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Now, sitting in the passenger seat of Matty’s custom Ferrari SF90 Stradale convertible was closely rising in my list of important firsts of pure, unadulterated joy.
It felt like I was one with the vehicle as it hugged the road. With the California sun smiling down on me, seagulls floating overhead, and the intermingling scents of the ocean and the mountainside, it was a cosmic experience that ended way too soon once we reached the bookstore.
I wasn’t one for admiration or jealous looks, but hell if I didn’t revel in being stared at. I’d be lying if I didn’t say it gave me a slight hard-on, too.
The world and all its inhabitants were your friend if you rode in an exotic car that cost just under a million dollars. Matty, with his dark shades, dark windswept hair, and unshaven jaw was as sexy as sin sitting behind the wheel.
Matty, thankfully, didn’t ruin the drive by talking. I think he sensed I was experiencing my own form of rapture that would have burst had he tried to converse with me.
Was this how Matty felt every day of his life?
There was no way I could withstand it all the time. It’d be like eating cake for every single meal.
As I browsed and paid for the book I needed for this week’s English assignment, I discovered that in the span of that forty-minute round-trip drive, I found myself understanding—and even sympathizing—with Matthias Vaulteneau, which was a realization I never expected.
“Thanks for the ride,” I said, once we were back at the estate and walking up the staircase from the garage. “When my friends come to visit this summer, I must warn you that my friend Rowen will beg to drive it.”
Matty shrugged. “Like I said, I owed you the ride.” He paused once we entered the guesthouse. “When will your friends come to visit?” His tone was neutral, almost businesslike.
“June or July.” I saw bags of groceries on the kitchen island. The scent of freshly ground coffee hung delightfully in the air. Franky must be somewhere. “Mom said something about throwing a belated birthday party and that I could invite my friends.”
“We’re used to large parties in the main house.” We climbed the stairs together. “By then I’m sure you’ll be out of the guesthouse and will be better familiar with the estate to act as host.” Matty stopped at his bedroom door and opened it. “So…are we even? From this morning, I mean.”
It was best if I kept my distance from Matty. It was none of my business who he brought home. Was I jealous that he let someone scratch his back like that? Yes. Was I allowed to be jealous? No.
Franky’s advice from earlier came to mind. Examine why I was upset…then come to terms with it, fix it, or ignore it.
There was no fixing it, given the fact I couldn’t tell Matty I was attracted to him. It was forbidden and nothing good could come from it.
So my choices were ignore it or come to terms with it.
I needed time to figure out my feelings, so ignoring it was the only straw remaining in this impossible situation.
“Yeah, man,” I lied, and forced what I hoped was a convincing smile. “We’re even.”
“Cool. See you around, Ciaran.” Matty offered me a little salute and disappeared into his room, shutting the door behind him with a quiet snick.
If I’d known I wouldn’t have much interaction with Matty for close to a week, I might have said more.
Over the next week, I saw Matty only in passing. With bed head and a stubbled jaw, and wearing Trojans sweats, he grunted at me in the kitchen as he grabbed his meals each morning. If we were in the pool at the same time, we’d be multiple lanes apart. He avoided eye contact and the showers, claiming he was in a hurry.
And in the evenings, I wasn’t even sure if he was on the estate or not. Maybe he spent time at his girlfriend’s house. I found older articles online that went back to February about Matty and Zoey attending other events or going to parties.
It wasn’t like I wasn’t busy myself. I wrote out a time management schedule for the week to ensure I read all assignments and turned them in on time. I had an essay to write for my AP World History class, and for my Literature class, I needed to draft a thesis statement on the theme of climate change in War Girls by Tochi Onyebuchi.
One morning, I found a black wetsuit folded up outside my bedroom door. There was no note, so I suspected Matty had left it for me. But maybe he’d said something to one of the Vaulteneau staff. Either way, every afternoon I’d don the wetsuit, grab a surfboard from the patio, head down the white gravel path, and, if the flag was green or yellow, I’d attempt to surf.
Every muscle in my body turned to mush after a few hours, but just being out on the water was worth it.
Still, I was starting to feel guilty, as it seemed like Matty was going out of his way to avoid me, and with Franky off duty until the coming weekend, I had no one to talk to.
I even called Claude to schedule time for him to come over to discuss my wardrobe, but it turned out he’d just left for France as part of a student fashion apprentice exchange program and would be gone for the next three months.
I never thought I’d miss the chatty customers I interacted with at the deli.
Mom’s texts came in from Hawaii, then Australia, and then Singapore. She and Stefon were having a “marvelous time” and that she was mailing home a truckload of souvenirs for me.
Several of the photos had Dante in them. I saw the resemblance between him and Matty. They had the same dark brown hair, dazzling brown eyes, strong jawline. The main difference, other than age, was that Dante had a trimmed beard and he was a bit more barrel-chested, as if he focused more on the weight room than doing cardio.
