Chapter 21 – Analyse
Chapter Twenty-One
ANALYSE
My phone buzzes while I’m in the middle of drying dishes, and I glance over to see a new group chat forming.
One new message from Let’s Make Bad Decisions Tonight.
Immediately, I pause. Because nothing good starts with Anna and wanting to make bad decisions. I still remember the matching tattoos her and Mari got on Mari’s twenty-first birthday because they were drinking too much.
Anna
Let’s go out tonight!
More messages follow in rapid succession.
Anna
I’m talking dancing. Drinking. Reggaeton. Possibly karaoke.
Mari
You had me at dancing.
Seb
She had me at bad decisions.
Andres
If there’s dancing, I’m gonna need a minimum of 3 drinks first.
Nathan
I’ll go, but I need to keep my bad decisions at a minimum. Anna, do I need to wear glitter again? I’ll do it. But just know it’ll be begrudgingly.
I laugh under my breath just as another message comes in.
Anna
YES. ALL of you. Tonight. No excuses. We survived Christmas Eve, so this is our reward. We’re going OUT.
Mateo
Out like…“out out”?
Anna
YES, MATEO, put on your nice shoes.
I chime in finally.
Analyse
I’m in. I’ll text Hilda to see if Maya can sleep over.
Mari
Yessssssssss! We never go out anymore. This is the post-christmas detox we deserve.
Seb
No offense, but my detox includes rum.
Andres
God help us all.
I grin, already texting Hilda to confirm the sleepover. Within seconds, she responds.
Hilda
Of course, mi amor. Tell Maya to bring her pajamas with the little cats, I love those. I’ll have hot chocolate waiting.
My heart softens at the message, and I type a quick thank you before dropping into the chat again.
Analyse
Maya’s set. What time are we meeting?
Anna
7:30 at my place. Drinks here first, then bar. LET’S GOOOOOOO.
Mari
I’m bringing lashes. Analyse, wear something HOT.
Andres
You’re going to break Mateo.
Analyse
He’ll be fine.
Mateo
Will I, though?
Anna’s room looks like a tornado of glitter, makeup brushes, and lashes passed through it…twice.
Mari is leaning into the mirror, applying a wing so sharp it could cut glass, while Anna blasts a Bad Bunny playlist and digs through a mountain of tiny purses.
I’m sitting at her vanity, hair curled, makeup flawless, staring at the black dress draped across the chair.
It’s short. Like, short short. And tight.
And maybe a little see-through in the right light.
“Okay,” I say, fidgeting with the zipper. “I can’t wear that.”
“Yes. You can.” Mari doesn’t even look up.
“She absolutely can,” Anna chimes in. “Mateo is not ready. And that’s exactly why you should wear it.”
“He’s going to short-circuit,” Mari adds, brushing highlighter across her cheekbones. “And it’ll be so hot to witness.”
I sigh, give the dress one last glance, then finally pull it on.
It hugs every curve, the fabric soft and clingy, with a deep scoop in the back and a slit up the thigh.
My heels add three inches to my height and make me feel so damn sexy.
When I step out of the bathroom, Anna and Mari both go silent for a beat.
“Shit,” Anne breathes. “You look dangerous.”
“You look like you’re about to ruin his whole life.” Mari grins.
I glance at myself in the mirror. I mean…they’re not wrong.
We’re just finishing last-minute touch-ups—Anna reapplying her lipstick for the third time, Mari spraying perfume on all of us—when the knock comes at the door.
Anna practically squeals. “They’re here!”
“Act casual,” Mari says as she grabs her clutch. “Like we didn’t just spend two hours contouring.”
“Too late,” I mutter, suddenly very aware of the pounding in my chest.
Anna opens the door, and the guys file in—Seb in a black button-down and jeans, Andres in a sleek navy blazer, Nathan in all black with a cheeky gold chain.
And then…Mateo. Black jeans, a dark olive-green shirt that clings to his strong arms, sleeves rolled, and cocky smirk in place. Damn, that man is fine as hell.
His eyes land on me, and he stops moving. Completely. He just stares.
“Damn,” Andres mutters under his breath, nudging Mateo. “You okay, bro?”
Mateo doesn’t answer. He just keeps looking at me like I’m the only one in the room.
“Hi,” I say, voice barely above a whisper.
He blinks, finally catching himself. “Hi.”
Mari leans toward Anna, stage whispering, “He’s broken.”
Anna giggles. “Mission Accomplished.”
Mateo steps closer, his voice husky and low. “You look…” He shakes his head slowly. “Chula, you look like trouble.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. “Maybe, I want to get in trouble with you,” I say, leaning in whispering in his ear. “And you don’t look so bad yourself.”
Mateo’s breath catches, and I swear his eyes darken just a little. His lips part like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans in, his mouth brushing the shell of my ear.
“You better be careful, chula,” he murmurs, voice low and full of promise. “Because if you keep talking like that, I won’t make it through the night.”
I pull back just enough to meet his eyes, heart pounding. “Then let’s see how far you make it,” I say, walking past him toward the door.
And I don’t even have to look back to know he’s watching every step I take.
The bar is alive with lights and bass and bodies moving in every direction.
Our group takes over a booth near the back, drinks already flowing before we even sit down.
Anna orders a round of tequila shots, Andres finds the wine list, and Seb somehow convinces the bartender to make him something called holiday jungle juice.
Mari slides into the booth beside Seb, her hand resting naturally on his thigh, and within minutes they’re leaned in, heads pressed together, whispering and laughing like they’re in their own little bubble.
On the other end, Anna’s chatting animatedly with Nathan and Andres, her arms flying, cheeks flushed from her second cocktail.
Mateo’s next to me, his knee brushing mine.
The heat between us has been building all night, like a spark waiting for the right breath of air to ignite it.
I sip my drink and scan the crowd, pulse already syncing to the rhythm.
The music thumps through the walls, but then—oh yes—then the beat changes.
An old-school reggaeton track drops. The beat from “Prrrum” by Cosculluela begins to fill my ears. My eyes snap to Mateo’s.
He doesn’t even get the chance to ask. I grab his hand. “Come on.”
He grins. “Let’s go, chula.”
We weave through the crowd, the music getting louder with every step. The moment we hit the dance floor, I turn, press my back to his chest, and start to move. His hands come down on my hips like they’ve always belonged there. Firm. Possessive.
We move together like we’ve done this a hundred times. The bass thrums through us, and I roll my hips, pressing into him, and I feel him. Every breath. Every shift. Every thought he’s not saying.
His mouth is near my ear, my breath heavy. “You’re going to kill me.”
“Not yet,” I murmur, grinding against him. “You’re still standing.”
His fingers dig in slightly, and the sound he makes?
A low, guttural exhale that sends a shiver down my spine.
I turn around, slowly, hands sliding up his chest. He watches me like he’s starving and I’m going to be his next meal.
The kind of look that turns my insides to molten heat.
Then the music changes. A bachata track.
His hands find mine, and without a word, he draws me closer. His hand rests at the small of my back, the other clasping mine. Our steps fall into rhythm like they were made to. Dancing bachata is slow, sensual, intimate. Every move with him feels like foreplay.
Our bodies stay pressed, my thigh brushing between his legs with every step. His nose grazes my temple. Our mouths are so close. We’re both breathing heavier now, and neither of us is pretending anymore.
“You’re driving me insane,” he says, his voice low and rough.
“Good,” I whisper, my hand drifting to his chest. “I want to.”
He stops moving. And I know it. I can feel it. The moment he makes a decision.
“Please,” he rasps, like he can’t take another second.
That one word undoes me, and I nod. He pulls me in and kisses me. Not soft. Not sweet. Hungry.
His lips crash into mine like he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment.
His hand slides up my spine, the other cupping my jaw as he deepens it.
I melt into him, my hands threading through his curls, anchoring us together as the music fades beneath the sound of blood rushing in my ears.
I’ve never had a kiss that drove me as crazy as this one is.
The kind of kiss that makes me wonder how I ever went without it.
How did I go this long without feeling the press of lips against mine, the minty taste of his tongue as it moves against mine?
Now that I’ve had it, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop.
He pulls back slightly, his forehead resting on mine. “I need you. I can’t wait anymore.”
“Then don’t,” I breathe. “Let’s go.”
We weave back through the crowd, his hand tightly laced in mine. At the booth, Anna raises an eyebrow. Mari smirks knowingly.
“We’ll see you all tomorrow,” Mateo says, voice rough.
“Use protection!” Andres calls.
I roll my eyes. Mateo just laughs. And then we’re out the door.
The second the door to my house closes, he’s on me. His hands grip my waist, my back hits the wall, and our mouths crash together again, messier this time. Needier.
I gasp against his lips, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him even closer.
My hands, trembling with adrenaline and something like need, knot themselves in his thick hair.
I’m greedy for his mouth, the scrape of his teeth across my bottom lip.
His hands are everywhere at once—fingers sinking deep into my waist, thumbs tracing the edge of my ribs, palms spanning the small of my back.