Page 108 of Offside Angle

Santi doesn’t push. He just waits.

God, I hate when he does that. He doesn’t argue, doesn’t fill the silence, doesn’t try to guess what I’m thinking. He just sits there with endless patience, perfectly content to wait until I eventually cave. It’s infuriating. It works every single time.

I drag both hands up and rub the pads of my palms against my eyes hard enough that I see stars behind my eyelids. When I finally drop them, it takes a second for my vision to settle.

“Because he knows how to do things,” I mutter.

Both of Santi’s eyebrows lift. “Excuse me?”

I groan, tipping my head back against the seat. “He’s experienced!”

The words hang between us, too loud in the quiet car. My face feels hot. My chest feels tight. I can feel Santi looking at me, but I can’t bring myself to look back at him yet.

How the fuck am I supposed to tell him the rest? That every time I think about touching him, about being with him, there’s this voice in my head telling me I’m going to fuck it up because I don’t know what I’m doing? That I’m terrified I’m not going to be enough for him? That Luca — or anyone like him — would probably know exactly how to make Santi feel good without overthinking every single move?

“Matteo,” Santi says quietly. “Look at me.”

I don’t. I keep my eyes fixed on the steering wheel like it’s the most interesting thing in the car.

“Cariño.”

The word is softer this time. I drag my gaze over to him even though every part of me wants to keep looking anywhere else.

“I’m not grading you.”

“Feels like you should be,” I fire back.

Santi doesn’t flinch. He just shakes his head once. “I don’t want someone who knows what to do with me,” he says. “I want you to learn me.”

My ears burn so hot I’m sure they’re glowing. I have to look away for a second, but I force myself to look back at him.

“Yes, Luca is attractive.”

I flinch before I can hide it.

“And yes,” he continues, “I’ve been with men who know what they were doing.”

“Great. Thanks,” I mutter, deadpan, the sarcasm automatic even though it tastes bitter in my mouth.

Santi’s eyes narrow just slightly. “Let me finish.”

I shut my mouth. I glare at him a little, but I stay quiet.

Santi’s voice softens again, the way it does when he’s saying something that actually matters. “None of them were you, mi cielo.”

My throat works around nothing.

Learn me.

I swallow hard, staring at the center console because looking at him while I say this feels impossible. “What if I’m bad at it?” I ask. The second the words leave my mouth I want to take them back. I sound pathetic. I feel pathetic.

Santi’s mouth softens into something small and warm. “Then I’ll teach you.”

I nod once, even though my stomach is still twisting. “And if I panic?”

“Then I’ll stop.”

Like it’s the easiest thing in the world for him to say.