by Sam Mariano
She’s optional.
I’m not.
Okay, I can handle that.
I nod, curling up closer to him and wrapping an arm around his torso. “Okay.”
“Yeah?” he asks, securing his arm around me.
“We can try it. I want to ease in, though, okay? Don’t pounce on her right away, just in case I wake up tomorrow and realize I can’t do this.”
“Of course,” he murmurs, holding me a little tighter. My mind is still running on high, trying to process all this, but I’m tired, and things are okay, and I also sort of just want to sleep. He probably isn’t tired, but that’s because he’s not pregnant.
I drift off anyway.
I wake up when he climbs out of bed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and walking toward the door. I’m just about to ask where he’s going when he opens the door. Someone must’ve knocked.
It’s Adrian.
Mateo steps outside with him, closing the door behind him, but not latching it.
They’re not talking loudly enough for me to hear, but Mateo comes back in a couple minutes later and turns his gaze to me, contemplative.
“Mia’s staying here tonight,” he tells me. “She and Vince fought at dinner. She’s in Francesca’s room.”
“Okay,” I say, a little unsure since he doesn’t seem to be finished with his thought, but that sounds like the end.
“I told Adrian to bring her in here.”
“Oh. Remember how we just agreed about no immediate pouncing?”
A slight smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I’m not pouncing. You two need to work out this little… whatever. This might help.”
“So… another sleepover.”
He comes over to the bed, climbing up on it in his sexy, prowling way. “No pouncing, I promise.”
“I should probably put on clothes,” I realize, pushing the blankets aside and climbing off the bed.
I didn’t brush my teeth either, so I head to the bathroom to get dressed and get ready for bed. I doubt Mia’s tired either, but she’ll probably just lie there enjoying being so near Mateo. I’d roll my eyes at the thought, but it’s unkind, because I do the same damn thing.
When I get back to the bedroom, Mia’s already there. I think she just came in, because she still looks damned uncomfortable.
I stop by the dresser and pull out some pajamas for her, offering them with a little smile.
“Thanks,” she says, accepting them. She doesn’t look at me, just studies the soft fabric. “Um, Adrian said I was going to stay in Francesca’s room tonight.”
“You were. But Adrian also said you had a rough night,” I tell her. “We thought you could use a snuggle.”
She looks up at me then, blinking in surprise. “A sn…?”
She can’t even repeat what she just heard. She’s so confused. I smile and turn away, heading to the bed. “Get changed and come on back.”
Mia heads into the bathroom, looking a little lost. Once she closes the door, I straddle Mateo, who’s sitting on the edge of the bed, and lean down to kiss him.
“Is it weird if I think it’s a little sexy that she’s going to sleep on the same sheets where you just fucked me?”
He groans, and I lean in to kiss his neck. “You’re adamantly against a threesome tonight, right?”
I laugh a little, pulling back to look at his handsome face, to brush my fingers through his hair. “Yes.”
His dark eyes twinkle with amusement. “Fine. But I know what I’ll be dreaming about.”
I rake my fingers though his hair, kissing him again. His hands slide around my waist and I sort of wish Mia would’ve waited a little longer to come in, because I kind of want to fuck him again.
The bathroom door opens and his gaze moves away from me, back to Mia. He immediately releases his hold on me, so I climb off him and across the bed. Stealing a glance at Mia, I see the stricken look on her face, like she did just walk in on us having sex, and my doubts about this whole thing resurface.
Impulsively, I roll over to Mateo’s side of the bed. He’s still seated on the edge, watching Mia. She’s looking at him now, her cheeks a shade pinker.
“I think Francesca’s room might be—”
Mateo interrupts before she can finish, his tone authoritative, accepting no argument. “Get on the bed, Mia.”
Her objections die on her tongue and she obediently approaches her side of the bed, pulling back the blankets and crawling in.
Mateo walks over and hits the lights, since apparently we’re all going to bed early tonight.
“My phone is in Francesca’s room,” Mia murmurs. She’s clutching the blanket in her hands like it’s the horn of a saddle, and her horse is suddenly running way too fast. “I don’t have an alarm.”
“I’ll set one for you,” Mateo says, walking to his side of the bed. His phone is on the end table there and he fiddles with it for a minute without asking when she needs to get up. After taking care of that he puts a knee on the bed, but I don’t move over to make room for him.
“Am I allowed to sleep here?” he asks lightly.
“Why don’t you take the middle,” I suggest.
Approval flits across his features, and even though I don’t crave it the way Mia does, I can sorta see why she’s so into it.
Mia stares at the ceiling, like she wishes the ground would open up and swallow her. Mateo’s arm brushes hers as he moves into the spot between us, and Mia actually winces at the contact, her gaze fixed firmly above her.
“Relax, lady friend,” I tell her, since I’m a little worried she might have a heart attack. She glances over at me, but now that means looking past Mateo, lying next to her in bed. She does not relax.
Once he’s comfortable, I turn and snuggle up against his side.
Seeing that Mia is still so stressed out she looks like she might snap in half, Mateo reaches over and snakes his arm underneath her, tugging her against his other side. The breath rushes right out of her and she stares up at him for a moment like he’s lost his mind. Then her gaze jumps to me, like I’m even more alarming than he is.
That’s kind of fun, but I don’t torture her. I offer a friendly smile and tell her, “It’s fine. Enjoy the snuggle.”
Still a little wary, she asks, “Really?”
I nod. “Not a test, I promise.”
She watches me instead of him. It’s me she doesn’t trust here. Which I get. Prior to the conversation Mateo and I just had, I did want to stab her. But as she watches, she tentatively turns into his side and brings her arm up to rest on his bare chest. Poor thing. She’s so overwhelmed. I guess it has been a while since she’s touched him like this.
I wonder if she’s always like that with him. Is that why he likes her? Does he like the contrast? Does he like overwhelming her? I’m rarely overwhelmed by him. Maybe I should’ve been a little more fucking delicate.
I remind myself it’s okay. He doesn’t want to replace me. He only wants a little extra. He’s greedy, but he’s Mateo. Of course he’s greedy. Look at all he has.
And now he has Mia. I can see that he’s right—he doesn’t even have to ask her to get on board, he can just tell her to, just wrap his arm around her and pull her close, and there she is, no boarding pass required. He completely owns this bitch. I bet he loves that.
I should’ve seen this coming.
He says he’ll wear on me, but I wonder if I’m the one who’s worn on him. I thought he liked that I could hold my own with him. I thought he got enough power and control with everyone else in his life, and he enjoyed my change of pace.
Maybe he doesn’t like it as much as I thought he did. Maybe he likes this better. Maybe he likes being able to completely override Mia’s mind by simply looking at her. Maybe he doesn’t want a woman to stand up to him and lovingly call him on his shit, but a girl who will drop to her knees and worship him no matter what he does.
I guess he wants both.
This is probably the best case scenario.
Right now, I can control it. I can keep Mia in line. If I say no to Mia now and he gets bored a couple years down the road, some other chick may not be so workable. Maybe he’d be attracted to some ambitious girl who’d want my place in his bed. In his life. A usurper. He might Anne Boleyn my ass.
Yeah, it’s a good idea to get on board with Mia. Mia’s harmless. I’m not overly psyched he wants to fuck anyone else, but if he has to want someone, I’m glad it’s her. Mia’s gentle. Mia’s malleable. We can both manage Mia.
I remind myself that as she snuggles up, getting a little less uncomfortable. As he caresses her arm with his thumb, offering her silent reassurances. As she closes her eyes and rests her face against his pec like it belongs there.
I have to be okay with all this.
It’ll just take a little getting used to. It can work. It’s gonna be fine.
Chapter Seven
Mia
Last night was pure torture.
I mean, it was incredible in one sense. It was unbelievably kind and incomprehensibly cruel to give me that little peek of what it would be like to love Mateo—to be free to love Mateo. To sleep in his arms, my face on his chest, moving with the rise and fall of his breathing.
Unfortunately, it just made me heartsick.
I didn’t have my textbooks or notes for class. I took a notebook with me when I left the bakery to jot stuff down and transfer over into my notebook when I returned home, but I’ve been dreading that all day, too.
Vince hasn’t spoken to me since Adrian made him leave after dinner. I was half-afraid Adrian was only saying he was going to take him out to the car and he’d actually kill him, realizing he’d fucked up by sparing him the first time. Right the wrong. Mateo wouldn’t need much of an explanation at this point. I think he’d care less if Adrian killed Vince than he cared about Joey, and he didn’t seem to care at all when Joey died.
Poor Joey.
But also stupid fucking Joey. He should’ve never gone along with such a ridiculous plan. If Vince would’ve succeeded, I would’ve wanted to kill him myself.
Last night scared me. Seeing Vince at Mateo’s seat at the table. I’m getting really worried about Vince.
So, after a long day, I decide I need to take my mind off things. Vince is working and I’m home alone, dreading him getting here. I get out a bottle of wine and decide to indulge my sadness tonight.
Meg is working at the bakery in the morning, I have no classes, and I have this beautiful, tempting bottle of wine. What have I got to lose?
I’m so glad Vince isn’t home.
He can’t stand when I get like this. It happens sometimes, even when he’s around. I get lost in it. My thoughts turn to Mateo, to Meg, to all I’ve bet, to all I’ve lost. I’m in so deep. The house owns my ass. None of my bets have been worth a damn.
I’m so goddamn in love with my best friend’s fiancé that sometimes I just need to sink into it. It doesn’t help that he’s him. That he feels it, exploits it for his own amusement. It’s a game to him. He has a partner at home that he’s happy with. Someone to call his, someone to curl up beside, someone to fuck each night when he’s not thinking of me. He can toy with me at no cost, and I eat it up, because I’m that far gone.
Laugh-sobbing, I recline on the couch he bought us, in the house I bought with one fucking night of sex that wasn’t worth it.
Not the sex. That was good. I think about that more than I should.
The house wasn’t worth it. Vince wasn’t worth it.
I thought we could build something beautiful, if Mateo would just get out of the way.
I should’ve known. As easily as he played me, as dynamic as he is, I should’ve known Mateo would never be out of the way.
Maybe he would’ve, for a lot longer. But then Meg happened.
And she only happened because I made this fucking choice. Because I thought I could build with Vince, so I left Mateo lonely. I bailed us out, bought us freedom, bought us a chance…
But it was all a lie. I didn’t buy my own freedom; I bought my own personal hell. I just left him open to someone who’s wonderful, who makes him happy, and I love her, and…
And what do I have?
I have this bottle of wine.
“More,” I tell the bottle, like it hears me. “I need more of you.”
My mind tells me this is false, that I do not need more. What I need is to stop drinking wine by myself in my living room like a loser. To stop making myself sad. To go do my goddamn homework, or finish folding the towels. It would be kind of funny to write my term paper completely fucking wasted.
But I don’t. I pour more wine. I wallow a bit more. I miss Mateo.
I think of how it felt to be in his arms at Francesca’s wedding. To be curled up beside him in bed last night. There’s nothing quite like being the center of Mateo Morelli’s attention. It’s always fleeting, and I try to convince myself that’s why he gets to me like this. Because I can’t hold him. I never would’ve been able to. I’m not Meg. Maybe she can harness him, maybe she can hold his interest, but I’m just not her. Even if she had never come along, would I have been able to keep his interest? Probably not. I’m honest enough (or maybe just not drunk enough) to still admit that.
When he smiles at you, it feels like the greatest thing you’ll ever accomplish, to just entertain this man. This overwhelming, larger-than-life, hurricane of a human being.
He’s not even good, and I don’t even care. I don’t care if he’s bad. I’m past caring. I did once. I think. I don’t know when I got this lost.
The wine doesn’t help.
Logically I know tomorrow I’ll be sober, and I’ll be able to function, and I’ll be able to see him again without feeding the unrelenting ache inside of me… but tonight, I will miss him. Tonight, I will be sad.
The front door opens.
My head falls back, a blatant sigh of disappointment escaping me. Vince was supposed to be gone longer. He said he’d be home late.
I grab my phone, checking the time. I expect to see he came home way early, but apparently I’ve been drinking longer than I realized and it’s after midnight.
Vince hangs his keys up on the key rack he hung on the wall when we first moved in, back when we still had hopes and dreams about each other.
I laugh. It’s a bitter laugh, and I need more wine. To my horror, the bottle is empty.
Vince apparently isn’t as drunk as I am. He’s still a little drunk. I don’t know who he drinks with now, because he misses Joey and he sure wasn’t at the mansion, but he’s been drinking. Who knows, maybe he’s found some other stupid girl to fuck. Maybe he drinks with her.
That makes me angry. It shouldn’t make me angry. If I want Mateo, I don’t have any right to still be territorial over Vince, but I’m with Vince, and I’m not fucking Mateo, no matter what Vince thinks. No matter what Adrian thinks. No matter what anyone thinks. I don’t get either of them, that’s the hilarious thing. I’ve had both at different points, and I gave up any chance at Mateo for Vince… and now I don’t even have him. Because the asshole had to go and try to kill Mateo, and I can’t forgive him.
Which I guess works out, because he can’t forgive me for fucking Mateo. He can’t even forgive me for being raped by Mateo, and how the fuck does that even require forgiveness? But it does with him. Because it’s Mateo. And I could get past that, I think, if I loved Vince.
But I’ve realized I don’t.
I mean, I do.
But not the way he loves me.
Not the way I love Mateo.
Not in the way that I want to wake up next to him. That I would sell my soul—and I would have to sell my soul, because there’s no way anyone could be with Mateo without doing that first—to have a life with him. I don’t even know when that happened.
Well, Meg.
A life with Mateo seemed daunting. Exhilarating, probably, but fucking terrifying. How do you build a life with a natural disaster?
But Meg seems to have found a
way.
And she lets me have a taste sometimes, because she’s the best friend in the whole world. I know she realizes I have feelings for him that a woman should not have for her best friend’s fiancé and baby daddy, and instead of being mean and jealous, like I would, she lets me come over more, she lets me spend time with him, she lets me spend the night, she lets us have friendship, at least.
I’d take anything with him.
Anything that didn’t hurt her, anyway.
I may be desperately in love, but I’m not a monster.
Vince probably thinks I am.
But I think he is.
Because he tried to kill Mateo.
And I’ll never forgive him for that. Not ever.
But I have to stay. I don’t think he still loves me, but he still wants me, and it’s the only way I know to make sure he doesn’t do something drastic. Vince has made it clear to me since we met that he doesn’t fear death. Adrian’s wrath isn’t enough to keep him from killing Mateo.
He has to keep me.
So I’ll stay.
I’d walk through the underworld to protect Mateo.
I don’t know why.
“Are you drinking again?” Vince asks, kicking his shoes off.
I laugh. It isn’t funny, but I’m wasted in more ways than one. “Yes. Wine makes me happy.”
“Yeah, you look real happy.” He drops onto the couch next to me. I don’t want him to be that close, so I scoot into a sitting position, moving away from him.
Of course he notices.
“Really?” He glances over at me, almost smiling.
Yeah, he’s definitely been drinking.
“You’re gonna move away from me?” he demands.
I don’t even answer. It would start a fight, and I don’t feel like fighting. I feel like wallowing.
Only he’s apparently feeling ornery. He’s not aggressive; his tone is even, but he asks, “So you’re just going to ignore me?”
“Stop being so needy, Vince.”
He laughs. “Needy. Right.” He catches my ankle, tugging me down the couch, onto my back.
There’s something wrong with me, because I don’t want him, but it makes me excited.
