Chapter 13
Mateo
“C’mon, Charlie.”
I wrap my hand around the ankle sticking out beneath the covers and drag her to the end of the bed. Her limbs flail, legs kicking and arms swatting the empty bed around her.
“No,” she groans, throwing the covers over her head. “Snooze.”
I bite back a chuckle, moving to crouch beside her.
“We have work to do. Your manuscript isn’t going to edit itself.”
Her head bobbles beneath the sheets while she mumbles into the pillow. “I’ve hired goblins to help me. They work before nine a.m., and I work after.”
She glowers at me as I lift the blanket off her head. Her irises are gray in this light, like an incoming hurricane moving toward land.
“It’s time to join the living, bruja.”
Charlie’s nose twitches in disdain, and fuck me, she’s cute in the morning. Golden hair mats against the side of her head, and her features are still sleepy, even if they’re full of annoyance .
She’s adorably grumpy, and her scar pulls taut as she frowns and adjusts to the light. My fingers itch to trace the pink tissue, to pepper kisses along the healed skin.
“I have chocolate…”
“Really?” She perks up.
“A whole bag waiting for you.”
With a groan and a few concerning popping sounds, Charlie rolls off the side and falls into the crack between the bed and the wall.
I move to help her when a quiet “I’m okay” fills the air.
She presses up, and I stand perfectly still as if I’ve spotted a rare creature in the wild and am afraid to scare it away.
This is the most skin Charlie has ever shown, and every nerve in my body vibrates.
She was careful to change into her pajamas after I turned out the light and took my glasses off, but the early-morning light filters in from the small porthole and illuminates her skin and every single scar on her chest, of which there are many.
I busy myself with her knickknacks on the desk, the ones she unpacked and lined up with precision. Her beloved Darwin bobblehead. A collection of rocks. A framed photo of her and Amy. I don’t want her to hide, to assume I’m staring at her scars, when really I’m staring at her .
Charlie moves past, and air lodges in my throat at the sight of her pajama shorts wedged between her butt cheeks.
She saunters around the room, entirely unaware of the predicament.
We barely survived the ordeal with her vibrator.
If she realizes I can see the whole globe of her left ass cheek as she rummages through her bag, things will go south.
I squirm, arousal zapping down my spine, and focus my energy on preventing a boner. I shouldn’t stare at her, I shouldn’t, but every sound she makes is a test of my strength. She mumbles something to herself, and I snatch my laptop and bag, beelining for the door.
A glimpse of ass cheek, and I’m on my knees for her .
“I’m gonna find a table and some coffee,” I yell, halfway out the door and refusing to look back. If I do, I know I’ll never leave.
“Extra espresso, Mateo,” Charlie calls out as the door falls shut.
Charlie releases a deep, slightly arousing sigh after she takes a sip of the iced coffee I made for her. Rogue strands of hair fall out of her braid as she sits across from me at a table in the main lounge.
The ornate room is empty besides the two of us, the rest of the crew working hard to prepare for another dive before the ship arrives at our next destination. It’s much-needed time to catch up on the tasks I’ve neglected since we embarked nearly a week ago.
The faded Charles Darwin sticker judges me from the front of her laptop. Surrounded by decals of deep-sea creatures and science puns, Darwin watches the effect Charlie has on me.
I’ve always found her little obsession adorable. When I pointed out the fallacy in her dream to meet him, Charlie scribbled an asterisk beside the point to clarify that visiting his grave would also suffice.
She treats her bobblehead of him like a shrine, and in times of confusion or frustration, I’ve heard her whisper “What would Darwin do?” beneath her breath.
“When do I get my chocolate?” Charlie asks, eyeing the bag hanging off my chair.
“When you earn it, bruja . ”
Bowing her head, she focuses on the table before saying, “I don’t like it when you call me that.” Her voice is nothing more than a whisper. “I’m not some crazy witch because I believe in astrology and crystals. I only cursed you one time. ”
“You what?” I ask, a disbelieving laugh leaving my lips.
She’s cursed me?
Why is that incredibly arousing?
“It didn’t work,” she mutters with a deep scowl. “You still have perfect hair.”
“Perfect hair, huh?”
“It’s not stupid to believe in that stuff…”
She twirls a bracelet, one of many on her wrists, the deep blue a contrast to her light skin. The vulnerability she expresses stings like a shallow cut. She plays it off with eye rolls, but it’s right there, so overwhelming that I have to fight the urge to rub away the discomfort in my chest.
I never knew the nickname bothered her this deeply.
“I don’t think that, Charlie,” I insist. I don’t call her bruja because she likes crystals or finds comfort in the cryptic words of a constellation. Reaching out, I pluck a bracelet from her wrist, sliding the pink stones onto my own. “Now we both believe.”
Her jaw slackens, her focus fixed on my wrist.
“What crystal is this, anyway?” The stones are warm, heated from her skin. The knowledge causes a buzz along my spine.
“Uh…rose quartz.”
“What does it mean?” I ask, and she hacks for air, her face flushing a deep strawberry hue.
What did I say?
She wheezes, then gulps down the remainder of her iced coffee and says, “Love, compassion, and emotional healing.”
Oh. Oh .
Of all the bracelets on her wrist, I chose the one symbolizing love. The universe wasn’t aiming for subtlety. Having lost the use of any rational part of my brain, and void of any response to her love crystal, I dig a piece of chocolate out of my bag.
An offering to both her and whatever love god is willing to listen.
Let the bracelet be a sign .
She gets the same goofy look every time she spots the blue foil, like it’s the greatest thing she’s ever tasted. Her shoulders wiggle and she tears apart the wrapper, a woman on a mission, before devouring the chocolate in two impressive bites.
“How many more do you have?” she asks longingly.
“Enough for the trip if we ration.”
“ Ration ?” She sounds like I told her to cut off a toe, not limit her sugar consumption.
“What kind of restrictions are we talking about? One a day? I won’t survive that.
We’re not at war, so why do we need to cut back?
” She hums, her fingers flying across her keyboard while she talks to herself.
“If we have eighteen days left…Amy gave me two bags.” She glances up. “How many pieces do you have?”
“One hundred and twenty.”
I packed two Costco-sized bags. It felt wrong to not leave a piece for her in the morning.
“Oh.” She jerks backward. “You came very prepared…” She trails off, and I can see the gears turning in her mind. Does she realize I have feelings for her? Could she feel the same?
“I didn’t want you to go three weeks without your favorite treat,” I admit, though the confession feels silly on my tongue.
Her throat bobs. “Thank you, Mateo.”
My heart does twisted things when she says my name like that, with intent and purpose, each of the syllables sharp and full of inflection. I want to hear it more often.
I focus on my computer, responding to emails from undergrads and grading reports from the BIO 301 lab course I run. The timer I set rings out, and I offer Charlie the candy.
Every hour, the alarm goes off, and each time, she beams at me and firecrackers explode in my chest.
As the fourth ring goes off, Shaun stops at the table, turning his body to face Charlie.
“Hey. ”
He greets her but ignores my presence entirely, leaning a hip against the table. I’ve noticed his lingering looks at her, the way he searches for her at dinner and engages her in conversation.
She blinks at his proximity, and I brutally bite down on my lip. Her brows dip in confusion.
“Oh, hi, Shaun.”
“Some of the crew are playing board games tonight after dinner if you want to join.”
The suggestion in his voice is disgustingly obvious, and it requires every ounce of professionalism I possess to control the rage simmering in my chest.
I’ve been flirting with Charlie for two years, so if he wants his turn, he needs to get his ass in line.
“Sounds fun!” Her cheery response fans the flames of jealousy, and only after a long stretch of silence do I realize they’re watching me. Charlie’s brows scrunch, her head tilting before she asks, “Are you going to play, Mateo?”
Shaun cuts in. “If you’re busy with work, I can keep Charlie company.”
Her lip pulls between her teeth, her focus shifting between Shaun and me.
“Sounds fun,” I grit out. If he’s going to flirt with her, he’s going to do so under my watchful eye, where I can curse him the way Charlie tried to curse me.
Shaun nods, but his disappointment is evident, and the urge to stick out my tongue is almost overwhelming. Charlie’s rubbing off on me.
Since we’ve met, I’ve wanted her to see me as anything more than a rival. But since we’ve started this adventure, something has changed. The tectonic plates our relationship is built upon have begun to shift, only I can’t decipher if they’re moving closer or further apart .
I’ve fought the same battle in my mind—to tell her how I feel or silently let go and move on. Buck up or shut up, as Oliver so eloquently put it. But watching her build something with anyone else might kill me, which means I’m at a crossroads.
“There are too many people to play,” Shaun says, and I cut him a glare. I know where this is going. “But if we have partners, it could work.”
And there it is. Hook, line, and sinker. All he has to do is wait for Charlie to take the bait.