Andyet.
I’m not sure if it’s enough. I’m not mad anymore, if I ever even had the right to be. I just don’t think I can handle the hockey thing. Or the fame.
“You’re kind of famous.” The non-question slips out, my filter apparently not working at the moment.
Matt’s cheeks tinge pink and his shoulders lift slightly before falling. A shrug. He’suncomfortable. “Hockey players don’t really get famous.” He pauses and then, “Comparatively.”
Charitable and humble. I’m screwed.Stay focused, Ellie.
“Do you deal with public attention? Like paparazzi and articles and stuff?” I didn’t see any tabloid-type stories about him during my search, but I also got the impression Matt doesn’t elicit anything really scandalous. So it’s possible they just don’t get written about him much.
Matt’s eyes are bouncing around my face, probably trying to make sense of this line of questioning. Maybe he thought the offer of being an open book would lead to things more like “how often do you hook up with strangers” or “why hockey.” But I don’t really want to think about the former, and the latter I already know the answer to, thanks to the internet: his parents got him a mini plastic stick and goal for their basement and he became obsessed when he was four.
“I try to keep my life as private as possible,” he starts slowly. “So I don’t have any social media or anything like that. I mostly just do what I’m contractually obligated to in the media department.” Matt clears his throat. “We don’t really have paparazzi here in Minnesota, so if you’re asking about pictures then it’s mostly just from fans. Though usually those are pictureswiththem—they tend to be respectful of my privacy and not take candids too much, that I’m aware of at least.”
“And the articles?”
Matt’s brows draw down and his mouth sets into an almost-frown. I can see the questions behind his eyes.Why does she care so much about this part of my life?“Some articles are inevitable, I guess. Most tend to be hockey-related though. I’m sure there’s the occasional invasive story about some aspect of my personal life. I tend to only read things my family send me, so I wouldn’t see those if they exist.”
I think of how that would feel, having articles and stories about yourself get sent to you. I fight off a cringe. I’ve never thought about being in a position where privacy wasn’t guaranteed. There’s something to be said for mundane anonymity. Would I lose that if I kept hanging out with Matt?
“How did that all play into your past relationships?” I ask him.
Something flickers in Matt’s eyes, like maybe he’s started to connect the dots on where these questions have been coming from. “How did the public aspect of my life affect them?”
“Right, the lack of privacy,” I confirm.
Matt seems to perk up as he answers this time. “Well, all of my serious relationships have started through mutual friends, so they all kind of knew what they were getting into. Honestly, they probably would’ve preferred to be in the spotlight more than we were, but that’s not really what I’m into. There were other reasons, but that difference contributed to why we weren’t compatible ultimately.”
I’m now picturing his previous girlfriends as ultrahot Instagram influencers. The sharp pang of jealousy catches me off guard and I look to the water I’ve been holding in my lap. It’s probably a good thing he doesn’t have an account for me to stalk. I don’t remember seeing pictures of him with any women in my search, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist. “But they did get attention? Like they were photographed and stuff when you were dating?”
Matt doesn’t answer for a long time. I pick my head up to look at him and find him already watching my face carefully. He looks…despondent. I think he’s surmised this might be an issue for me.
He gives me a nod and continues to watch my face. I look back to my cup. A few moments tick by in silence. I hear movements and glance up to see Matt rounding the coffee tableto come to the couch where I’m sitting. He lines himself up beside me and drops softly, maneuvering that broad frame with more grace than you’d expect.
Matt surprises me when he plucks my water from my hands and sets it on the table, quickly reaching back toward me and taking one of my hands in his. He threads our fingers and rests them on his thigh. “Ellie.”
I look from our joined hands to his face. It’s really so striking up close, those green eyes sending flutters through my belly.
“I really like you.”
Those flutters turn into a full swoop.
“You hardly know me,” I remind him.
Matt shrugs and smiles at me. I feel his thumb gently moving along mine. “Well, Ireallylike everything I know,” he says.
I fight my smile and feel my face heat. Matt reaches up with his other hand and swipes a thumb over my cheek. “I’d also really like to take you on a date.”
I know Matt can see my expression fall, but I can’t seem to help it. A date. Dating. Potential pictures and attention.Articles. I don’t think I can handle any of it. Don’t think I want to. “I don’t know if I’m up for all of that,” I confess quietly.
Matt’s eyes look back and forth between mine as his thumb stills its movement. “You’re not just talking about the date,” he guesses correctly.
I shake my head and feel the dejection of the situation settle in my stomach like a solid weight.
Matt looks down at our clasped hands. He seems to be mulling something over as his expression changes from understanding to thoughtful to…resigned? Maybe it’s disappointment. He starts moving his thumb again, almost absentmindedly. Nearly a full minute goes by before he speaks again.
“What if we kept it all—us, I mean—a secret?” Matt finally looks back up at me after he says that and I can read the disappointment clearly now.
