Page 37 of My Secret Bandit

“One more question,” I said, grunting as I moved to sit next to him against the headboard. “Why’d you knock when you have a key?”

He shrugged. “You haven’t given me free rein to come and go as I please. Figured I’d stay on the safe side and knock before resorting to using it.”

“I wouldn’t have given it to you if I wasn’t comfortable with you using it.”

“Good to know. Now.” His free hand grabbed mine and turned it palm side up, then the cup sat there, taunting me, and I swear I heard it laugh like the mad scientist that brought it into existence.

“Bottoms up.” Mateo grinned.

Careful not to leave my sheets stained pink, I turned to him.

“I can’t,” I whined.

“Why? Take it. It’ll help you.”

“The smell. I can’t handle the smell and the taste at the same time. It’s highly likely it’ll come out just as fast as it went in.”

He inspected me for a few silent seconds and cocked his head to the side. “The smell?”

I nodded, wincing at how dumb it sounded.

“Okay. How about this.” He reached down to the end of the bed, grabbed a plastic bag still full of supplies and pulled out a Gatorade. “I’ll hold your nose closed while you chug that shit like the badass I know you are, and then you can have this. Deal?”

A shiver ran up my back and over my shoulders in anticipation. Mateo didn’t look like he was giving up soon, so I nodded.

Just like he promised, his index finger and thumb worked to block out the smell, and I slammed that god-awful tasting dose like any other shot from the bar.

Before my throat had time to refuse the medicine, Mateo had the drink open and to my lips. I took a healthy gulp that helped the offending liquid slide much easier to its new home.

“Good job, baby. I knew you could do it,” he congratulated with a smug smile and kissed my forehead.

“Thank you,” I murmured, burying my face in his chest as we slid further into the bed.

“Anything for you.”

He rubbed my back in soothing circles until I felt nothing but sleep overtake my senses and pretty pictures of us danced behind my eyelids.

Ihadn’tseenthepractice field in weeks. And in those umpteen days, I saw Mateo for a combined twenty hours or so. The little snippets before practice or after games and the picnic we shared in Mateo’s backyard after I got over being sick were moments I began to cling to. The other three hundred plus hours were so draining and boring and lifeless. A vast difference from what quickly became my norm. Seeing Mateo every day. Feeling the heat of his body holding me close. Talking to him face to face rather than on the phone or through text. But still, even those options were better than sitting in the conference room at the practice facility, watching him answer a load of questions and trying to ignore the way his eyes jetted over to me in the lulls or how he fidgeted as he listened.

He knew why I’d been absent; that I decided to stay at the office because even though the sight of Kyle annoyed me, I needed to be there with him and Jeffrey as he fully stepped into his mentor role. So while the ache of disappointment and want sat heavy in my heart, I did what I needed to be successful in my internship.

But being successful here meant getting over the concerns that kept me silent. I pulled on my big girl boots and sat tall. Deep breath in and slow, calm exhale, I prepared myself and hoped like hell no one would hear the yearning wedged in my voice.

“Mateo.” The instant that first syllable rolled off my tongue, he was on me. The corners of his gorgeous eyes crinkled. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and let his head bow toward the tabletop. I looked down at my own lap, reading memorized notes to hide my blushed smirk. “This last game, while won, was a rough one. How is team morale right now?”

To anyone else, they saw pride in his eyes when he lifted his head. Pride for his team, their undefeated record, how they’d managed a complete one-eighty to become top contenders this season. But to me, that look was personal. It meant so much more than football. My question about his team became a question about us and he took the chance to make sure I knew where he stood, leaving not even a millimeter for doubt to live in. The pride everyone saw layered with support and understanding, adoration and devotion.

“We’re good. Better than good actually. We know the plan, and the path needed to get there. The hard work we need to put in. We’re committed, focused. Everything we want is waiting for us. We just need to get there first.” He held my gaze as he finished, and weight fell from my shoulders. His barely there wink sent me the kiss he couldn’t give.

His words were the exact ones I needed to hear, but still, the legitimate pain that formed in my chest when I exited the conference room and forced my legs to carry me to my car instead of up to the field was more than I wanted to handle anymore.

As I slid into the seat, my phone rang, displaying Sierra’s picture. “I need girl time. And a mid-morning cocktail.”

“Deal,” I agreed, neither of us in the mood to focus on anything work-related.

Once inside, we kicked our shoes off and Sierra got to work making her favorite brunch drink. We settled on the couch to continue the prison documentary.

Every few minutes, Sierra threw quick glances in my direction. It took two hours of intermittent staring before she finally let out a huff of air and spoke.

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