I reached for him.
Changed my mind and snatched my hand back.
If he noticed, it didn’t show. His rigid gaze remained on the road, fists white-knuckling the wheel.
I checked my boots were laced up, ready to hit the ground running. “You don’t have to worry about me. Saint’s been fucking me up on the regular. I’m ready for this fight.”
Mateo made a hissing sound and scowled at the wing mirror. “I know you can handle yourself.”
“What about the rest of it?”
He snapped his gaze to me. “The rest of it?”
I gestured between us. “I feel fucking unhinged right now, but it’s not a bad thing.”
Mateo had never been slow, apart from his granny driving, but it took a second before comprehension dawned, and it occurred to me that maybe he hadn’t been fixated on me at all and I was a narcissistic idiot.
Aselfish, narcissistic idiot. He could’ve been worrying about a hundred and one other things, and I wouldn’t know because I hadn’t asked. “Are you okay?”
“You can fuck me if you want.”
His blurted words hit me like a train. I legit reared back from the force of them, tongue welded to the roof of my mouth, instant sweat beading my back.
Mateo returned his gaze to the lorry park around us. “I mean, you don’t have to. I meant it when I said whatever would always be enough. I just... I don’t want you to think we can’t do shit cos I won’t do it. You know? Cos I would. If you wanted it.”
If I wanted... “Is that what you were thinking about?”
“When?”
“When... shit. I don’t know. Earlier?”
Fuck.Fuck.I couldn’t catch my racing thoughts. Couldn’t find the will to try. Mateo had floored me with one punch, and maybe this was how I’d die in the end, at the mercy of the casual magic that spilled from his rough mouth.
Had I thought about fucking him?
No.
Had I thought about him fucking me?
Yes.
A lot. Enough that some days, before everything had changed, I’d been unable to look at him without needing a cold shower.
Or a joyride on a broken bike.
A free climb up a storm-lashed cliff.
“It wouldn’t have to be in a bed or anything. You can fuck me on the beach if you want.”
Mother ofChrist.
Make it stop.
Don’t ever let it end.
Mateo put the HGV in gear, casual-like, as if he’d asked me if I wanted to share a bag of chips.
We rolled out of the service station, following the convoy away from the motorways and into Stockport. My mind should’ve been on the fight. On the road ahead, scouting for danger. On the weapons I blindly retrieved and set out where Mateo could reach them. But even with my eyes wide open, with himright therebeside me in the lorry cab, all I saw was every terrifying thought that filled my head.
