“It’s 3542 Freely Place, and 555-435-7640.”
“Alri—”
“Oh, wait!” I cut him off, realizing I gave himmyphone number, which I don’t have. Turning to face Mateo, I ask him, “What’s your phone number to give to this guy?”
Not even looking up from what he’s doing, he says, “555-230-6557.”
Repeating it back to the guy, he assures me someone will be out within the next hour to hour and a half. The relief I feel hanging up that phone is insane. I can’t wait to be back in my own house, and away from Mateo and his devil dick.
Speaking of Satan, as soon as I lock his phone, he’s strolling over to me with a plate full of burritos that smell divine and a giant glass of ice water. “Eat up.” Shoving it into my chest, he walks back to the bar to dive into his own.
We eat in silence, the only noise coming from the speaker currently playingVertebraeby Allistair and Spencer Kane—one of my favorite songs. Which further annoys me.
After we finish, he takes my plate and loads everything into his dishwasher. The air’s tense, but I think it’s just me being awkward. Once he’s done, he sits in the chair across from the couch I’m sitting on. His house is decorated nicely, which, for some reason, surprises me.
“So, what do you do for work?” The question catches me off guard. I glance over at him, blinking, but saying nothing for a moment.
“Are we on a fucking date now? What’s with the small talk?”
He holds his hands up. “I’m just trying to pass the time. Relax. It’s a simple question.”
“I work for a marketing firm. Social media marketing for Fortune 500 companies.”
“Cool, cool.”
This is stupid. “So, you’re a mechanic?” I don’t know why I phrased it as a question. We both know I know he is.
He nods, thankfully not calling me out for being awkward as fuck. “I work at my uncle’s shop in town.”
I nod my head, unsure of what to say from here. Small talk is thelastthing I expected to be doing with him, and that says a lot, considering this entire predicament has been one off-the-wall experience after another.
“How long were you and what’s-his-fuck together for?” he asks, breaking our current round of awkward silence.
I can’t help but laugh at the question, and this entire situation. “Almost five and a half years.”
Mateo’s eyes narrow. “Where’d you meet?” He’s got both elbows propped on the chair, hands crossed over himself, watching me like I’m a science project he’s trying to figure out.
“Why the fuck do you care?” I spit out. “Like seeing what kind of damage you did to your fucking conquests?”
Face unreadable, he breathes a sigh through his nose. “Where’d you meet?” he repeats, completely ignoring me.
“College,” I reply, rolling my eyes. He’s really fucking annoying. “We went to Washington State together and met our senior year.”
“Did you love him?”
“What kind of fucking question is that?” I scoff. “Of course, I loved him.”
“Did you, though?” He sits forward, elbows on his knees. “Or did you just like the idea of him? Of what hecouldbe?”
“Fuck off,” I bite out. “You don’t get to sit there in your ivory fucking tower, psychoanalyzing me and my relationship—a relationshipyouhelped destroy, I might add.”
“No, I’m serious, Travis.”Travis.“Five seconds in that guy’s presence and I could tell he wasn’t shit. Not someone you do long term with. And you, my boy, seem like someone who wants to do long term.”
“What the fuck do you know about long term?” I hate how defensive I feel right now, vulnerable, like all my flaws and insecurities are on display where he can see them.
“I’m just saying…” He shrugs. “You deserve someone who wants what you want.”
“What? And that’s you?” I laugh, immediately feeling dumb for saying that, because why the fuck would I assume he meant him?
