Page 66 of Fall For Me
Mother fucker.
Undertaker it is.
I dress quickly, dousing myself in entirely too much cologne because Hannah swears it’s an aphrodisiac, then head to the kitchento grab a bottle of wine out of my cabinet. My phone rings just as I’m about to walk out the door. Fishing it out of my pocket, I look down at the screen and answer with a huge smile splaying across my lips.
“What’s going on, baby bro?”
“Just checking in on ya,” Matty says as I swipe my keys off the hook by the door and head into the garage. “What are you up to?”
“About to go to a family dinner with Hannah.”
“Ah. I see. I see. You two back together?”
“Yep. Wore her ass down until she finally gave in.”
“You’ve never been good at taking no for an answer.” He laughs. “I’ve told you a thousand times; you would’ve made a damn good attorney.”
“I’m a damn good goalie, and I only have to deal with half the bullshit.”
“True. True. No match for me though.”
“Oh, fuck off with that noise. You don’t stand a chance.”
“You won’t be saying that next month when I’m scoring goal after goal against you,” he says with a laugh.
“Bet.”
We bullshit back and forth, talking about what’s going on with everyone until I pull into the florist’s parking lot and kill the engine. The little bell above the door rings as I walk inside and scan the shop for something that catches my eye. Coolers line the wall with premade bouquets and vases full of flowers, and the more I look, the more confused I get.
“Hey, Matt. In the movies, do people show up with a vase of flowers, or are they just wrapped in paper?”
The line is silent for a few seconds before I hear Matty hissing out a laugh.
Fucking dick.
I’ve never bought flowers for anyone in my life. Picked them for my mom when I was little a few times, but that’s about it. And before you even ask the question, I already know what you’re thinking. It’s probably the same thing I’m thinking right now. How was I ever married and never once bought her flowers? Well, the short answer would be:I’m a prick. I guess I didn’t think about anyone but myself until Hannah came along. And even then, I’ve been pretty fucking selfish.
“You’re really pulling out all the stops, aren’t ya?”
“Why did I even ask you? This is why you’re single,” I snap back.
“I’m single because I wanna be single.”
“No, Mateo, you’re single because you have the emotional intelligence of a fucking snail.”
“And a dick the size of a horse.” He laughs.
A woman, with long blonde hair, lip filler, and entirely too much makeup, moves the curtain to the side and strolls to the front. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t hear the bell. How can I help you?”
“I gotta let you go so I can figure this shit out. Later, baby brother.”
“Bet.”
I press the end button, pocket my phone, and address the florist. “I’m sorry about that. I really could use your help . . . I have no idea what the hell to get.”
Twenty
Hannah
