I deepen the kiss, my tongue sweeping across his, needing more, wishing I could bottle up this feeling.
Mateo breaks our kiss and rests his forehead on mine.
"Am I allowed to say I missed you?" he asks, his voice gentle.
My heart thuds against my chest.
"Am I allowed to say I hate not being able to kiss you whenever I want?" He leans back, studying me. "Or that I crave you when you aren't near me? That I want to know you think about me as often as I think about you?"
I shake my head. Out of everything I hate today, I hate that the most.
"Too late," he says and presses a quick kiss to my forehead. "Also, you need a new car. That thing sounds like a bag of cans pulling into the driveway."
"Yeah well, I don't have enough cash yet," I tell him, pushing past so I can get a much-needed Red Bull out of the fridge.
"Already grabbed you one," he says as I stalk into the kitchen. "It's in the living room."
Of course he did. He can't help himself.
I don't mean to give him a dirty look, but instinct takes over.
Not only did he put it on a coaster, a fucking coaster, but he also opened it. He always opens it.
"What does cash have to do with getting a car?" Mateo asks, sinking into the couch.
I sit as far away as I can.
"Can't get a loan."
He doesn't ask, but I tell him anyway.
"After my dad left, my mom blew through any money we had. After I had Coop, I needed a car. I applied for a loan, but she had destroyed my credit. She opened credit cards under my social, fucking any chance I have of financing anything."
"I can co—"
"No."
"How about a loan?"
"No."
"You can use Top—"
"No."
He gives up, but something tells me this won't be our last conversation about this. I pull his laptop onto my lap andopen it up. Weeding through his emails is part of our daily routine. It's hardly anything exciting. Mostly invitations to charity events, which he always declines. Occasionally there's one about maintenance on his condo, but we both know this job is a fucking sham at this point. A sham I should be ashamed I'm taking part in. But I'd be an idiot not to make this the best sham ever. Coop never has to worry about needing a ride to or from school, and I get to be home at night and on the weekends. It works around my class schedule, and the pay is ridiculous.
This sham is boosting us forward, and I can't turn that away.
"What is this?" I ask, turning the screen toward him. The browser is open to an application. An application for art school. And not just any art school, buttheart school. The one people sell their left tits to get into.
"Before you say no, listen," Mateo says. "You owe it to yourself, and to Coop, to explore your dreams."
"I ca—"
"You fucking can." He raises his voice. "You hate nursing school. I see it all over your face every time you sit down with a book or walk in here with scrubs on."
I open my mouth to stop whatever bullshit he's about to spew next, but he keeps going.
