But as the days go on, those few minutes have turned into late-night conversations about my cover designs and funny stories about him and the team. He’s seen every cover I’ve made thus far and has even given me the push I needed to reach out to authors and show them my work.
By the time we’re ready to hang up, we’re both comfortable in bed, feeling as though we’ve been lying together having pillow talk.
And I can’t lie; it’s been nice. Having a chance to talk without the impulse to jump his bones has let me concentrate on all the little, funny quirks I might have otherwise missed.
Mateo, on the other hand, has not been shy with flirting on his end. Although I will say that it’s more teasing than anything. He makes comments about me no longer wearing my “Amish pajamas,” and I give him shit for posing like he’s in an underwear campaign during our calls. His salacious smiles let me know he’s doing it on purpose, and I die a little inside knowing I get this view to myself every night.
By the way he’s cautious about mentioning certain aspects of his baseball world, I can tell he worries about me being back in this environment. But he’s no longer treating me like I’m made of glass, and the relief it gives me is insurmountable.
And today, he comes home.
I’m lounging in my sweats as I finish my hair and makeup for the night. I’m excited to go out with the girls and have a night on the town. It’s truly been ages since I’ve done anything like this,and I’m so happy we get to leave the group chat and all meet in person.
Daisy got us a table at a very exclusive lounge downtown, so we’re all dressing up for the occasion.
Bethzaida is out in the living room with Anna, since she’s covering for me until Mateo gets home. She’s also sleeping over tonight, which means we all get to have breakfast tomorrow morning, and I’m pretty sure I can convince her to make some Puerto Rican food for lunch.
I’m shaking out the last piece of hair from my curling iron when I hear Beth call for me.
I walk out into the living room and see the concierge waiting by the foyer.
“Hey, did Mateo get a delivery?” I ask as I see the multiple shopping bags surrounding the concierge.
“No, Ms. Morales, the delivery is for you. I was given instructions to take these to your bedroom once I made sure you were available.” He starts to make his way toward me, but I put my hand up, halting his movements.
“Hold up. I didn’t order anything. And who said to put it in my room?”
The glass Beth is drinking from does absolutely nothing to hide the massive grin she’s sporting. So I direct my confused gaze her way. “You do this?”
She straightens. “No, but I’m sure there’s a card somewhere. Right, Frank?”
She nods at the well-dressed man waiting patiently for instructions. “Ah, yes. My apologies.” He puts a few slim boxes on the kitchen island and produces two cards.
What the fuck?
I open the first one, only because, like a true reader, I hate to spoil an ending.
I look up at the stack of boxes and immediately recognize the Apple logo.
No fucking way.
One by one, I move the boxes to reveal a brand-new laptop, a tablet, wireless headphones, and a stylus.
I start looking through the bags and see every graphic design program imaginable at my fingertips, ready to be downloaded onto the new devices.
I’m moving on autopilot. None of this is registering as I tear into bag after bag.
But when I get to the last one, a bright orange item stops me in my tracks.
Frank sees my reaction and chuckles. “That one as well.”
“Uh, Frankie? Can I call you Frankie? Actually, no, Frank sounds better.” I lower my voice. “That, my friend, is a shopping bag from Louis Vuitton. Do you want to go ahead and make sure you delivered it to the right apartment?”
“Ay no seas tan pendeja.” Beth sighs from behind me, picking up the bag and pulling out the massive box inside. “Toma, open it up already. I wanna see what it is.”
Undoing the pretty bow feels like a crime, but I do it anyway.
There’s a Louis Vuitton soft dust bag concealing the gift. Once I undo the flap and open it up, my hands go flying to my mouth.
