"I-I-I…" That's all that comes out of my mouth. Just a jittery stammer. My brain's buffering like bad WiFi, and I can't come up with a single excuse. No clever comeback. No sarcastic one-liner. Nothing.
Just blank space and panic.
"Use your words, darling," Mateo says in that stupid, flirty voice that somehow makes everything worse. His elbows rest lazily on my shoulders like this is all a game to him. Like he's not currently short-circuiting every functioning part of my nervous system.
I catch Gerrard out of the corner of my eye. His whole vibe has shifted. His eyes are locked on the empty lunch tray in front of him, and the humor that was dancing around him is just… gone.
His voice, when it comes, is extremely low and flat. "I'm sure Philip was talking about someone else, Mateo."
He doesn't even look up as he says it.
And I don't miss how his hands are clenched slightly beneath the table. For all Gerrard's sarcastic confidence, even he isn't trying to test Mateo right now.
"Shut your fucking mouth, Henderson. No one told you you could speak," Mateo growls.
The air goes still.
Then he turns that impossible focus back on me. "Besides, I'm sure Philip here can speak for himself. Can't you, sweetheart?"
I want to say yes. Or no. Or screw you. Anything. I want to be someone who's good at comebacks, someone who doesn't melt into awkward silence when hot guys get too close.
But Mateo's standing so near now, and his body is just barely brushing against mine. It's like my thoughts are getting crushed under the weight of him.
"So," he says, tilting his head, "were you talking about me or not?"
I blink. My mouth opens. Nothing comes out.
God!!!!. Say something. Anything.
Next thing I know, Gerrard's standing up beside me. "Well, I'm gonna dip. You guys have fun with… whatever the hell this is." He grabs his bag and walks off without looking back, settling at a table on the other side of the lunchroom.
Cool. Love that for me. Great to know I can count on people under pressure.
Mateo doesn't even react. He just shrugs and slips right into Gerrard's now-empty seat, arms folded across his chest like he owns this entire cafeteria. Maybe the entire school or state or country even. I male sure to roll my eyes INWARDLY.
"I believe I asked you a question, Bluie," he says, his voice lower now. It was slower, more deliberate. "And I so dislike repeating myself."
I swallow hard.
"Y-yes," I manage to mumble, barely audible.
Mateo leans back, pretending to cup his hand around his ear like I'm a toddler trying to order at a drive-thru. "Hmm? What was that? You're gonna have to speak up, sweetheart."
I clench my fists under the table. My palms are sweaty. My whole body feels like it's overheating.
"Yes," I say louder, forcing it out.
Mateo's smirk spreads across his face like he just won something.
"Yes… what?" he prompts, leaning forward slightly, eyes locked on me like a predator playing with its food.
God, this is so stupid. He knows what I mean. He just wants me to say it again, bitchy bastard.
I bite the inside of my cheek, take a breath I can barely hold, and glare right back at him.
"Yes," I snapped, "I called you a dick."
There. Happy now?
I grab my water, trying to calm my nerves with something cold. Maybe the act of sipping it will ground me. Maybe it'll give me a second to breathe before he responds.
But, of course, Mateo doesn't miss a beat.
"Now, just because my dick's bigger than yours doesn't mean you have to accuse me of being one," he says, dramatically placing a hand over his chest like he's somehow the victim here.
The smug smile on his face? I want to wipe it off. Or kiss it. Or scream into a pillow about it. I don't even know anymore.
"If you want me to make your eyes roll back," he adds casually, "you could've just asked."
That's when I choke.
Water goes down the wrong pipe and suddenly I'm coughing like I've swallowed glass. I cover my mouth, gasping and trying not to die in front of him, while Mateo just sits there watching me suffer like the little devil he is with the most unbothered, cocky look I've ever seen.
I might actually hate him.
Or worse, I might not.
"I could give you something better to choke on."
Mateo's voice is very low, it sounds lazy, and absolutely dripping with that smug confidence he wears like a second skin.
I freeze. My entire body goes hot, my cheeks burning, my ears ringing, vision narrowing down to just him and the awful, awful line he just said out loud like it was a totally normal cafeteria conversation.
"That's it," I snap.
I stand up so fast my chair screeches against the floor. Every eye at the table or maybe even the room snaps to me.
I don't wait for a response. I just grab my tray, toss whatever's left on it into the trash, and start storming toward the doors like the main character in a teen drama I didn't sign up for. Hilarious, I know.
"Aw, come on, Bluie," Mateo calls after me, voice sounding like it's all fun and games. "It was only a joke."
I don't bother answering with words.
I lift my hand over my shoulder and flip him off without turning around. One-finger salute. I know right, Classic.
And the reaction? Immediate.
A burst of laughter erupts from behind me. Not just from our table, the table but from random people who'd clearly been listening in. I should be mortified. But weirdly? I'm not.
I feel… good.
Better than I've felt all day, actually. Like maybe, for once, I wasn't the one being laughed at. I said something, I walked away, and I didn't spontaneously combust. That's progress, right? Right?