“She makes you happy, right?”
I huff. “Pretty sure I’m halfway in love with her already.” I pull out the key from my pocket and look at it before sliding it back in. I should probably add it to the rest of my keys, but there is just something keeping me from lumping her gift with everything else. When I look up, Nate is grinning at me. “What?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Nothing. I just don’t think I’ve seen you this all-in before. I’m happy for you, man.”
Ifall-inmeans obsessively looking at my new key and counting down the hours until I get to use it tonight, he’s definitely right. T-minus…eleven hours, give or take.
Why does that feel like an eternity?
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
ELLIE
I hastily unlockmy apartment door and toe off my shoes while I hang my coat on the hanger. Fuuuuudge I’m cold. The walk home at three in the morning is brutal when it’s this temperature. And when it’s snowing? Kind of makes me want to die. I might have to start driving.Ugh. I’m pretty sure we’re supposed to get more snow this weekend. I should probably check the forecast before my next shift on Sunday.
Thinking about this weekend puts a tiny pit in my stomach. I was not prepared for Dev and Matt sending coincidental back-to-back texts trying to get me to go to a game. Talk about a double whammy. I’m not sure how realistic it is to keep this up…
I try to force it out of my mind for now. I’ll cross that bridge later.
My scrubs land somewhere en route to my bedroom as I pull them off and drop them along the way. I go to turn the light on to find my warmer sweats for after my shower when I notice my bed is not empty.
I’m about to scream bloody murder when I see Matt’s backpack on the floor. And then I remember those texts from yesterday I was just thinking about.
Holy moly, I almost had a heart attack. Looks like he put his key to use. If my heart weren’t already racing, I think I’d feel a swell of satisfaction over that.
I put my hand over my heart and slowly abandon my mission for sweats to head to the bathroom to brush my teeth and take the fastest shower humanly possible. Then I get to cuddle with my personal heater.Heck yes.
I try not to think too hard about how excited I am to not fuck my fuck buddy tonight. Fuck buddies cuddle, right?After they fuck, maybe, my subconscious says. I ignore her.
When I come back to my room, I see Matt’s awake and looking at me with half-lidded eyes. I quickly grab and put on sleep shorts and a tank.
“Sorry if I woke you up,” I whisper as I slide into bed and snuggle close to his warm, solid chest. Thanks to my quick and not very hot shower, I press my still frozen hands and feet against him and immediately feel them start to thaw.Heaven. My cold extremities must feel like ice, but Matt doesn’t say anything. Are green flags a thing?
Matt presses a kiss to my forehead and hums. “Wanted to be woken up. How was work?” His sleepy voice makes it all sound like one long word.Howwaswork.
I hold back my laugh. “It was good. I’m actually glad I picked up the extra shift. Got to show off my suturing skills, since we were swamped,” I tell him proudly on a yawn.
Ilovedoing stitches. Usually the doctors do them, but sometimes, if we’re busy enough, those of us who are trained can do them too. Sometimes suturing just needs to be efficient and it’s less about perfection than getting the job done. When I have time to focus on that perfection though, that’s what I’m obsessed with. There’s something so peaceful and entrancing about putting your full focus into the task. Your mind can’t wander orblur—you just have to be present. It feels like some magnificent combination of art and science. A tiny medical masterpiece.
“Not surprised you kicked ass,” Matt says quietly, but more clearly now, interrupting my musing.
I smile at his sentiment and then sober as I watch his face. It’s dark, but I can feel his eyes move to my collarbone as he starts to trace the raised scar there with the tip of his finger. It doesn’t feel sexual in nature or conversely like some clinical exam. It’s soft and slow, maybe sad.
“It was a car accident.” My voice is quiet. Matt abruptly pauses his tracing and shifts his focus to my face.
I’m not sure why I haven’t told him yet. I know he’s wondered probably since he first saw it that night in the shower. It’s not small or insignificant. The scar cuts diagonally across my collarbone on the left side, spanning a little more than four inches. I think about the thirty-two stitches the doctor had to carefully suture there over five years ago. I don’t actually remember that part. They did a good job—some scars are just inevitable.
A car accidentis usually as much information as I give people if they ask, if even that. But there’s something about being cuddled up to Matt right now that makes me want to tell him more. He’s so…solid. And not just in a physical sense. He feels so calming to be around, so peaceful. Like you could tell him the world was ending and he’d somehow make it not scary.
Matt Anderson is bombproof.Safe, my mind tells me again. I remember thinking that even early on. Funny how my original Superman comparison feels even more apt now.
The nerves that normally accompany this story aren’t there. Instead I feel a sense of rightness. I think I want Matt to know me better. I’m not ready to think about what that might mean.
“This is from a piece of glass,” I say, pointing to my collarbone.
Matt looks back to my scar and I hear a rough breath leave his nose. “From the car?” he asks in a low voice.
“They think the window, yeah.” I swallow and try not to think of what I’m saying. “A drunk driver hit the driver’s side of our car head-on. My…my mom was driving, so she had fatal injuries.”
