Mateo set me down inside the small shack like he expected applause for rescuing me from the rainstorm I clearly wanted to drown in.
I shook my arms free of his grip and nearly slipped on the wood floor, my wet shoes making an angry squeal against it.
"Don't touch me again," I said, teeth chattering more from indignation than cold.
He raised both hands like I was the criminal here. "Señorita, I wasn't trying to…"
"Stop calling me that!"
What the fuck was he doing acting so gentlemanly all of a sudden? Make it make sense!
He scrunched up his face in surprise. "But that's what you are, no?"
To him? I doubt it. I was María José, his toy. Someone to whom he believed belonged only to him. He was a sick fuck.
"No! I mean… yes, technically, but it sounds like you're about to ask me to waltz or write a ballad in my honor when you barely have any respect for me. I am not in the mood for your pretenses, Mateo."
