It’sBrooke Masters.
Those two words, the way he said them, like some shiny badge of honour. Like he was checking something off a bucket list. And God, I hate that it got to me.
I know I’m hot. I’m not vain, but I’m not blind either. I know what I look like, I know the effect I have. And I know how people see me before they know me.
Back in high school, I had this massive crush on the quarterback. And when I say massive, I meanMrs. Delgadowritten in the margins of every notebook, hearts drawn around our names, pathetic teenage fantasy level. So, after prom, when he got thathotel room, I said yes. It was my first time, and I felt… special.Itwas special.
Until the next morning.
Until I glanced at his phone while he dropped me off and saw his post, right there on his stupid Facebook group.
Just smashed with Brooke Masters #FirstTime #Goals #IDidIt #NoLongerAVirgin
It shattered me. He tried to laugh it off, to act like it was a joke, but I knew the truth. He didn’t wantme. He wanted the trophy. The bragging rights.
And just now, when Matthew said that,I just had sex with Brooke Masters, it felt the same. Like all over again, I was just a box to tick. A story to tell. The nerd who finally screwed the hot girl on their first date. If this evenwasa date.
I blow a handful of bubbles into the water, watching them pop one by one. Maybe I’m overreacting. He probably didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I should give him the benefit of the doubt.
But screw him.
Who says that?
And why did I expect better from him?
A knock at the door makes me glance over just as it creaks open. Matthew stands there, hovering in the doorway like he’s not sure if he’s welcome. His hair is messy, his chest bare except for a pair of boxers, and there’s this hesitant look on his face that would almost be endearing if I weren’t still seething.
He steps inside quietly and lowers himself onto the closed toilet seat, staring at the floor. For a while, neither of us speaks. The silence stretches, until I finally roll my eyes.
“I’ll get the morning-after pill tomorrow,” I say flatly.
“Oh.” He rubs the back of his neck. “If… if that’s what you want.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What- youwanta baby?”
He shrugs, and the sight of it, the casualness of it, makes something hot flare up in my chest. “I wouldn’t mind.”
My jaw drops. “Youwouldn’t mind? You just said you wanted your freedom, and now you want a kid? Why, because it’s withBrooke Masters?” My name tastes bitter in my mouth.
His spine straightens, his jaw tightening. “First of all,” he says, voice steady but low, “I’d love a kid because it would beours. Not because of some name. And second, I only said that becauseyou asked. I was being honest, not pushy.”
I clench my jaw, water sloshing as I shift in the tub. “So, I’m wrong to be upset that your first thought after sleeping with me was topat yourself on the back?”
“Jesus, Brooke, I didn’t mean it like that,” he snaps, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “I’vealwaysliked you. I just never thought this,us, would ever happen.”
“Why?” I shoot back, though I already know.
Matthew exhales, meeting my gaze for the first time. “Did youseeme in college? I was the chubby kid in the hoodie. The nerd who sat in the back hoping no one noticed him. And you-” He laughs without humour. “You wereyou. Popular, beautiful, untouchable. I spent years trying not to make a fool of myself every time you walked into a room.”
I stare at him, heart pounding. “So, this is just some fantasy come true for you?”
“No,” he says quietly, shaking his head. “It’s not about proving anything. It’s about finally being with the person I’ve wanted for years. And maybe I was an idiot for how I said it. But I didn’t sleep with you to brag, Brooke. I slept with you because I still care.”
I squint at him, studying every inch of his face, the slight flare of his nostrils, the way his fists clench like he’s holding himself together, the twitch in his jaw that betrays nerves he’s trying hard to hide. In this light, his hair looks even lighter than usual, almost golden, like the boy I used to know instead of the man sitting here now.
He shifts under my gaze, his brows knitting. “What?”
I lean back against the edge of the tub, tilting my head. “I’m just wondering,” I say, my voice quieter than I intend, “whether I believe you.”
