“Did you have a good time, Jamila?” Mateo demands as he walks right past me and into my apartment a half an hour after I disconnected our call. He showed up just as I was getting out of the shower, and I was half-tempted to ignore the sound of my doorbell. Then I realized he wouldn’t leave until I acknowledged him—just like the night I went out to The Renaissance with Julian. I answered the door to the sight of him in blue lounge pants and a tee shirt that made my fingers ache to touch him.

And now, I’m facing said door, letting his words rattle around my head as he sarcastically asks me once more if I had a good time.

“The best,” I mutter, my nostrils flaring as I wring my hands together in front of me. “Why are you here?”

He mumbles a curse under his breath. “Why are you staring at the door?” His footsteps are a heavy thud on the carpet beneath our feet, and I brace myself for the sensation of being so close to him. He moves behind me, the air escaping his lips harsh on the nape of my neck. Though my body is still warm from my shower it feels like I’ve been hit with ice, and I shiver. “And to answer your question, I’m here because I told you I was coming. Apparently, you didn’t understand English.” He ignores the sound of me sucking in a breath through my teeth as he lowers his mouth to my ear and repeats his statement in Spanish. 

“I understood you loud and clear,” I grind out through teeth that are so tight my face burns. “I just chose not to listen.”

“You asked who I was with earlier, and I told you I was alone. Now I deserve the same courtesy. Were you with another man?” His voice is laced with irritation, and I think about letting him wonder. 

Making him angrier.

Screwing with him just like he does me.

But I count to five then glance behind me into eyes that beg for answers. I hate that he looks at me like that, hate that I want to give him any part of myself. “You throw fuck parties, Bailon. You have no right to ask me who I’ve been with after your … Victoria showed up at your house while I was with you. But to answer your stupid ass question, I was out dancing. With friends.”

I maneuver away from him, sliding from my spot between the door and his hard body, but he’s quicker than me. I’m in his arms, with his hand gripping my ass possessively and the other slowly—sensually—linking our fingers together one by one. “If you wanted to dance, all you had to do was ask.”

“Go home, Mateo,” I whisper, but I move with him while he leads me across the floor of my living room. Our gazes never part as he taps the MP3 player on the dock at the entertainment center. The song I was listening to while I got dressed this evening starts, midway through Rihanna crooning about love fucking her. The song is wrong. Everything about Mateo is wrong, but he draws me closer, burying his nose in my hair. Inhaling me. Drowning in me. Destroying me—just like I always knew he would.

“Go home,” I choke out again. 

I feel him shake his head against the top of mine, his chin ruffling my damp curls. “You want to dance? I’ll dance with you. All night.” He drops my hand and brings his fingers to my face, tilting my chin until he’s staring into my dark eyes. “I’ll dance with you here, in your bed, in your shower—wherever you want me. However you want me. But I’m not leaving until you hear me out.”

I press my lips into a thin line to stop them from quivering. Why does my body have to react to him? “I never took you as the type to brush off my wishes. Maybe I need a safe phrase—like 'fuck off,' Bailon.”

“Oh, baby,” he whispers, sounding disappointed. He goes quiet for a moment as the song transitions to Wale and Miguel’s “Lotus Flower Bomb.” I hold onto him tightly, loathing myself for swaying with him, for melting in his arms. Especially when he narrows his eyes a knowing smirk splits his face. “You’re a beautiful liar because even your playlist says otherwise. I sent you flowers.”

“I didn’t receive them.”

“More lies, Flowerbomb. Why? Didn’t we agree there would be no lies between us?”

“I—” But he grasps me like he’s afraid to let go, and my throat hitches. “I’m an idiot for still wanting you after what happened a few days ago.”

He had explained what had happened in texts and a voicemail, but it still didn’t make things … better. Because Mateo’s house—his life—is like a revolving door, and it’s not one I want to simply pass through. It’s no longer fun but a goddamn hassle that gives me a headache.

“If you had stuck around to listen you would know that there’s nothing between Victoria and me. There never has been. There never will be.”

“She came to your house while we were together.”

“Because I promised her she could stay while she was in town. I forgot. And I pissed you both off.” He links his fingers with mine and my heart trembles in my ribcage. “Why would you just leave, Jamila? That’s not you.”

“You read me that well now?” I demand, and he’s silent as we move, our bodies rocking together when the song crawls into one he knows well. I still beneath his touch. Draw in a raspy breath that’s like fire to my lungs. I turn away from his face so he can’t see mine as Ciara’s rendition of “Paint It, Black,” fills the air around us. This song says everything.

I hadn’t planned to go out tonight. In fact, I had every intention of staying at home to lick my self-inflicted wounds. But Baby R, the patient I’ve grown so attached to, was discharged this morning—to his paternal grandmother’s care. When Nicole had invited me out for karaoke, I obliged. To celebrate that the child who’s broken my heart over the last several weeks has a home. To mourn that the man who’s possessed my body for just as much time has managed to bring me to another realization about myself:

I am crazy about Mateo Bailon.

I am crazy about him, and the sight of Victoria Gellert in his home had broken me. I know what he is—who he is—but seeing her had solidified that I can never have him the way I want him.

I am falling in love with a man who will never love me back, and I am afraid to do this any longer.

“She’s my friend,” he murmurs into my ear as we dance.

“What were you saying to her?” I ask. I’ve wondered too many times to count, and he chuckles softly against my skin. “In that photo of you two—what were you saying?”

“That I was glad she got her tit tattoo removed. It was awful—her ex-husband’s name—and she’s better off without it.” He leans away so that he can observe my reaction as he says, “She’s just my friend, do you understand? You mean…”

I mean something?

The thing is, I understand. I believe him. Still, it doesn’t stop the sharp pain from twisting my heart because he can’t even complete that sentence. “I’m afraid,” I whisper aloud as a new song begins playing—this one is the same that had played that first night in the red lounge. The one about his devil side ruining me. “I’m scared of caring for you, Mateo.”

“Are you ready to end this?”

Yes. No. That’s the worst part of the whole situation because I’m not ready to unravel myself from the man holding me close and breathing me in. A sound pushes from the back of my throat as he untangles our fingers, and I shiver a moment later when his hands touch the nape of my neck and I feel something cold against my collarbone. I lean back, my chest rising and falling as I look at the necklace he’s just put on me. It’s beautiful—a simple flower pendant on a thin platinum chain.

“You didn’t open your gift,” he says. “Happy belated birthday.”

Rubbing the rose charm between the tips of my fingers, I close my eyes. “Bailon, you don’t buy things like this when we’re—”

He doesn’t give me time to finish. Doesn’t give me time to remind me that all he wanted was a distraction, not a woman he sends flowers to or dances with. His full lips slant over mine as the music around us warns me that no one will save me if I give a shit about this man. If I do any of this with him. He pulls back and our breath hitches in unison.

“I do when it’s you.” He frames my face in his hands, and the look on his face sends a bitter ache through my bones. “Let me stay the night, beautiful. Let me—”

I shake my head roughly to each side. “I can’t tonight. My parents are stopping back through tomorrow before they go home to Florida.” My voice sounds detached as I explain to him that I’m meeting them for brunch, that I can’t show up looking wrecked after a night with him. When I’m finished, he kisses me again, scrambling my thoughts. I hold on to his shoulders and feel like a fool for not wanting to let go.

When we finally do, I step backward to put some space between our bodies. To give myself time to breathe and think and make smart decisions.

“Tomorrow night.” He drags his hand over his chest. “I can have you tomorrow night to put things right.”

His words are not even a question but a statement and it’s jarring because my answer is so hesitant. “Yes?” I hate you, heart. I hate you. “Yes, tomorrow night.”

* * *

“Have you been behaving yourself?”

My mother's teasing question catches Lucy off guard as they embrace the next morning, and my best friend flushes and stammers a response. “You know me, Mrs. A. I'm always behaving.”

But my mom grins at her as they both take a seat at our table. “How's your mom doing?”

Lucy seems to relax a little now that Mom’s changed the subject. She launches into her mother’s new romance. It had honestly been a surprise since Lucy’s mom hasn't expressed interest in dating anyone since her father passed away, but my friend swears that Susie and Neil are going to tie the knot before the end of summer.

Because apparently, everyone's getting married.

I glance across the table at Bella, who's in deep conversation with our dad. While Leo and Isaac aren't with her today, they might as well be. She talks about her fiancé every five minutes, and Dad’s already asked her a few times if she's honestly expecting him to pay for the lavish wedding she’s planning. She wants swans.

I almost choke on my drink when she announces that she actually wants swans.

“You’re no fun, Dad,” she says, and I start to speak up and remind her that just a year ago she thought weddings and marriage and children were the personification of hell on earth. She tilts her head to one side, opens her mouth to say something else, but then her dark irises slip over my shoulder. Her eyes widen for a split second before a shit-eating grin takes over her features. “And some things truly are better in person. Damn, Twin B.”

Scowling, I twist around in my seat to see what’s snagged my sister’s attention. My mouth drops open when my stare locks with Mateo’s. I swallow hard, hoping to relieve the pressure in the back of my throat, but it just makes it worse.

He's dressed casually—in khakis and a grayish-blue button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His black hair is slightly damp, like he just stepped out of the shower, and the edges of his mouth quirk as he strides closer to our table. I can barely hear the words Lucy mutters from beside me because the only sound filling my eardrums right now is my beating heart.

What the hell is going on?

“I'm sorry I'm late.” A wave of heat and ice twists around my core when he lowers his mouth to my temple. “I missed coming out with you the last time you asked, so I wanted to make it up today,” he whispers. “I hope you don’t mind.”

I shake my head because I can't speak, can't breathe. As I struggle to find the words, Lucy speaks up.

“He can have my seat, and I’ll—” She darts her eyes across the table and cocks her head to one side. “I’ll just sit next to Bella.” She’s up before I can stop her, shuffling toward my sister. She grabs a chair from an empty table and scoots herself between my father and Bella.

Mateo sinks down in Lucy’s former chair, takes a second to grin at me, then turns his dark gaze to the four sets of eyes staring curiously at him.

I clear my throat. “Mom, Dad, Bella, this is…” What the hell is he? He's the man who sets my soul on fire, who sends me flowers, who request songs that I adore at clubs. He's the man who threw sex parties, whose words infuriate me, whose mouth has electrified me. When I flick my tongue nervously over my lips, then blow out a deep breath, he squeezes my thigh beneath the table.

“I’m Mateo Bailon.” He gives Lucy a polite nod, and she takes a sip of her mimosa to hide the flush that creeps across her skin because she’s probably remembering the last time she was in the same room with him. “It's good to meet you,” he tells my family. “Jamila’s told me so much about you.”

Since I’ve spent my entire life asking everyone who knows me to call me Jamie instead of my full first name, my dad's head snaps back at hearing Mateo use it. Witnessing my father's response to him, he expertly redirects his focus. “Jamie says you’ve been golfing in Connecticut. How’d it go for you?” Bailon is smart, and Dad’s shoulders slowly relax as he tells Mateo about the event and his upcoming tournament in Florida.

I shiver when I feel my mother’s mouth close to my ear on my other side. “He's very handsome.”

“Yes, he is.” His hand on my leg moves higher, heating my skin, nearly making me forget what I want to say next. When my lips part, Mom gives me a ghost of a smile.

“It's funny,” she murmurs. “But I swear he looks familiar.”

My heart thunders in my chest because from the look in her eyes, she knows exactly who he is. Where she’s seen him before. I start to explain myself but then my sister speaks up, talking about wedding gowns and how much she loathes buttercream frosting—which is a lie because Bella will take cake anyway she can get it. Mom gives my arm a soft pat before she leans away to shoot a look at my twin.

I give Bella a look too, but it's full of gratitude. Because Twin A is occasionally a lifesaver.

When we finish brunch, my mom hugs Mateo, gripping his forearms when she leans away from him. “I hope we’ll see you again the next time we come to Boston,” she says, and I pray the floor will open wide to swallow me whole. Dad is subtler, inviting him to play golf if he ever makes it Florida.

Mateo nods politely, curving his arm around my hips and pulling me close. “If I make it to Florida that would be great.”

He’s more formal saying goodbye to Lucy, and when he tells Bella that it was good to finally meet her, my sister’s lips twitch. She tells him she’s a big fan of his philanthropic work, and I’m tempted to dig out the diaper disaster photo and send it to Leo.

“Very nice, Jamie,” she tells me as she loops her arm through Lucy’s. She looks over her shoulder, waggling her eyebrows. “I mean that. Very, very nice.”

As he follows me to my car in the parking lot, I apologize for my sister. “She's a bit…”

“Bella,” he answers with a smirk. “Yes, I figured that out from everything you’ve said so far. But I liked her. Not as beautiful as you, but she’s … okay.”

Opening the door to my Civic, I whirl around to look at him, laughing. “We look the same.”

“Not true. You're shorter. And then you have this…” He skims the tip of his thumb over the beauty mark above my lip, his amber eyes darkening when my tongue inadvertently flicks over his finger. “She doesn't wear your perfume. She doesn’t—”

“You’re very observant,” I say.

Tracing both his hands down my spine, he rests them on the small of my back, bringing my hips flush against his. “I notice everything there is about you.”

“Thank you.” I’m still stunned that he came. Still dizzy. “Thank you for showing up.”

“You have nothing else planned today?” I shake my head, and he buries his nose in the crook of my neck as his fingers dip from the base of my spine to the curve of my ass. “Come home with me?”

My breath catches, hanging on to something in my chest. But I nod. Despite the fear, I nod. “All right.”