Chapter 4: The Peach and the Predator
1081 Words
Chapter 4: The Peach and the Predator
Anastasia sat at a weathered outdoor table, the afternoon sun warming her shoulders as she tried to force her brain to focus on her homework. The second week of classes was moving at a breakneck speed, and between the looming assignments and the grueling cheer schedule, she was starting to feel the fraying edges of her sanity. Tonight was game night, and while she was usually the one to get the crowd hyped, she could feel a familiar knot of nerves tightening in her stomach.
It didn't help that she was running on exactly four hours of sleep. She’d stayed up far too late sucked into her favorite show, and though she’d tried to fix the damage with cooling gel eye patches before leaving the house, her body wasn't fooled. She caught herself yawning every five minutes, her hand reaching for her chicken wrap like it was a life raft. The spicy chipotle sauce dripped onto her plate, but she barely noticed.
How am I supposed to lead a stadium of thousands when I can barely keep my eyes open? she wondered, taking a heavy bite of her lunch.
"Sometimes I wish I had a twin that could do all this for me," Carly groaned, shoving her notebook away as if it had offended her.
Anastasia chewed slowly, swallowed, and pointed a fry at the mountain of paperwork between them. "Do you have any idea how much I’d get done? She could do the homework, sit through the boring lectures, and take the midterms. I’d actually have a life."
"Maybe she could even cheer for us," Carly added with a wistful hum.
Anastasia’s shoulders dropped at the thought. "You think Coach Lizzy would notice the difference?"
"Oh, she’d notice," Carly laughed. "That woman sees every stray hair and missed beat." Her eyes suddenly drifted past Anastasia, her expression shifting from tired to intrigued.
Anastasia felt him before she saw him.
The air behind her seemed to warm, and then a scent hit her—not the usual college-guy smell of stale sweat and cheap body spray, but something sophisticated. It was a crisp, expensive cologne that made her lungs hitch. Goosebumps erupted along her arms as a shadow fell over her books. She knew that scent. It was Mateo.
As he slid into the seat beside her, she couldn't help but steal a glance. Even after being on the field, Mateo looked effortless. His skin was glowing and clear, his lashes ridiculously long, and his hair was perfectly faded—the kind of short, clean look that made her want to reach out and touch it. He was wearing a simple white tee that clung to his chest and shoulders, and a silver Scorpio pendant caught the light against his tan skin.
"Ladies," Mateo nodded to Carly and Gabrielle. They beamed at him, but his focus snapped back to Anastasia instantly. His leg brushed against hers under the table—a touch so light it could have been an accident, but she knew it wasn't.
"Hola, mami," he murmured, his voice low and private.
"Mateo," she replied, fighting the smile that was already threatening to break her "cool" facade. She leaned her elbows on the table, subconsciously moving closer to his heat. "What do you want?"
Mateo didn't answer immediately. He took his time looking at her, his eyes lingering on the way her denim shorts fit her thighs before moving up to the peachy scent clinging to her skin. To Mateo, that scent was a taunt. Peaches were his favorite, and having Anastasia smell like them while she sat inches away was a special kind of torture.
"You ready for tonight?" he asked, his eyes locking onto hers.
"Yeah," she nodded, trying to sound more awake than she felt. "But I should be asking you. You’re the one running the ball through a wall of jocks." She caught herself looking at his lips—the natural pink tint of them—and quickly looked away.
"I’m prepared," he shrugged. "But I’m more excited to see what Lizzy has you wearing tonight. I’ve always liked the blue two-piece on you. It brings out your eyes."
Anastasia arched a brow. "My eyes? Is that right?" She knew damn well the low-cut top wasn't about her eyes.
"Among other things," he smirked, leaning in. "But listen... I’m throwing a party tonight after the game. I want to know if you’re finally going to stop by."
Anastasia watched his lips as he spoke, her heart doing a slow, heavy thud against her ribs. "You ask every time, Mateo. And every time, I say no."
"And I will never understand why," he sighed, though his eyes were dancing.
"Why do you even want me there?" she challenged.
"Why do you always say no?" he countered.
"I don't know," she shrugged, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. "Why do you keep inviting me when you know I'll probably reject you?"
Mateo’s grin widened, becoming something raw and predatory. "Because maybe today is the day you finally say yes. You’ve got a lot on your plate, Anastasia. I want to be the reason that tension leaves your body. I want to be the one who makes that stress go away. Don’t you want to feel relaxed?"
The air between them turned electric, the double meaning of his words hitting her like a physical weight. She shifted in her seat, suddenly very aware of how close they were. "I'm relaxed enough," she whispered.
"But are you really?" he asked, his voice dropping to a seductive rumble.
The silence was deafening until Gabrielle cleared her throat. "I’m down to go. If the invite is open to friends, that is."
Mateo didn't take his eyes off Anastasia as he replied, "The more, the merrier."
"Wait," Anastasia said, trying to find her footing. "You’re throwing a party? You don't even know if we’re going to win tonight."
"C'mon," Mateo laughed. "It's the Cubs. We humiliated them last season. But even if we lose, wouldn't you rather spend the night drinking and dancing with me than sitting in your room in sorrow?"
"You’ve got a point," she admitted softly.
"So?" he pushed. "Are you coming?"
"I'm not making any promises," she sighed.
"Do you have plans or something?"
"Yes."
"Doing what?"
"I'm going to be doing... something," she said, her voice trailing off as she got lost in the emerald depth of his gaze.
- Writer
