18. Zoe
18
Zoe
"When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible." – When Harry Met Sally
I mpatient knocking sounds at my door, making me frown. Did Joy forget something?
I finally managed to get her out of here and go home to her husband. She put up a fight, but I already feel guilty enough for stealing her from Jacob for this long and besides, I really need to figure out how to be a single mom sooner rather than later.
I look around for something she could have left behind, but nothing catches my eye so after another fit of knocking mixed with Mellie’s wailing, I open the door and freeze. Apart from the chilly, fresh autumn air, I am greeted by the furious eyes of Matteo Loverson.
What is he doing here…looking like he’s about to kill someone and feel no remorse for it? But then in a blink his eyes shift to the fussy, crying baby in my arms and his demeanor changes just like that.
The tension seeps out of his shoulders, dropping to a relaxed position. That sexy body of his stops vibrating and those brown eyes filling up with love and mushy emotions instead of ones that could land him in jail. His balled-up fists uncurl, making the bag he was holding in one of them drop to the ground—why does he have a bag with him?
Is he leaving town again? Oh God, he is, isn’t he? He probably came over to say goodbye. And why does that make me feel like curling up into a ball and crying myself to sleep? I have no claims on this man or his young, free spirit. I could never be the one to tame this beast and won’t try it.
But why was he so mad when he got here? None of this makes sense to me and before I can even open my mouth to say hello, he reaches for Mellie, taking her from my arms and instantly, my crying daughter stops.
She just stops. As if she wasn’t screaming her lungs out since she woke up and nestled her little nose into his half-covered, tattooed chest. I can’t even blame her or call her a little traitor because given the chance I’d gladly nuzzle into his warmth as well.
Damn this man and his unbuttoned shirts.
I must be too stupefied about this whole ordeal because I just stand there and blink, watching him slowly rock her, cooing some gibberish that she listens to intently.
I didn’t even put up a fight when he pulled her out of my hands. What kind of mother am I?
The wake-up call finally rang, snapping me from Matteo-trance and I go to take her back, narrowing my eyes at him but just as my fingers graze her, she gives out a tiny cry sound, protesting my action and I retreat with a sigh.
Great, he got us both eating out of his hands now.
Way to go, Mellie…
“Matteo, what are you doing here?” Do I sound detached? Like having him stand in front of me, holding my daughter with a look of pure love and adoration does nothing to my heart?
“Moving in,” he says casually without taking his eyes off Mel. I blink and open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out and I look like a lost fish. Matteo uses that moment to scoop up his bag and push past me into the house without an invitation.
“Sure. Come on in. Make yourself at home.”
“Thank you.” He flashes his dazzling smile and starts looking around the house like he belongs here, strolling toward my bedroom in the back.
Well, that makes me move, blocking his way. “What do you mean you’re moving in? Did you get kicked out of your apartment?”
There must be a logical explanation for all of this.
“Nope.” Again, with that casual tone as he sets up his stuff by the couch and wanders off into the kitchen, which is now a beautiful, warm part of the cottage instead of the seventies gone wrong situation it was before. I completely remodeled the whole place after I moved to LC, including building an additional bedroom downstairs for Mel since originally the house only had one, which Matteo is off to next.
“Then I don’t understand. And stop snooping.
“I’m not snooping. I’m looking.” He keeps going, peeking into the brand-new bathroom. It’s pink. To match the house. And to make me smile every time I walk in there but seeing this hunk of a man in the cotton-candy world, nearly breaks out the giggles out of me.
“For what?”
“For whom,” he counters, and I draw my brows together.
“And who is that ‘whom?’”
“Someone who shouldn’t be here.”
“Wow, Matteo. You impress me with your solid logic once again,” I tell him, crossing my arms across my chest and Matteo turns his gaze to me, one that starts roaming over my body and that’s when I realize I look like crap in front of possibly the hottest guy I’ve ever met.
No, there is no possibly in this equation. He is the hottest, and I’m the biggest mess wearing a milk-soaked shirt—with what smells like throw up too on my shoulder—my hair in a wet bun atop my head and sweatpants that barely cover my postpartum body. Nothing in those baby blogs I’ve read bothered to mention how atrocious this part of having a baby is.
Yet the way he looks at me…is not with judgement or disgust. It’s with pure heat…Dear Lord.
Without a single warning, he starts advancing my way, with Mellie happily sleeping in his arms and his dark eyes eating me up.
Fuuuuticle on a cracker—yes, I’m trying not to curse over here—why does he have to look so hot holding my baby? Why is he even here? He cannot. Cannot be here.
My throat goes dry, arms uncross and flop down. Don’t whimper, damn it! Don’t you dare whimper.
Matteo comes right up to me, lifting his free hand up to my cheek and gently brushes his thumb across it, eliciting a damn whimper out of me that unfortunately does not go unnoticed by him and one side of his mouth curls up into that sexy, dangerous smile of his.
But only for a second, before it drops, and he grows serious again.
“I’m moving in because this is where I’m meant to be. With you and Mellie. And if some prick thinks he can take that spot, he is sorely mistaken, Zoe.” The storm is back in his eyes.
What is he talking about? What prick? But Matteo locks his eyes with mine, stealing my breath and says, “I don’t share, Zoe.”
“Since when?” My voice is barely above a whisper.
“Since seven months ago.” Then he looks down at my daughter. “And since three weeks ago.”
He can’t mean what I think he means, right?
I can’t have him here. Absolutely not! I can’t fall for another guy only to have him leave when he gets tired of playing house with us. Because he will.
Everyone does.
I’ve never been good enough for anyone to stay let alone for a guy like Matteo who could have any woman. Younger. More beautiful. Without a kid.
“Matteo, you don’t know what you are talking about.” My tone is defeated. It’s better to end this charade before it starts. “You can’t really want this.” I motion between myself and the baby in his arms. “That’s not the lifestyle for you.”
“And why the heck not?” He sounds offended, and I didn’t mean it like that. I simply want to protect myself and Mel from future heartbreak.
I sigh, taking a step back from him because I can’t think clearly in his vicinity. “We are not even dating, for Pete’s sake.” I throw my arms up. “And here you are talking about moving in.”
“Be my girlfriend,” he throws out right away with ease and not as a question. “Okay, so what’s next on your list?”
“Matteo, you can’t be fucking serious right now.”
“Ouch.” He glares at me, covering Mel’s ears. “That will be twenty-five cents in the swear jar.” He points to me in all seriousness then looks down on her. “Look at that, by the time you turn eighteen we just might have enough to cover college expenses seeing as your mommy loves them curses and”—he stops, looks up to me and mouths—“fucks.”
I narrow my eyes at him, drawing my tongue over my teeth. My hands firmly planted on my hips because the audacity of this man. “Look who’s talking, Mr. Prim and Proper. If I remember correctly, you owe at least a dollar from three weeks ago.”
“It’s already in.”
“What?”
“The dollar.” He nods toward the bag at my feet. I bend down, unzip it, and find a little mason jar, covered in watermelon stickers, right at the top. It’s filled with four quarters and labeled, Dear curses, thank you for your contribution to Mel’s college fund , and my heart freaking melts, damn it.
“Now that that’s settled, what else, Beastie? I gotta warn you, though, I’m here to stay. So, throw it all at me.”
I collapse on the floor next to his bag, holding the swear jar in my hands. I have no clue why he’s doing this. What he wants from me, but I am too exhausted to fight him right now. And let’s be honest, that needy bitch inside of me is not really trying all that much. No, she is screaming for me to shut up and keep him with us a little longer. Possibly forever, if she has any say in the matter. Which she doesn’t. It’s sensible Zoe time.
“Fine, you want to stay and play with Mellie, that’s fine. Hope you like that couch right here,” I tell him.
“It’s a nice couch.” Matteo shrugs.
“Glad you think so. It’s all yours.” I get up, walk over to the kitchen counter and set the jar there.
I’m waiting for him to start throwing protests about it, reminding me that we already shared a bed before but when I turn around, I find him simply staring at me, his head cocked to the side. “If you thought that will make me back out, sorry to disappoint. I’ll gladly sleep here.”
Honestly, I did think that because my couch is a small three-seater and not the most comfortable one.
After the complete remodel of Joy’s cottage, I had to also furnish my little house from top to bottom apart from the bed and mattress Joy got for me when I visited that first time, and it was not very budget friendly. So, I got whatever was on sale. Hence the couch in the color of Mellie’s poop that no one else wanted.
And I guess that makes it two people. Me and Matteo.
I quickly turn away to hide the small smile I’m wearing now.
“But,” he adds, yet I don’t look back, “just for now. Until you realize how much better I’ll fit in that bed with you.”
Sigh, meet Zoe.
Because there’s no realization needed. It’s a damn fact.
“Matteo, put her down,” I ask for the millionth time.
“No.”
“Jesus Christ, give me patience.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “She has to sleep in her bed, not your arms!”
“Yeah, that’s easy for you to say. You had her all to yourself for three whole weeks, now let me get my fill.” He pouts. He freaking pouts and then has the audacity to glare at me.
And what the heck am I supposed to make of this? Since when does a guy like him care about time with a newborn baby?
“Matteo.” I try to calm my voice down and reason with him. “You will get Mellie used to sleeping in your arms and when you leave, she won’t go back to the crib.” Only instead of seeing reason, that glare of his intensifies and he draws her even closer to his now bare chest.
Oh, did I forget to mention that little and very distracting detail?
One I am pretty sure he’s figured out I am weak for because no matter how hard I’ve tried, I can’t stop ogling and salivating over him ever since he came out of the shower, smelling illegally male with that woodsy, spicy scent, wet hair in a low bun and bare-chested with only that silver chain glinting on his golden, tattooed skin.
“Look at that. It’s settled then. She is sleeping right where she is because I’m not leaving.”
“I can’t wait to tell you ‘I told you so’ later on.”
“Not gonna happen, Beastie,” he fires back without looking my way. “Also you still haven’t answered my question?”
“What question?”
“About being my girlfriend.”
“Um, maybe because it didn’t really sound like a question?” I widen my eyes slightly at him. “More like delusional, fairytale statements.” Matteo looks down at Mellie, says something to her in a hushed tone and turns back to me.
“Nothing delusional about it but let me rephrase then. Will you be my girlfriend?” he asks with that sinful smile of his. The one that lit up my path to his bed seven months ago.
“No.”
“No?” He furrows his brows at me. The expression on his face says that he’s not used to hearing that word all that much. “And why not?”
“Because I’m a twenty-nine-year-old single mom and I don’t have the time or mental capacity for games. That girl you met at the bar back then, she’s gone.”
“Thank you, Jesus, for that.” He rolls his eyes but not with annoyance. “She was sad and terrified of life ahead of her. Only allowing me the tiniest of glimpses of the real, strong beast on the inside. I prefer this spit-fire version of you much better, but just so we are clear before you jump for my throat”—he sends a pointed look my way—“I would take any and all versions of you.”
“Matteo, snap out of this!” And I really do snap my fingers at him like that will help. “I’m being serious!”
“And I’m not?” he calls out louder with a slight hurt undertone, making Mel twitch in his arms to which he immediately reacts. “Shh, sorry my little watermelon. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He rocks her. “Your mom here is just being exceptionally difficult over here.”
I huff. “No, I’m not. I’m being realistic. Look, you are an amazing guy and you stepped up at the hospital for us which I’m still very grateful for, but you are not cut out for relationships.” Matteo narrows his eyes at me, but I keep going. “I saw how many girls came up to the bar that night trying to get your attention. How many made comments about a repeat of the night you had with them.”
He cuts me off before I can continue. “And what did I do?”
“What?”
“What did I do, Zoe? When those girls approached me?” Matteo asks with hidden furry that I can see simmering underneath his skin.
I swallow. “Um, nothing at that moment.” I want to say more but he cuts me off again.
“Exactly. Nothing at that moment or any moments following that night.”
What is that supposed to mean?
“Ask me why?” He moves closer to me.
“Why?” I follow his command, my voice no longer as confident sounding as I was a minute ago, my heart beating out of my chest in anticipation of his answer.
“Because since the moment you opened the doors to my bar, they all disappeared.” A moment of tense silence stretches between us. “I don’t know what kind of magic you wielded over me, but since that day, I’ve only had eyes for one girl. So, all those others? They could parade naked and do splits right on top of my bar for all I cared because all I saw was that damn sunshine sitting in front of me.”
“You can’t mean that, Matteo,” I whisper.
“I do. I know you probably think I’m young and na?ve and that may be true, but what I’m not is an idiot who lets the only girl who made him feel walk out of his life twice. Or let someone else come swooping in and being the dad to this little watermelon when that role is mine. So, if I must spend days, weeks, and months proving that I am boyfriend material, I will.” He is so close his breath fans my face, making me grow drunk on him. “Or scratch that. I will make sure I’m daddy material.”
He's nuts.
He’s lost it.
And maybe so have I, because all of a sudden, I’m rooting for him to pass this test yet that fear of mine is still overriding my senses.
But I like order. I like my plans for the now and for the next five years and Matteo wouldn’t fit into those. Right?
“Everyone always leaves. And so will you.” Somehow that comment makes him put Mel down in the little cot on the coffee table and I’m waiting for her to start wailing again just like she always does when she’s in it, only it doesn’t happen.
Did he put some kind of voo-doo spell on my daughter? Ever since he came into our cottage and took her in his arms she hasn’t cried. She was a little fussy when he went to take that shower but nowhere near her usual shenanigans.
Matteo covers her with a blanket, kissing the top of her head and I’m too mesmerized by it all to see him prowling toward me. Yes, prowling, with that sexy swagger of his and by instinct I start to backtrack which only makes him smile and keep going until my back is plastered at the wall.
“You say everyone always leaves?” he asks me, his head tilted to a side but my throat is too dry from having him this close so I can only manage a slight nod. “You know why?”
“Because I’m not good enough. And that’s not self-pity. It’s a fact.”
“Oh no, my ray of sunshine.” He smiles again as his fingers come up to my face, gently grazing my cheek and it’s almost embarrassing how quickly I am falling apart at the feet of this twenty-three-year-old cocky player. “They all left because they knew you were never meant to be theirs.”
His dark eyes connect with mine. “You were always mine.” And before I can suck in that breath I desperately need, his lips crush against mine as his body pushes me deeper into the wall, squashing me with his power and heat.
I know I need to push him off me. I know this should not be happening and I’m headed into that land of tears and devastation after he crushes my heart but…but one kiss won’t hurt, right?
His hand on my neck tilts my head up, giving him full access to my mouth and as soon as his tongue slides against mine, I get lost in him.
Kissing Matteo is like breathing and drowning all at once. It’s a pleasure and pain. The carefree summer and the blistering winter.
His other hand digs deeper into my ass, drawing me closer until his hard cock digs into my soft stomach, sending waves of heat across my whole body.
I’ve never wanted another man like I want him, and that alone should be enough for me to pull away and run as far from him as I can. Yet I’m still here because I’ve never been kissed the way he kisses me, and I know without a shred of a doubt that I never will be.
I’ll take one for the road , is the last thought I have before rising on my tiptoes, digging my fingers into his still-damp hair, and returning the kiss with the same ferocity. This was never about cute or sweet. This is raw and unhinged and a little bit mad.
I’ve never thought I’d enjoy kisses and sex on a rough side, but it seems that everything with Matteo is quickly becoming my new favorite thing.
Dreams. That’s all this is. That’s all I have. That’s all I can have and that thought pulls me away from his sinful lips. His eyes are hooded and filled with lust, and I desperately want to get back to what we started. But I can’t.
I’ve fallen for too many men with pretty words and nice bodies who had no intentions of growing gray and old with me.
And Matteo is just another one of those. Only so much worse. So, I place my hands on his chest and will myself to push him away.
“Matteo.” His name is barely a whisper—or a plea—on my lips. “Please, don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t say that anymore. D-don’t kiss me like that anymore. Don’t…just don’t.” I need him to do this for me. I need him to obey these rules because…because otherwise I’ll fall right into his pretty promises and sweet touches.
He pulls away slightly to look at me, the lust in his eyes replaced with something hard. “Fine. I won’t kiss you ever again.”
“R-really?” Damn it, why does it hurt to hear him say that when I was the one demanding it just now.
“Really. I won’t kiss you until you beg me to do it.” He pinches my chin with his fingers. “And trust me, you will beg.”
I swallow hard, somehow not even doubting the truth in his words. However, he won’t ever hear it.
“I have all the time in the world too because I’m here to stay and claim you as mine.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying. You want to spend some time with Mellie, that’s fine, but that’s all there is.”
Matteo stares into my eyes without letting me go. “Never have I ever met someone who likes to lie to themselves as much as you do. But that’s okay, I’ll wear you down.”
“Matteo, this is not a game. We stopped playing it back at that bar.”
“Never have I ever said it was just a game, Beastie.”