Page 56 of Eighteen (18)

“And when I pushed my leg against yours, you pulled away. And when I did it again, you let me.”

“I didn’t know what to do!”

“And you went on and on about how you weren’t smart and I thought to myself, That’s fucked up. Because obviously no one in your past wanted to take the time to set you straight. So I made it my mission to teach you a lesson.”

“I’m smart.”

“You’re smart. You passed geometry by taking a bet. You aced a final exam, for fuck’s sake. Don’t sell yourself short, Shannon. You can do trig. Hell, you can do calculus too, if you set your mind to it.”

“Well, I’m not sure I agree with your methods, Mr. Alesci, but I do agree with your assessment.”

He laughs and leans over to kiss me. I get lost in that moment. I get stranded there on the beach with him like we’re alone on a deserted island, drifting in a sea of stars.

He slips an arm under me, bringing me closer, our mouths never parting as we fill the need inside us. The kiss is slow and soft. It’s not about the taboo romance we’re having. It’s not about the shock value. It’s not about lessons learned or the future.

It’s just about right now.

We stop kissing and take a moment to see each other. Like really see each other. “Are you hungry?” he asks.

“Starving,” I say. “But not just for food.”

“Let’s go eat.”

We rise and I help him fold the blanket back up. And this time when he takes hold of my hand, I let him.

We walk back to the car, put his backpack in the trunk, and he points to the shops at the end of the street. “I know a place.”

I bet he does. He seems to know everything.

He pulls out and we make our way onto Pacific Coast Highway going south, and a few miles later he pulls into a restaurant valet and two men approach our car and pull open our doors.

“Good evening, Mr. Alesci,” the one on his side says.

“Ma’am,” the one on my side says.

I barely manage a, “Thank you,” as I exit the car and wait at the curb, while Mateo talks into the other valet’s ear and hands him some cash. He pats him on the back and walks over to me, taking my hand.

“Ready?” he asks, weaving us through a crowd of people waiting to get inside.

“What’s going on here?”

“Just don’t look up.”

Of course I look up. And see the name of the restaurant above the door. “Alesci’s Laguna Beach?”

“Whatever you do, don’t show fear.”

“Mateo—”

But an older woman interrupts me. She places her hands on his cheeks and spills out something in Italian. He blushes. I laugh. And then he’s talking in Italian a mile a minute as the woman takes me in and gives me a very suspicious look.

“Mom—”

Jesus Christ. You have got to be kidding me. Mateo’s mother is tall and thin, wearing a designer suit and diamonds everywhere I look. Her hair is a rich mahogany brown, her makeup is perfect, her shoes probably cost more than, well, everything I own, plus a few thousand dollars more, and she smells like a very expensive bottle of perfume.

“—this is Shannon.”

“Shannon?” she says, like she’s never heard the name before in her life. I’m not Italian and no amount of wishing will change that.