“That isnottrue,” Shannon said. “More like you squirmed out of everything we tried.”
“The Flash,” Sam offered. “He is a brisk runner.”
“Jugger,” Riley said. “For that hard head.”
“None of them worked,” Patrick said.
“We even tried Mitt, you know, for MIT.” Sam shrugged. “I prefer Mitzy, but that one didn’t last.”
“Thankfully,” Matthew muttered.
Dinner was fun, and chock-full of ridiculous stories about the brownstone restorations. The one about the flooded basement. The one about the nest of bats in the linen closet. The one about the frozen grout. The one about the small pet cemetery in the backyard. The one about the ghost because why else would the plumbing materials mysteriously relocate themselves every night?
“You live around here, right?” Sam asked, gesturing toward me and—finally—keeping his eyes above my chest. “Matt said you’re in an awesome building. Good light?”
“Yeah, just over on Chestnut and River. I have really big windows, and these cool ones in the bathroom with little, um—”
“Muntins,” Matthew supplied. His hand was on my upper thigh, and it had been there since he finished eating. I figured he was six seconds away from licking my neck and peeing a circle around me, and if that weren’t tragically gross, it would be endearing. “A diagonal diamond casing, just like the ones we saw in the West End last week, Patrick.”
“Those were old.” Patrick considered this, nodding and staring into his glass. He was a chatty drinker, and I liked it. Much of that cool exterior warmed with the alcohol. “Have you been there long?”
“And can we buy the building because I really want some garden-side restoration action,” Sam added.
“Can we let the cash sit in the bank for twenty minutes, Samuel? God help me,” Shannon muttered.
“I’ve been there about three years, and I don’t know whether it’s for sale, but I will be moving in a few months. The guy I sublet from is finishing a tour in Afghanistan soon.”
I felt it again, Matthew’s gaze on me, weighty and potent. As he watched me, I sensed pieces of me shifting and realigning, my muscles and bones and organs making space inside me to accommodate the immense pressure of his stare.
Sipping my wine, I cut my eyes in his direction, trying to translate the unspoken currents between us.
“When?” he asked. It came out as a whisper, hoarse and pleading, and now I sensed four more pairs of eyes on me.
Onus.
“In the new year. January or February, but knowing the military, maybe later.”
“And what are you looking for?” Nodding, he added, “I know what you need and I think I know what you want, but I’d like to hear you say it.”
Discussing my apartment search with Matthew’s entire family seemed strange, especially tonight, but I knew they loved talking real estate, and he was responsible for finding my other home: Trench Mills.
“I’d love to stay in this area, and size doesn’t matter to me—”
“It should,” Sam snickered, though he was summarily ignored.
“—and I’d love a bigger kitchen, something open and maybe an island. Lots of windows and natural light. Definitely a tub. I can’t live without one.” I shrugged. “But that’s it. I can be flexible, and I’m not too picky.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he murmured.
Shannon launched into an analysis of every neighborhood in town, and she forwarded me listings from her phone while Matthew sat beside me, his hand on my thigh and his eyes never wavering.
Maybe that odd sensation was just me making space forhim.
Chapter Twenty-Two
MATTHEW
13:57 Matthew:im in bunker hill for a few hours and then heading out around 7
