“OK,” he says in an uncharacteristically soft voice. “Fair enough. Get out a piece of paper.”
I look at the folder he’s got set up on the table, open it, and take out a piece of graph paper. He pushes a mechanical pencil over to me and I take it and then look up at him expectantly.
“Every section in every chapter has a purpose, and your homework is to read the chapter, find the purpose of each section, and write it down in one sentence on that piece of paper. That’s your cheat sheet.”
“It’s open-book?”
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Life isn’t open-book, Shannon. You just think it is because you can look up anything you want on the internet. Answers are free these days. But it’s an illusion. You have to work for the answers. And if you’re good at remembering things, then you write down the answers that are meaningful so you can look them up when you need them.”
“I’m not taking a test today, am I?”
He shakes his head slowly. “I’m not letting you off easy. You’re not gonna get this credit without earning it. And I think you’re smart enough to realize that what we do after the test has nothing to do with what we do before it.”
“Then why am I naked?”
“I like looking at you. And after you write down the purpose of each section in chapter one, I’m going to fuck you anyway. Because I like fucking you too, and even if I had the kind of self-control it would take to let you get dressed and walk home, keeping you frustrated until tomorrow, I don’t want to practice it today.”
“You’re the weirdest guy I’ve ever met.”
He smiles. I long for the laugh, but I only get the smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Now get to work.”
I read the first section. It’s easy, so I find the purpose in less than a minute and start writing it down, being careful to make it succinct, so it has meaning to me later.
Mateo cooks. He’s making lasagna because he’s got the box of pasta out on the counter with some cans of tomato paste. He starts boiling the water first, and then empties the paste in another pot to make the sauce. I’m intrigued by everything. And he’s got his back to me, so I can stare at the muscles under his t-shirt and the tattoos down his arms as he works. They are mostly stars, I realize.
Stars. He’s a fucking physicist. Or whatever. Astronomer. So that fits. They might even tell a story.
“I don’t hear your pencil moving,” Mateo says, never turning around from his tasks.
I go back to work and he continues cooking. What I’m doing is not hard. Chapter one of any math textbook is mostly stuff I already know, with a few specific additions. I’m smart enough to know the difference. I pick out the points that are important and write them down.
“Done?” Mateo asks when I set my pencil aside with a sigh.
I look over at him and get stuck on just how much there is to see. He’s got his arms folded across his chest, his head tilted a little. Those cannon biceps are bulging and he’s leaning back some, allowing me to see the definition of his abs through his tight t-shirt. He must’ve shaved this morning, because he has less stubble on his face than yesterday. Just a shadow really. I look down at his bare feet and realize he took his boots off at some point. God, I have no idea why that’s sexy, but it is. “Done,” I confirm.
“How many sections?” he asks.
“Um.” I look down at my paper. “Fifteen.”
“OK, that’s it for today. I’ll see you tomorrow at school.”
“What?”
“You were hoping for more?”
I laugh. “Well, you did promise more.”
“You want it?”
Jesus Christ. He’s got an ego he needs stroked? “I’m sitting here naked. I’ve been wanting it since my underwear hit the floor.”
He just stares at me.
“And I thought you’d at least feed me.” Fucking lasagna smells good. I would even consider giving up the sex if he’d let me stay for dinner.
He glances over at the oven, which has a timer that says there’s forty-five minutes left. I sigh. Big and long. And then push my chair back and get up.
“Is it wet?”
“What?” He scowls at my question. Asshole. It’s not that I don’t hear him, it’s just he’s so fucking inappropriate, I have to constantly ask myself if those words really came out of his mouth. I look down at the chair and to my horror, it is. “Yes,” I say back.
He smiles. “If you want it, come get it.”
I huff out some air. But after a second of thought, I walk over to him. If I ask a question now, he’ll give me that frown again. And then he’ll probably go on and on and on about some bullshit lesson I need to learn or blah, blah, blah. All I really want is a connection. Just something to make me feel wanted today.