, rumbles from his chest, igniting my boxer briefs. The delivery guys interrupt our interlude, but Mateo squeezes my hip and mumbles, “We’re having a discussion about what is, and is not an appropriate price-point on gifts.”
He releases me and digs his wallet out of his back pocket, pulling out two twenties to tip the men. I place my hand on his. “I’ve got it.”
Jaw set and a jerky shake of his head, he grits out, “I can handle it.”
“There you go.” The first delivery guy scoops up the plastic that wrapped the mattress while the other takes the twenties and nods his thanks. “Enjoy.”
“Thank you.” I follow them down the stairs to see them out and grab the Nordstrom’s bag from my trunk. When I return to the bedroom, Mateo is standing in front of his new bed, jaw still clamped and arms anchored across his chest. I hesitate before lifting the bag. “I got sheets like mine too. We’ll have to wash them but—”
Focused on the bed, he doesn’t look at me. “You can’t do stuff like this.”
I drop the bag next to the dresser and cross the room to stand next to him. “Pamper you?”
“Not like this.”
I slip my hand under his shirt and rub small circles on the lower part of his back. “Why wouldn’t I? You’ve said how much you like my bed, and I know you won’t splurge on yourself… So why shouldn’t I treat you? I—” I bite my tongue and reel in what almost slips out. It’s too soon for such sentiments. Hell, we haven’t been together long enough to have our first fight— until today, that is. “You should probably know that I like giving gifts.”
“This is too much. We’re going to need to establish some gift-giving guidelines.” His words are the sharp, pointy tip of a freshly sharpened sword.
"Fair enough." I try to sound calm and unaffected even though we're dancing across a minefield of unsaid expectations. "You know, if you really don't like it, I can probably call the store and get your old mattress back.” I don’t want to call the store and know that sending the mattress back is fruitless, but I'll go through the motions if it eases the mounting tension.
“It’s not that.” He smooths his palm along the pillow top. “I just feel like I can’t catch a break. The injuries set me back—” He holds up his hand, and I bite the inside of my cheek, effectively stopping any stupid thing I was going to say about him quitting rugby. “I’m fine, physicallyandfinancially. Monday, I have to call the bank about my loan.” Dragging his hand through his hair, he flops onto the bed. “Man, this is soft.” His sigh is contented, and my heart flutters.
I lie down next to him, lacing my fingers with his and wanting to erase all his worries. “What’s going on with the bank? Can I help with anything?”
"It's nothing. Just a mistake, but now I have to deal with them on Monday when I was planning to call the hospital to set up a payment plan for everything insurance won't pay." He sounds like he's flown the red-eye cross-country five days straight, and the jet lag has finally caught up with him.
My shoulders loosen, and I give myself a mental high-five. Shifting onto my elbow, my cheeks strain with my grin. "You don't have to worry about the hospital. I took care of it."
“You took care of what?” He bolts to sitting. “What did you do?”
Okay, not the response I was expecting. Rubbing the back of my head, I sit also. “I paid the hospital and ambulance bills.”
“You did what?” His question is a roar as he jumps from the bed and begins pacing. “You paid over two thousand dollars ofmybills?”
Shit, this is not good. Do I tell him I actually paid more? Or should I wait until he’s calmed down?
Back and forth, back and forth, he treads the unfinished floor. Face stony, back rigid, he looks like a caged grizzly bear ready to rip apart the lock.
I have to tell him. We just agreed to be open and talk to each other. He’ll be upset, but we'll talk it through, and then we can get to the make-up sex. I tamp down the squawking seagulls diving for unprotected fries that have taken up residence in my stomach and calmly say, "I may have also made a payment on your loan, so you’d have a buffer until you got paid…”
Mateo stops dead. The glacial frost of his stare combined with the flattening of his lips siphons all air from my lungs. “You made a payment onmyloan?” Temple pulsing, he stares past me like he’s reading something on the wall. Then, lightning-fast, he’s crucifying me with his scrutiny. “You made a double payment, didn’t you?”
I nod.
Rage rolls off in sheets. If his anger earlier today was aftershocks from a bomb, now it’s a nuclear explosion, disintegrating everything in its path. "So, let me get this straight…" Each word is spat out with disgust, and my stomach drops further and further until it hits my toes. "You," he points at me. "You took it upon yourself to pay thousands of dollars without my consent?"
