Mateo
It’s the way she froze when the desk clerk called usMr. and Mrs. Sanz. The way her lips parted like she was about to protest, but I beat her to it. Or maybe we both did, I don’t know. The world narrowed to just her—especially her freshly-cut hair. Damn, she looks good with it. But when doesn't Daisy look good?
I have to embrace my calm façade when I’m near her, because if not, she’ll see how I truly feel about her. And it’s stupid—ridiculously, hopelessly stupid—that a woman I’ve known most of my life can still make my stomach tighten just by saying my name. But there it is.
When my mom walked up? That was chaos.
When I wrapped my arm around Daisy’s back? That was instinct.
When I kissed the top of her head and called herbaby? That was…dangerous, especially how easy it came out, how easy it was to pretend she was mine. I’vewanted this for so long. It’s never a good time, though, not when a friendship like ours is at risk. In the meantime, I just keep bouncing the ‘what ifs’ in my head, replaying the never-ending scenarios of never being happy if I’m not with her.
Now, here we are, a few hours later, at the pool, waiting for everyone. They said three o’clock, but I should have known better. I should've known that meant four for them. If there’s one thing I didn’t pick up from my family, it’s the impunctuality. Being late drives me absolutely wild. Nobody’s here—at least nobody I recognize—but that’s okay. I’m taking the time to relax. No phone, no work, for the first time in months. I’m thankful for the forced time away and for my Ray Bans. I’m thankful I can hide the fact that my eyes won’t stop tracking Daisy.
She’s reading a book she said was sad, but she needed to finish it. Something about World War II. I’m watching the sunlight hit the curve of her shoulder, relishing in the way it makes her hair look almost blue. Daisy has natural brown hair, but she dyes it black, has for as long as I can remember. Her little sister, Bee, does the same but with blonde. She’s been a blonde since she could afford to pay for the hairstylist to do it.
Daisy has a swimsuit underneath the dress she’s wearing, sunglasses framing her face. I’m lost in thought about seeing her in it. It wouldn’t be the first time, since we go swimming often, but I always like seeing her body, even when she hasn’t loved it herself. I always tried to remind her how powerful and beautiful her body is, even if it has changed through the years. We’re supposed to—change, that is. And there’s beauty in it. There’s beauty in not looking eighteen anymore, in getting creases by your eyes from smiling so much. There’s beauty in developing the sexiest and most alluring curves I’ve ever seen.
I can’t stop thinking about the bed situation, and not inthe ‘best friends at a sleepover’ way. No, in the way I wish I’d get to touch her without holding back. I’d get to press my chest to her back and bury my face in her hair until I fell asleep breathing her in.
And yeah, that thought has to be shoved deep, deep down because she doesn’t know. She can’t.
I can’t wreck this. I can’t break our friendship over my feelings when I know she doesn’t reciprocate them. She gets so jittery when I hold her gaze or when my eyes find her in a crowded room. She always smiles or pushes me out of the way, clearly indicating even that’s too much. And that’s just a gaze, not even a kiss.A kiss. We really need to talk about the rules of our arrangement.
“You look like you’re plotting something,” she says, bringing me back to reality.
I smirk. “Maybe I am.”
And it’s true—I’m plotting how to make it through the rest of this trip while letting every single person here see exactly how badly I want her but not lettingherbelieve it’s true. At the end of the day, we have to go back to our lives and pretend like nothing happened.
My comment earns me that skeptical little squint she does when she’s deciding whether to press me for details.
She doesn’t press. Instead, she pushes herself out of the chair and takes off her dress in one swoop. “I’m tired of waiting for your family. I’m getting in the pool. Wanna come?”
I shake my head. “I’ll wait here. You go ahead.”
“Suit yourself.” She drops her dress over the book she left on the table and walks toward the water. “Make sure my book doesn’t get wet, okay?”
The girl is always reading. I thought she may want to use her kindle on this trip, but no, she said paperbacks are for vacation.
She disappears into the water for what feels like an eternity, but eventually, she climbs back out. There’s water cascading down her beautiful, long, thick legs, and I have to lean back in my chair like I’m trying to avoid the splash from some kids playing when in reality, I’m trying to hide the way my gaze lingers and my dick twitches.
She grabs her towel and drapes it over her shoulders, sits, and immediately starts wringing water from her hair. I shouldn’t be staring at her fingers twisting through the dark strands and wishing they were mine instead. I shouldn’t be thinking about how I could be the one doing that, slow and lazy, just to see if she’d shiver, how I wish I could rake my fingers through her hair and tug lightly at the bottom to give me better access to her mouth.
I clear my throat and glance toward the bar. “You want something to drink?”
“Lemonade,” she says, leaning back in her chair. Her eyes close against the sun, a smile tugging at her mouth, like she’s finally relaxed.
I’m halfway to the bar when I see them—my mom, my sister, a few cousins…and Jaime, spilling into the pool area with that big, loud, Sanz energy that can take over any space.
Shit.
When I turn back, Daisy’s already seen them. She’s sitting up, towel clutched around her shoulders as she watches them approach. I can tell she’s bracing herself. I want to tell her she doesn’t have to, that she can just be herself and I’ll handle the rest. I want to remind her how much my family already loves her, that this is just a little bit different.
I slip back into the role—her boyfriend for the weekend—and slide a lemonade into her hand just as my mom reaches us.
“There you are,” Mom says, giving that tight smile she gets when she’s still figuring something out. Her gaze flits between us like she’s testing the story we fed her earlier. “We saved you a spot near the cabana.”
“Thanks, but we’re good here,” I say easily, setting my drink down and resting a hand on the back of Daisy’s chair. I don’t have to touch her, but I do. My fingers find her shoulder, warm from the sun, and I let them rest there. Just enough to make it look natural. Just enough to feel her under my hand. Judging by the goosebumps spreading over her back, she must be cold, so I grab my towel and drape it over her too.
