Chapter Seven
Mateo
I’ve learned a few things being the Dating Guy for the past nine months.
It’s perfectly acceptable to casually date more than one woman at the same time as long as I’m up-front about it.
When on a date, don’t flirt with anyone else. I can flirt freely on my own time.
By being genuine in everything I say and do, women naturally gravitate toward me.
And last, but not least, I am irresistible.
Case in point: the blonde-haired, blue-eyed cutie smiling up at me with her hands on her hips. “My mommy says you can be my babysitter, Tayo.”
Tayo. My heart expands every time she says my name like that.
I kneel down to Zoe’s level so we’re nose to nose. “I have a date tonight, Zo, but I promise if I’m available the next time your mom needs someone, I’m your guy.”
She pushes out her bottom lip in a pout that is too adorable for words. I sit down on the grass in my small front yard with my legs bent, arms over my knees. Zoe sits across from me on the pink soccer ball I gave her. The guys and I have lived here for three years, snagging it when the previous renters bought a place in Sherman Oaks. Our rent is manageable, but our landlord is a hard-ass when it comes to keeping the place clean and in good condition, and paying on time. My goal is to buy my own house in the next couple of years. Homes in the areas I like are really fucking expensive, though, so Bennett is helping me make that plan a reality.
“When do we get to have another date?” she asks with her sweet six-year-old voice.
“How about Sunday? I’ll ask your mom if you’re free.”
“I’m free,” she says, without doubt. “Can we get ice cream again?”
“Absolutely.”
Zoe and her mom, Abby, rent the house next door. They’ve been here for almost a year. Moved from Sacramento when Abby got a job with the clothing designer who has a store right around the corner on Beverly Boulevard. Zoe’s dad passed away when she was two. Heart attack at the age of thirty-five. Shit like that makes no sense to me. When Abby told me, the next time I looked at Zoe my heart literally cracked. It still does on occasion. This little girl is amazing and it’s not fair.
“Is chocolate chip still your favorite flavor?” I ask. Every time I take her it’s something different.
She shakes her pigtailed head. “Cookies and cream.”
“That’s my favorite!”
She smiles wide. “I know. We’re the same.”
I tug on her pigtail, then get to my feet. “Tell you what. You score another goal on me and I’ll buy you a double scoop.”
“In a cup with chocolate syrup!” She picks up the soccer ball and struts over to the net I’ve set up on the grass by the tree between our properties. This fall she’s playing AYSO soccer for the first time, so I’ve been teaching the game to her. She puts the ball down about six feet in front of the goal.
“What’s this?” I ask, standing between the ball and the net.
She rolls her eyes at me. “A penalty shot.”
This kid listens to and remembers everything I tell her. “Because?”
“Because you commented a foul.”
It takes me a second to realize she meant “committed” and I hadn’t accidentally let another bad word slip. Yeah, she got her first “shit” from me. Abby was none too happy when Zoe colored out of the lines and cursed.
“What foul did I commit?”
“You tripped me up,” she says, like I should have known that. She is so effing adorable that it doesn’t matter she’s making it up.
“Really? Well, I guess if you say so.” I’m proud of her for understanding when a penalty takes place. I back up to defend the goal I have no intention of protecting. The little girl in front of me, I’ll protect for as long as she lets me.
“Ready?” she asks.
“Take your best shot.”
Concentration takes over her face and she gives the ball a big kick. I do my best to give an exaggerated attempt to stop the ball, diving for it and missing. It rolls into the net as I fall on the grass.
“Score!” Zoe raises both her arms in the air like she’s gotten a touchdown. She bounces over to me with a huge smile on her face and tackle-hugs me. She puts her tiny hands on my cheeks and says, “Good try, Tayo.”
“Thanks, kid. Nice shot.” I lift her off me and get to my feet.
“Zoe,” Abby calls out as she walks toward us. “It’s time to go.” She’s wearing a loose short-sleeved pale pink dress that falls to above her knees and heels. She’s a pretty woman, and if I didn’t like her daughter so much, I’d do her in a second. There’s no way I want to compromise my relationship with Zoe, though, so Abby is off-limits. She’s got a date tonight. The first one I know of since she’s been here. “Thanks for hanging out with her while I got ready, Mateo.”
“I don’t wanna go to Michelle’s,” Zoe whines. Michelle is the babysitter who doesn’t hold a candle to me. I’m irresistible, remember?
“I know, but she’s really looking forward to seeing you. And I hear she has something special planned for you two.” Abby goes to pick up the net, but I grab it first.
“I got this,” I say. I pass the soccer ball to Zoe so she can dribble it home. “If it’s okay with you, Abby, I’d like to take Zoe for ice cream on Sunday.”
Abby slides me an appreciative look as we arrive at her front door. “Sure.”
“Hear that, Zo, we’ve got a date.” One I’m looking forward to more than the date I’ve got tonight. Not sure what that means, so I push it out of my mind.
Zoe wraps her arms around my legs and squeezes.
I put my hand on the back of her head. “I’ll see you Sunday, soccer star. Have a good time with Michelle.”
She lets go of me and skips into the house. “Okay. Bye!”
“Thank you,” Abby says.
“No problem. You have fun tonight. But not too much.” I sound like an overprotective dad. WTF is up with that?
Abby chuckles. “I’d say the same to you, but I know better.”
I turn around with a wave over my shoulder. The sun is about ready to call it a day, and I need to shower before I meet up with my date.
Elliot is sitting on the couch playing Call of Duty when I walk into the house. He’s still dressed for the office, but his sleeves are rolled up. “Where’s Levi?” I ask. Levi’s our other best friend. He’s a cameraman and works crazy hours. He had a music video shoot that started at 3:00 a.m., and he got home about an hour ago. He was on the couch when I went out to play with Zoe.
“He went to bed. Said not to bother him until tomorrow afternoon.”
“Got it.” I take his spot and pick up the abandoned controller.
“You working it tonight?”
“Yeah. A date with a girl I met at the gym.” I’ve never thought about it before, and Elliot has no idea I’m Bennett, but he’s right about “work.” I can’t remember the last time I went on a date just for me. It’s all about collecting data now. Well, except for lunch with Teague the other day. That was pure pleasure. “What are you up to?”
The doorbell rings before he answers. We’re both playing zombies and neither of us makes a move to get up. The bell rings a second time. “Dude, you going to get that?” Elliot says.
He hates it when I yell, “Come in,” because the last time I did, one of his exes stormed in and dumped dog shit on his lap. Seriously. He’d gotten her a puppy for her birthday, broke up with her like two weeks later, and when she tried to get him to take the dog, he declined. A good call, considering none of us is home a lot. The dog apparently had a continence problem, and she wanted to make Elliot’s day as crappy as hers. Pun intended.
Elliot did start playing first, so I guess I’m the guy to answer. I put the controller on the coffee table and round the couch.
I’m shocked when I open the door. Standing two feet away from me with wide blue eyes is Teague.
“You live here?” she says.
“Hello to you, too.” I lean against the door with my arm raised and hand wrapped around the frame. This gives her a small peek at my rock-hard abs as my T-shirt rises up. Her eyes dip down while I let mine slowly roam her body from neck to feet. She looks fucking amazing in a tight beige skirt and form-fitting white shirt that flares out at the hem.
Her gaze jumps back up. “Sorry,” she says, blinking away my effect on her. Not that that’s really possible, but she’s giving it a go. “Hi.”
“What can I do for you?” Please say get me naked. Hell, I’ll settle for half naked.
“Nothing. I’m just here to deliver this for Ms. Gal— Your mom. She actually told me to leave it under the doormat, but I saw a car in the driveway, so thought I’d knock. She didn’t mention whose house I was going to. Here you go.” She hands me a blank envelope that I know contains two tickets to the Dodgers game tomorrow night. My parents are season-ticket holders and have other plans this weekend.
“Thanks. You want to come in?”
“No. Thank you. See ya.” She turns to leave.
I toss the envelope on the entryway table, then close the door behind me. “Teague, wait up.” It’s like I don’t have a choice. I need to talk to her more. Obviously, she’s got better willpower than I do. I’m going to have to remedy that.
She stops quicker than I anticipated and twists around. I catch myself with an arm around her waist, our chests touching—hold it—before taking a step back.
Sorry not sorry.
“How’s it going?”
“With your mom or in general?”
“Both,” I say honestly. I’m interested in this girl, which should raise all sorts of red fucking flags, but at the moment, I don’t care.
Her gaze moves somewhere over my shoulder. Her stance shifts. She’s contemplating how to answer. My innate talent for reading women tells me she wants to talk about my mom, but she won’t. To put her at ease, I amend my question. “Or rather, what are you doing this weekend?” What are you doing, dumbfuck? I’m pretty sure that question popped out while my brain was on pause.
The dim light of streetlamps not yet at full wattage softens Teague’s face, and fuck if she doesn’t look like some heavenly creature. A heavenly creature I want to do very bad things with.
Instead of looking more comfortable, she crosses her arms, her brows knit together. “Uh, nothing much.”
“Have you ever been to a Dodgers game?” Do not go there.
“No.”
“How about catching one with me tomorrow night?” Fuck. I went there. I’d yet to ask Elliot or Levi if one of them wanted to go.
“Like on a date?” She licks her lips, and my eyes rest briefly on her incredible mouth.
When I fail to answer right away, she continues. “Because we can’t do that. Your mom is my boss, and in case you forgot, she made it clear she doesn’t want us anywhere near each other. And even if she hadn’t, I’d still be hesitant because I don’t want my personal life anywhere near my professional one. Plus, I’m not an idiot, Mateo. I know what kind of guy you are, and I’m not that kind of girl.”
I’ve never felt the need to defend my reputation, but right now I want to tell this girl the truth. I stay single and date because my job requires it, and I do like dating. Love women. Love getting them off and making them feel good. Do I have to sleep with them? Absolutely not. That’s on me.
Right now, though, this isn’t about what I have to do. It’s about what I want to do. Teague makes me feel different when I’m around her.
“Not a date,” I tell her.
She frowns. “Then what is it?”
“Friends grabbing a game. You’re new here, and I’d like to show you around.” Total truth right there. I remember how much she enjoyed our tacos. Spending her first Dodgers game together would be even better.
“We’re friends now?”
“If you want to be.” This is her call. I get the work thing and the boss thing, so I’ll leave the decision to her. Unless she makes the wrong one. Then I’ll have to change her mind, because for some reason the thought of not seeing her again doesn’t sit well with me. She’ll say yes, though. I am irresistible, remember?
“I don’t know, Mateo.”
Well, fuck me. “What don’t you know? I’m happy to set your mind at ease if you’ll let me.” Have I mentioned how competitive I am? Even with myself? This “date” might be stupid as shit, but I want to spend my Saturday night with Teague.
She worries her bottom lip, which is hella distracting. I want to bite it for her, then kiss and suck it better. “I’ve got a lot on my plate right now and—”
“What’s on this plate?” I interrupt.
“I also work at a coffee shop during the week at five a.m., and I’m…I’m studying to be a travel writer. Plus, this Sunday I’ve got to work a wedding, so tomorrow I should—”
“Stop right there. So you want to be friends, but are afraid you don’t have the time?” She is so damn considerate she must have unicorn blood in her, because I’ve yet to meet a girl as selfless as she is.
Something besides kindness flashes in her eyes that I can’t put my finger on exactly. “I guess that’s the crux of it, yes.”
“My ego is happy to hear that,” I tease. “And you have nothing to worry about. I’m not asking for a permanent spot in your calendar, just a chance to hang out. And now that I know more about you, being that this is my hometown, I could show you some cool places to write about.” Her baby blues widen in surprise—and interest. I’ve got her hooked, and one way or another, I’m not letting her go.
“Come on, Knox. What have you got to lose? I promise I won’t let you fall in love with me or anything.”
“I don’t know how you make it through doorways with a head that big,” she says all feisty, and I realize the way to get to this girl is to challenge her.
“Be my friend and find out. Unless you’re afraid I’m too much for you.”
“You’re not too much for me. In fact, you probably need someone like me to drop you down a peg or two.”
“Drop me, baby, drop me.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re going to the Dodgers game with me tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up at five. Text me your address.” I take backward steps to signal this is good-bye.
“I don’t have your number.”
“Sure you do. I tapped it in when I had possession of your phone the other day while you were driving. Don’t look so shocked. I knew then we had the makings of a beautiful friendship. Five o’clock, Knox. Be ready to make some noise.”
“What does that mean?” she half shouts, since I’m at my front door.
“You’ll find out tomorrow.”
She gives a little shake of her head. I open the door but watch her walk away before I go inside. I’ve never been platonic with a girl whose pants I want inside of almost more than my next breath. Which means I’m doomed to fail at the friend thing or keeping my hands to myself thing.
Not sure which I mind failing more.