Chapter 15 – Analyse
Chapter Fifteen
ANALYSE
Iclose the door behind Mateo and press my back against it. The house is quiet now. Too quiet. I look down at my phone, the screen still lit up with the last message.
Letty
Girl to girl…thought you should know what your man is up to when he’s not with you.
Attached: 1 image.
I click it. And there it is. Mateo. At the gym. Letty’s hand on his arm. His head turned. His face unreadable. But they’re close. A little too close, if you ask me. My stomach twists.
I stare at it too long, taking in every detail. Telling myself that this isn’t what it looks like. That it’s nothing. But I can’t shake the image. Because the longer I look, the more it starts to feel like exactly what it looks like.
And the fact that Letty sent it to me? Like she was doing me some kind of favor? Like she’s worried about me? It makes my skin crawl.
A low, bitter laugh escapes me. We’re not even really together. Mateo and I…we’re pretending. And yet, here I am—jealous. Hurt. Pissed the hell off.
Because even if we aren’t really together, Letty doesn’t know that. To the world, to her, what Mateo and I have is real. To her, he’s my damn boyfriend. And now he’s just…letting her put her hands on him?
I push off the door, start pacing the living room. It’s not the photo. It’s what it says. It’s the whisper behind it. The implication. The way she’s trying to make me feel small. Like I’m the one being played. Like I’m the fool.
I stop walking. Jaw tight.
And, what the fuck, Mateo? You couldn’t keep it in your damn pants a little while longer? Not even until this thing is over? Not even long enough to make sure I don’t look like an idiot in the middle of all this? You’re out here playing pretend with me and playing whatever game this is with her?
I pace faster, my bare feet slapping against the floor, heart pounding like it’s trying to punch its way out of my chest. How dare he. How fucking dare he.
Whatever. Get it together, Analyse.
He’s not mine. He was never mine. This is all one big lie to help me save face. That’s all it ever was. A favor. A temporary solution to a very specific, and very annoying, problem.
So what if he lets Letty fawn all over him? So what if he didn’t push her hand away? So what if it hurt to see it?
That’s on me. That’s my mistake. I’m the one who started blurring the lines. Who let myself believe the touches meant something. That the look in his eyes was real. That any of it was. Stupid. So fucking stupid.
This whole thing was always going to end. I just forgot that somewhere along the way.
I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, phone in hand, legs bouncing like I’ve had three coffees too many. My thumb hovers over the keyboard, furious. Hurt. Stupidly unsure what the hell I’m even doing.
But I type anyway.
Enjoying your arm workout?
Delete.
You couldn’t even wait until this whole thing was over before letting her throw herself all over you? Really?
Delete.
You know what? Go ahead. Be with Letty. At least she doesn’t have to pretend.
I pause.
That one sits longer than the rest. It burns. So I delete it slower. Like dragging a knife out instead of pulling it clean. I toss my phone on the bed and stand, pacing. I’m not even sure what I want from him. An apology? An explanation? Do I even have a right to ask for that?
We’re fake dating. That’s literally the whole point. He never promised me exclusivity. He never swore off flirty gym interactions or Letty’s stupid wandering hands.
But God, I didn’t think he’d…entertain it. Not like that. Not with her. I sit back down and grab the phone again.
Letty sent me a photo.
No. Too direct.
Just a heads up…your side piece is doing PR damage.
Delete. Petty doesn’t help. Petty just proves I care. Which I definitely don’t. I shouldn’t. I type something else.
Do me a favor and try not to make me look like an idiot in front of everyone, yeah?
Shit. Shit. Shit. Nope. Can’t send that. Delete.
I exhale, tossing the phone onto the bed again. This is what rock bottom in a fake relationship looks like—sitting in your pajamas, staring at your phone, trying to decide if it’s worth it to confront someone who technically doesn’t even owe you a damn thing.
But he does owe me something, right? A little bit of care.
A little bit of respect. I mean…the bar is low here.
We’re not talking flowers and sonnets. I’m not asking for the world.
Just basic human decency. And the bare minimum of not making me look like a fool in front of a woman who clearly wants to tear me down.
I pick up the phone one last time. Open a new message. Start typing. But this time, the words don’t come. I sigh, lock the screen, and set it down, face-down on the nightstand. The blue light fades, but my anger certainly does not.
I grab my earbuds, pop them in, and queue up the only woman who gets it. La India. Mi Mayor Venganza blares through my headphones, the opening drums punching in time with my pulse. I lie back on my bed, fists clenched, jaw tight.
Letty can send all the damn pictures she wants. Nico can keep running his mouth. Mateo can play clueless if he wants to. But I’m not going down quietly. And I sure as hell won’t be the one crying when it’s over.
I’m tossing and turning all night. It’s impossible to sleep when my thoughts are going wild. It’s like my brain is a computer with twenty different tabs open, and every time I close one, another one opens up.
Every time I close my eyes, I see that damn picture. Letty’s hand on him. Her smile. The way he didn’t pull back. I try to rationalize it—tell myself it was nothing. That she probably cornered him. I know Mateo. He’s a good man. At least, I think I know him. None of this makes any sense.
Would Mateo actually do this? I can’t believe that he would make me look so stupid like this.
I can’t believe that he’d actually hook up with another girl while pretending to be my boyfriend.
He knows that Seb would be furious. Mariana and Anna, too.
He has to know that this would hurt me. So then, why do I have this picture?
I flip onto my back and stare at the ceiling. I check the time. 3:42 a.m. I don’t think I’m going to get any sleep. I need to unwind. I need to clear my head.
I pull open the drawer of my nightstand and take out my vibrator.
As I lift my shirt over my head, the cool air makes my nipples harden.
Closing my eyes, I explore the contours of my breasts, relishing their fullness beneath my palms. Each gentle squeeze sends a ripple of warmth through me, and I gently roll my nipples between my fingers.
Gradually, my hands move down my body, and I begin to rub my clit in small, firm circles.
My mind is filled with thoughts of Mateo.
I can’t help it. He’s all I see. His strong arms. His sexy smirk.
That tattoo on his thigh that runs down his leg.
I imagine his hands replacing mine, his touch firm but gentle.
The fantasy is so vivid I can almost feel his breath on my neck, his lips trailing down my collarbone.
My breathing quickens as I switch on the vibrator, its soft hum filling the quiet room.
I slide it between my legs, gasping at the first contact against my sensitive skin.
The pulsations send waves of pleasure through my body, and I arch my back, pressing deeper into the mattress.
My free hand continues to caress my breast, pinching and teasing my nipple in rhythm with the vibrator’s movements.
“Mateo,” I whisper into an empty room, not caring how desperate I sound. In my mind, he’s here, watching me with those dark eyes that seem to see right through me. I imagine him telling me how beautiful I look. How amazing I am. How badly he wants me. How badly he needs me.
The pressure builds inside me, and my hips begin to move of their own accord, seeking release.
My breath catches as I press the vibrator harder against me, its insistent hum vibrating through every fiber of my being.
The tension builds low in my belly, a familiar pressure that makes my thighs tremble. I’m close. So damn close.
The release crashes through me like a tidal wave, my back arching off the bed as I moan out his name.
My body pulses with pleasure, each wave more intense than the last as I ride out my orgasm.
The vibrator continues its relentless rhythm against my oversensitive skin until I can’t take it anymore and pull it away, my chest heaving with each breath.
As the aftershocks ripple through me, I collapse back onto my pillows, skin flushed and damp with sweat. I switch off the vibrator and set it aside, my mind clear, my body satisfied.
This whole thing with Letty…it doesn’t feel like him. Not the Mateo I know.
The next morning, the sun is too bright, and my tolerance for everything is low.
I got maybe three hours of sleep, and I’m exhausted.
But Maya has been begging for a new book all week, and I promised we could stop by Ink & Paper if we had time after her dentist appointment.
And I can never let her down. So here we are.
Ink & Paper has the perfect smell—warm paper, wood polish, and the faintest hint of vanilla from the scones Hilda sometimes keeps behind the register.
The bell over the door jingles as we walk in, and Maya immediately inhales deep like she’s taking it all in. “Mmm, it smells like all the books you’re going to buy me, mama,” she says dreamily.
“Hi, mis amores,” Hilda calls from behind the counter, her silver hair tucked into a scarf, glasses perched low on her nose. She waves us in with a warm smile, setting down a stack of cozy mystery paperbacks. “Dentist go okay?”
“No cavities,” Maya says proudly, flashing a toothy grin.
Hilda walks around to give Maya a hug. “That means you earned something fun. Go see if anything on the new arrivals shelf calls your name.”
Maya skips off without hesitation, already scanning the shelves, sure to find her treasure. I walk over to the register, offering Hilda a tired smile.
“You okay?” she asks, her voice low, kind.
I nod. “Just tired.”
She gives me a look that says she doesn’t buy it, but she doesn’t push. That’s one of the many things I love about Hilda, she knows when to ask and when to just be.
While Maya’s deep in the middle grade section, I browse aimlessly. My eyes pass over titles I’ve already read, some I’ve been meaning to pick up. I touch a spine here, flip through a back cover there. But I can’t concentrate. Now when last night is still circling in my chest like a storm cloud.
I check my phone. Still no message from Mateo. I lock it and slip it back into my pocket before the ache in my chest can settle in too deep.
Maya returns a few minutes later with a stack of books as tall as her torso. “I couldn’t decide,” she says sweetly.
I sigh, but I’m already reaching for my wallet. “You’re lucky I’m tired.”
We pay, and Hilda sneaks a small sticker pack into Maya’s tote bag. “Because I love you,” she whispers conspiratorially. Maya beams.
We step outside into the cold sunlight. Maya’s still talking about one of the stories she just picked up—another fun mystery to solve—and I’m nodding along, distracted but trying to stay present.
The sidewalk is quiet. Calm. A morning that I’d normally be soaking in. It’s the kind of morning that reminds me why I love this little town. But my chest is tight, my thoughts spinning in too many directions. I glance down at Maya—cheeks flushed, curls bouncing.
“Wanna get ice cream?” I ask.
Maya gasps dramatically. “For breakfast?!”
I shrug. “It’s after a dentist appointment and before lunch. That’s basically legal.”
She squeals, already grabbing my hand. “You’re the best, Mami!”
There’s a tiny walk-up window two blocks from Ink & Paper. We order two scoops—one dulce de leche for her, one mint chocolate chip for me—and take our cones to a bench nearby. It’s cold out and we’re eating ice cream, but hey, loving sweets is a lifestyle.
Maya swings her legs beneath the bench, curls bouncing under the hood of her jacket as she hums to herself between the licks. “This is sooooooo good. I think this is what dragons would eat if they had tastebuds.”
I snort. “Pretty sure dragons breathe fire, not ice cream.”
She holds up her cone dramatically. “Exactamente! Opposites attract.”
I lean back, trying to soak in the moment. The bite of mint chocolate hits the back of my throat, crisp and familiar. Maya’s humming to herself, enjoying her ice cream, and I pull out my phone and fire off a quick text to The Council of Chaos.
Analyse
SOS.