Chapter Eighteen
Teague
The house I grew up in in Oregon is right on the beach. It’s big with six bedrooms, six bathrooms, giant kitchen and great room, and a basketball court on the side yard. My daddy’s family was one of the first to live in our small town of Cascade. My grandfather donated considerably to helping the town become what it is today, and the name Watters decorates many public buildings.
But this three-story mansion in Malibu is big times a hundred. Per instructions from Gabrielle, I got here before the guys in order to open the Mediterranean-style house and stock the kitchen with enough food to last a week. It took me an hour to do that with all the groceries I had to unload and the square footage I had to cover walking around inside. I’m sure I’ve far exceeded the required daily number of steps for those fitness wristbands so many people wear.
I’m also sure I could move into the maid’s quarters permanently and no one would notice.
Except for the maid.
Maybe. I don’t take up that much space, so she might be cool with it, regardless.
I slide open the huge heavy glass door that faces the sand and sea and step onto the second-floor terrace. Eight cushioned lounge chairs are lined up in a neat row with room to spare. There’s a large stack of blue-and-white-striped towels in the corner. It’s a beautiful day, and I lean against the banister to take in the view and breathe in the ocean air. The stretch of beach is quiet, with only a few people taking advantage of the late-afternoon sunshine.
Unfortunately, the lasagnas I’ve been instructed to prepare will take some time to put together and cook, so I head back to the kitchen. This is the main floor of the house with the kitchen, dining room, family room, game room, guest bathroom, library, gym, and maid’s quarters. (I told you it was big.) The bedrooms and full baths are on the first and third floors.
I follow the recipe Gabrielle gave me, put three pans of lasagna in the oven, and set the timer for one hour. Looking around, I put my hands on my hips and wonder what to do next.
No, I wonder what Harp would do next. She told me to have some fun for her.
She’s at home, sick with the stomach flu. If it were anything else, she would have come with me. But when it’s your stomach, the best place to be is in your own bed so you can quickly and easily make it to the porcelain bowl you’re most comfortable with. Not that that position is ever comfortable, but you know what I mean.
The marble flooring under my feet is white and shiny, and I get an idea. I hurry to my room, take off everything but my underwear, and find the pair of fluffy blue socks at the bottom of my bag. I put them on, along with the zippered hoodie I brought, zipping up only three-quarters of the way.
I pick up my cell to find the music I need. Harper’s favorite Tom Cruise movie is Risky Business. We’ve watched it no less than half a dozen times. Need I say more?
The kitchen and living room are one big area, so I’ve got plenty of room to do my thing. I put my phone on the counter, grab a spatula to serve as my microphone, and press play on “Old Time Rock and Roll.”
I slide across the floor, pause, spin around, and do my best TC impersonation, kicking up my leg, standing on my tiptoes, singing into the spatula in my right hand, and pumping the air with my left arm. I strut over to the fireplace, run my free hand through my hair, twist around, and toss the spatula onto the couch. I’ve got nothing to grab to use as a guitar, but I hop up onto the coffee table and pretend to strum anyway, shaking my hips as I sashay across the table before jumping off.
I go to my knees, lean back, toss my hair around, and use my fist as my new microphone. I continue to sing, turning my head left, then right. My eyes are closed and I am totally into it. I do the splits, push myself up, bounce up and down, and jump backward onto the couch.
This is so fun!
I raise my hands and legs, shake them out, then flip over onto my stomach and jiggle my entire body, burying my face into the cushion.
I’m grinning when I push up to my feet, lift the shoulders of my hoodie in an attempt to be ultra cool, and swivel my hips. I take two steps backward, whirl around, and once again strum my invisible guitar. I continue to sing and dance, jump around, and slide across the floor until the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I freeze. I have the uncomfortable feeling I’ve entered a rom-com and as soon as I spin around someone is going to be standing right there.
The song ends.
And despite my intuition, the sound of clapping startles the crap out of me. I practically leap out of my skin. I turn in the direction of the applause and find Mateo leaning against the kitchen counter. His dimples are deep and sexy, and he’s so gorgeous that I forget myself for a minute.
“You are the hottest fucking thing I have ever seen,” he says, making me blush all the way down to my toes.
“Mateo! You’re early!”
“Thank my fucking lucky stars.” His eyes rake over me and oh my gosh, I have hardly any clothes on! My hoodie doesn’t cover my butt at all! And my panties only cover half my cheeks. I glance down to find a generous peek at my cleavage.
I snag a throw pillow off the couch and cover myself.
“Please don’t do that on my account. You’re gorgeous, Knox. I love seeing you like this.”
My heart hammers so hard, he can probably feel the vibration from across the room. He’s looking at me like he wants to devour me.
“If I clap some more, will you do an encore?” He pushes off from the counter to walk toward me, all calm, cool, and hotter than anything I’ve ever seen in my life in jeans and a black T-shirt.
I’m not sure what to do or say, so I stand there quietly, waiting for my brain to catch up. I haven’t seen Mateo since he brought me mac and cheese, but he did text. When I told him I was on bachelor party duty he thought it was a terrible idea and said he’d talk to his mom. I told him no ducking way. I could handle this and he needed to stay out of my work life. He said he’d be my backup if I needed him.
If the tingles on my skin and the pressure between my legs are any indication, I need him in the most basic way right this very second.
He stops when he’s a foot away. His green eyes haven’t left mine, and up close I see they’re teeming with something wild. Magnetic. I don’t want to ever look away. His nearness equals pants on fire.
“Nice moves,” he says.
“How long have you been standing there?”
He grins. “I walked in when you were shaking it toward the fireplace.”
Which means pretty much the whole time I was dancing around in my underwear. I poke him in the chest. “You should have said something!”
“And spoil the show? I’m not stupid. I told you—”
“I know.” The hottest fucking thing I have ever seen. No guy has ever talked to me the way he does. “It’s just embarrassing.” My cheeks are burning hot.
“There’s no reason it should be. But if my compliments made you uncomfortable, I’ll try to keep them to myself.” He blinds me with ridiculous hotness when he smiles. His white teeth are in beautiful contrast to his dark skin, his eyes sparkle, and those dimples, ghuh, the expression is indecent.
My legs shake, but somehow I manage to say, “Thank you. Not for the apology, since that wasn’t necessary, but for the things you said. I…” I avert my eyes because I’m kind of naked here and not used to revealing my deepest feelings to a guy. “I liked them.”
“Hello!” a male voice calls out. “Mateo, you here?”
“Who’s that?!” I say, and bounce from foot to foot. “I can’t believe you guys are early!” I toss the pillow onto the couch and hurry around Mateo, which isn’t exactly easy in socks. I slip and have to catch myself before I bite it.
“Careful,” Mateo says, helping by grabbing my elbow.
I look at him with thanks, but my eyes feel as big as saucers. I can’t get caught dressed like this.
“Go. I’ll head them off.”
“Thanks.” I take off as quick as I can toward the maid’s quarters while Mateo makes a mad dash toward the front door I see he left ajar. I also notice his gaze is not on where he’s going but on my butt. “Mateo!”
“What?” he says like a little boy who just got caught stealing a cookie.
“Watch where you’re going.”
“I’d rather watch you.”
It’s official. This weekend is going to ruin me.
I slide around the kitchen counter, grab my phone, and make it down the hall without notice. Once inside the privacy of my room, I fling myself onto the bed and hug one of the supersoft pillows to my chest. I can’t believe Mateo caught me dancing. But what’s worse is I liked it. I liked knowing his eyes had been riveted on me. That I could interest him so much he wanted a repeat performance. I’ve never felt sexier. Standing in front of him, a little out of breath from dancing, a lot out of breath from his attention, was exciting. If he’d touched me like I secretly wanted him to, he could have taken me on the couch.
I roll onto my back and think about touching myself to relieve the pressure between my thighs and filling my head. I’m not very proficient at masturbating, but I have no doubt thoughts of Mateo will get me there quickly.
Jeez Louise. What am I doing? I have work to do. I slide off the bed and shake my body free of any lingering tingles. Then I pull on a pair of jeans, zip my hoodie up, and trade my socks for flip-flops. I’m halfway out the door when I remember I don’t have a bra on. A minute later that’s remedied, and I stride into the kitchen.
Mateo is sitting at the kitchen island. Two other guys are standing around it, beers in their hands.
“Hi, I’m Teague.”
“The cook and house sitter we need to be respectful of,” Mateo quickly adds.
I glare at him. That’s not having my back, that’s making me look like I can’t handle these guys. I dealt with plenty of frat boys in college. Albeit, not as a babysitter and spy, which is really what I am, but still.
“Correction,” one of them says. “The beautiful cook and house sitter. Hi, I’m Gavin. And whatever you’re cooking I want.”
Mateo makes a grunty noise at the same time I say, “Lasagna.”
“That, too,” Gavin says with a smile.
Oh.
“Ignore my friend,” the other guy says. “Hi, I’m Henry.” He extends his hand, and we shake.
“The groom.” I almost let it slip that I’ve heard all about him from Madison, but she asked me not to mention that we’re friends.
Gavin slings his arm over Henry’s shoulders. “The first one of us to get hitched.”
Something passes over Henry’s face. Stress, maybe? Which is understandable with his wedding four weeks away.
The doorbell rings, and Gavin goes to answer it. I get busy making garlic bread as three more guys arrive with boxes of hard alcohol, poker chips, and packages of Nerf guns. Someone lines up shot glasses on the countertop. Two more friends walk in carrying a kayak. They put it down on the floor like it belongs in the house, and the kitchen is now overflowing with testosterone.
The new guys introduce themselves. I give them the rundown on my position here this weekend, ending by saying I’ll stay out of their way as much as possible. I almost say pretend I’m not here, but I don’t because then I may see things I won’t be able to unsee. A minute later with drinks in hands, they take to exploring the house and claiming bedrooms. “This house is dope,” someone says.
Mateo stays behind. “I know you’ve got this,” he says, “but I’m here for you this weekend. Don’t forget that, okay?”
“What do you mean?” I pull the lasagnas out of the oven, put the garlic bread in.
“I wasn’t sure I was going to make it to this, but when you told me you would be here, that made my decision for me.”
I cross my arms over my chest, frown at him.
“Because”—he comes around the counter and toys with the zipper on my hoodie until I drop my arms—“I hated the idea of other guys being around you when I wasn’t.” The back of his hand almost brushes my boob. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you all week,” he adds.
My nipples are harder than they’ve ever been in my life. “No hot dates to keep you busy?”
“Not this week.”
I suppose that’s better than a “yes,” but the “temporary” implication is still there. Even so, he’s wearing me down. I want him so badly that I’m beginning to care less and less about the aftermath. He’s consumed my thoughts and daydreams for weeks. Maybe just this once I can do what Harper does so well. Give in to my desires and move on without a backward glance.
I chew on my lip while I think about what to say next.
His eyes dip to my mouth. “Let me erase Big Dick,” he says, his voice huskier than usual.
“What?” I have no idea what he’s talking about. His hand is on my waist now. My palm is on his chest.
“You’ve been with one guy, Knox, and he turned out to be a complete asshole. I’m betting he didn’t please you all that much in bed, either. Did he make you lose your inhibitions so you screamed loud enough that you didn’t care if anyone heard you? Did he give you multiples orgasms?”
He dips his head so he’s looking me straight in the eyes. “Did he take you any other way but missionary?” His gaze is so intense it’s like he’s reading my mind. “Because I suspect—no, I know—you’ve got a wild streak in you waiting to come out for the right guy.”
I swallow.
“I got a glimpse of it in the hammock and…” He straightens. Takes a little step back.
“And?” He’s right about all of it. Rod. My secret desires.
“This wasn’t my intention this weekend, it really wasn’t. But I’ve had a hard-on since I walked in and saw you dancing in your barely there underwear. And the truth is, I haven’t touched another girl since I met you. I’m fucking ready to blow.”
That’s it. My body and mind are in total agreement.
I’m his to do with as he pleases.
I step in to him, lift up on my tiptoes, and am about to brush my lips against his when I smell something burning. Shoot. The garlic bread! I spin around to open the oven. Smoke billows out.
“Butternuts!” I pull the top cookie sheet out. The bread is burned, but not too badly. The same can’t be said for the bottom sheet. The loaf there is charred.
“Just the way I like it,” Mateo says. He’s trying to make this okay, and it’s working because he moves behind me to put his hands on my waist. His mouth gently tickles the side of my neck. “Have you ever had sex you can smell?” he whispers.
Now I’m burning. No, I have not had sex like that, and suddenly it’s all I want. There are no more consequences in my mind. There is only the present.
Voices come from the direction of the stairway, and Mateo releases me. He moves to the other side of the counter, leaving me hot and achy.
“You okay there, Teague? Your face is red,” one of the guys says.
“I’m fine, thanks.” I grab the extra loaf of French bread. “You guys want to start on dinner while I make more garlic bread?”
“Sounds good,” Henry says, grabbing one of the plates from the stack I set up earlier.
Mateo joins the group to eat, drink, and talk sports and whatever else boys talk about. I tune them out to do my thing, then go back to my room. There’s no need for me to stick around. A knock on my door startles me a few minutes later.
I open it to find Mateo. He’s holding a plate with a small piece of lasagna and an apple he must have grabbed from the crisper in the fridge. “You need to eat, too,” he says.
Falling. I’m falling so fast and hard that there is no chance of catching myself. This—whatever this is—is much bigger than either of us wants to admit. “Thank you. That was really nice of you to think of me.” I’d completely forgotten about food for myself.
“I think we’ve already established I haven’t stopped doing that.” He hands me the plate, then backs away with another smile to end all smiles.
Our eyes stay locked until he turns the corner back into the kitchen.
A big piece of my heart follows him.