He jumps, clearly having startled him, as he whips around in the chair, his eyes, already narrowed, shooting daggers at me. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Youweresinging along to that Olivia song in the shop that one time!”
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay,cariño. Whatever you say.”
Laughing, I look down at Nova as I remove her leash. “You hear that, Nov? We got a singer on our hands, girl.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he grumbles. “Are you ready to smoke this or what?”
“Sure thing, Backstreet Boy. Let me grab the alcohol.”
His scowl deepens as he mumbles something under his breath, heading toward the couch.
* * *
A couple of hours,a few joints, and several shots later, Mateo and I find ourselves lying on top of my bed, the lights off, and a galaxy light brightening up the ceiling as we chat like we don’t hate each other.
Which, hell, maybe we don’t anymore.
“So, how’d you two meet?” I ask before taking another pull off the nearly empty bottle of vodka.
Music’s filtering through my Bluetooth speaker softly, the entire room a relaxing vibe.
“In high school.” His voice has gone raspy since we got back to my place. Probably all the smoking and drinking we’ve been doing. It’s hot.
“How long did you guys date?”
“Couple of years.” He twists the cap back on the bottle, setting it on the nightstand beside him before staring up at the ceiling. “We met at a rough time.”
“How so?” Mateo doesn’t strike me as the sharing deeply type, so I’m trying to tread lightly, but there’s so much I want to know about him.
He glances over at me—just briefly—but I don’t miss the faint glint of vulnerability in his mint green eyes. But it’s gone by the time he looks away. “My, uh… my parents weren’t the most accepting when they found out I was gay. You know, strong, age-old Catholic beliefs and all that.”
My heart drops for him. My mom and stepdad were nothing but loving and supportive when I came out to them.
“They tried sending me to this summer camp my dad’s friend told him about.” Mateo clears his throat, continuing to keep his gaze on the ceiling as he continues. “It was supposed to remind the teenagers of the path they should stay on. The pathGodwants us on. I realized real quick what type of place it really was, and I left before anything could happen.”
“Conversion therapy?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
He nods. “I was fifteen with no money and nowhere to go, so of course, I went back home. Hoping, naively, that my parents didn’t really know what type of place it was. Maybe it was a misunderstanding.”
I don’t say anything. I don’t have to.
“It wasn’t,” he murmurs. “Dad kicked me out right then and there.”
“Fuck,” I blow out on a breath. “Where’d you go?”
“My Uncle Benny’s. I lived with him until I turned eighteen and could afford to live on my own. But it was right after all of this when I met Robbie. I was hurt and confused and angry. Little bit reckless. And all I wanted was for someone to see me and accept me for who I was.”
“Yeah, but didn’t your uncle?”
“It’s not the same,” is all he says.
Mateo reaches for the bottle again, taking another swallow before passing it to me. Nothing’s said for several minutes. The air is tense, the energy surrounding us stifling. It’s clear this is a sensitive topic for him, and a large part of me wants to comfort him.
But I don’t know how, and I don’t know if it’s my place. So, instead, I ask, “What happened with Robbie?”
He blows out a breath, pausing before responding, like he’s thinking over how best to explain. “You met his family. They’re a bunch of rich yuppies. Robbie was a spoiled rich kid who got what he wanted, when he wanted. He’s not used to being told no, and he’s used to being in charge. That’s how our relationship was; he said jump, I said how high.”
