“Then come outside.”

The door isn’t locked, I know that for sure. So he could come in if he wanted to. But he doesn’t. He waits.

“Shannon,” he says. “Come. Out. Side.”

I get up and walk over to the slider. His eyes track up and down my body, taking in my bare legs and shoulders. “What do you want?”

“Just to talk,” he says.

I open the slider a few inches. “I don’t want to talk, Mateo.” As soon as I say his name, he smiles and Jesus Christ, that flutter is back. I actually get wet for his smile. “I’m busy watching my niece,” I say, trying to cover my reaction.

“I need to know if you wanted it or not.”

“What?”

“Did you want it, Shannon? Because if you didn’t, I’m fucking sorry, OK?”

I stare at him. He’s got no jacket on even though it’s chilly out, and I can see all his tattoos in the light that filters through the bushes alongside the freeway. He’s very tall and I’m not, but I’m standing on the ledge of the slider, so I’m about up to his chin right now. He leans forward, pressing his hands on either side of the glass and doorjamb, so that I’m between his arms. I can’t help but look at the shadows that form on the curve of his muscles.

I have no clue what to say. Yes, I wanted it. I’d do it again if he made another move. But I don’t want to tell him that. I feel like he’s pulling me into something that feels good in all the wrong ways.

“Can I come inside?”

“My brother-in-law—”

“Is out. I just watched him go.”

“He’ll be back though.”

“When?” Mateo’s eyes drop to my breasts, which are responding much like the wetness pooling between my legs. A few seconds later and I’m throbbing for him. What the fuck is wrong with me? “When, Shannon?”

“Why?”

“Because I think I gave you the wrong impression back at school.”

“What impression did you give me?”

“You tell me.”

“Look—”

He reaches out and touches my peaked nipple. He pinches it, rolls it between his fingers. And even though I know I should stop him or slap his face, I am still.

“You like it,” he says, not a question. “Just admit it. You like it.” And then his whole hand grabs my breast and he squeezes, but not hard. A slow, kneading squeeze that ignites the desire inside me.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Why aren’t you stopping me? Hmm?” he asks, just before he leans in and kisses me on the mouth. It’s different this time. It’s soft and slow. His lips aren’t as hard and pressing. His tongue slips inside me and we tangle together. His hand wraps around my head, urging me to kiss him deeper. And just as I start to get into it, he pulls back. “Is he really your boyfriend?”

“What?” I swallow, looking into his green eyes.

“That guy who picked you up. Is he really your boyfriend? Because I’ve seen you with him before.”

“Why are you watching me?”

“Answer my question first.”

“No. Just friends,” I say, my heart beating faster. “So far,” I add.

Mateo stares into my eyes for a few moments of silence. “You’re going to stay just friends, understand?”

“What if I don’t want to be just friends with him?”

“Then I won’t fuck you again.”

“Who says I want you to fuck me again?”

The hand on my breast slides down my stomach, then slips inside my shorts. His fingers find my pussy wet. “You do.”

Chapter Eleven

God, his answer just makes me wetter.

“But before we do it again, I need a yes. I know what we’re doing is wrong, Shannon.”

I gulp air. “Then why are you here? Why are you doing this?”

“Tell me to go and I will.”

“You’re not listening. That’s not what I’m asking. I just want to know why.”

He takes his hand out of my shorts and backs up one step.

“You’ve been watching me?”

He just stares at me, like he’s having some deep internal battle.

“OK,” I say, grabbing the handle on the slider and starting to push it closed. But he covers my hand and stops it.

“I live across the street.”

“What?”

He inhales deeply and throws up his hands. “I live across the street. Across Broadway.” He nods his head towards the alley. “I’ve seen you in Bill’s. You eat there all the time.”

“Oh.” It’s far less creepy than I’d been imagining. Sort of anticlimactic, actually. “Well, I’ve had my share of stalkers, thank you. It’s not a turn-on for me.”

He smiles, but looks away, like he’s trying to hide it.

“What?”

“How many stalkers?” he says, giving me a sideways glance.

“One serious one.”

“Define serious,” he says, his smile fading.

“I had to go to court and get a restraining order.”

“When was this?”

“When I was thirteen.”

“Thirteen? Jesus Christ.”

I shrug. “I started early. Got a little wild. Paid the price and learned my lesson.”

“He scared you?”

I take a deep breath and nod. “Very much.”

“Where is he now?”

“Thousands of miles away. It’s not a big deal, but I like to be in control. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”

“Control of what?”

“Life,” I sneer.

“You can’t control life, Shannon.”

“I can control whether or not I get fucked in a school.”

“So you wanted me to stop?”

“That’s not what I’m saying—”

“Then what are you saying? Because I’m confused.”

“Me too.”

“Do you want to date that guy who picked you up?”

“What if I do?”

“I don’t ever take second place. So let me know now and I’ll leave.”

I weigh my options for a moment. I believe him. I really do think he’ll leave. And I think tomorrow he’ll either quit the teacher gig with some excuse, or just be professional from now on. So this is my chance to set a limit.

“Shannon? Do you want to date him?”

I shake my head. “He’s just a friend right now. But I like him. He’s nice.”

“I’m not nice.”

“Is that a statement or a question?”

“Both.”

“Well, why the fuck would I give up a nice guy for you?”

“Because you like the thought of me more.”

“You sure do presume a lot for not knowing anything about me.”

“You just said you were wild. You let me fuck you in the classroom. You came. You’re wet. I know enough.”

“Yesterday you made some snide remark about not knowing what’s good for me. I’m failing to see anything about you that’s good for me.”

“You came,” he repeats. “That was good for you.”