Alley is Jensen’s wife. She’s pregnant with their first child. They moved to Chicago a few weeks before the whole wedding fiasco. Matt doesn’t admit it, but I know it’s been hard for him having them gone.
“She’s good. Jensen says she’s feeling great. Just anxious to have the baby.” His brows furrow. “Don’t you talk to Al?”
I shrug. “Yeah. I’ve just… been MIA.”
From everyone. Especially anyone who was seated in that church when I suddenly had the urge to run as far away as possible instead of walk down the aisle.
It’s not that I didn’t love Richard. I did. It wasn’t even nerves or cold feet.
It was dread. Thick, suffocating dread that hit me the second I left the bride’s room.
Every expectation my mamá and yiayiá had ever placed on my shoulders tightened around my neck like a noose, and suddenly, I couldn’t fucking breathe.
A noose only stretches so far.
The first thing I did after fleeing the scene and downing a couple drinks at a dive bar?
Texted Matt.
I knew he’d listen. That he’d understand. That I could tell him everything I was feeling and he wouldn’t judge me. Even after I’d practically written him off. He’s a good guy—and, God help me, an even better friend.
“Makes sense. You’ve had a lot going on.”
Yiayiá never approved of Matt. Not that she approves of much. It doesn’t matter that he and his family practically own half the city, or that he’s respected everywhere he goes, even with his playboy reputation. He’s a goddamn king to anyone who’s anyone.
But he’s not Greek.
And he’s the opposite of everything Mamá and Yiayiá ever wanted for me.
Matt unbuttons his cufflinks and rolls his sleeves, revealing the ink stamped into his forearms, muscles and veins flexing with each movement.
He’s the ultimate bad boy dressed in a ten-thousand-dollar suit.
And he’s my best friend.
He has been since we were six.
“I know, but that’s no excuse,” I finally say. “You and Jensen are both busy, but you still find time to talk.”
“Sometimes we just text,” he offers.
Our server stops by, and Matt greets him like they’re old friends, like he does everyone. The man sets down a whiskey neat for Matt and an iced tea for me.
I watch as Matt takes his first sip, letting it linger in his mouth a second longer than most people would. He swallows, licks his lips, then exhales. “Mmm. That’s good.”
A smile pulls at my mouth.Same as always.
“Oh—hey, I forgot to ask.” He sits up straighter. “How’d your presentation go?”
My smile turns into a grin as I lean back, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear and folding my arms. “Slayed. I’m just waiting for confirmation, but there’s no way she’s not signing.”
His smile is so genuine. Like he’s truly proud of me. “Atta girl. I knew you’d kill it. Want to celebrate this weekend at a charity gala for underprivileged children?” His tone shifts to teasing, like he knows that’s not a celebration. But he’s also dead serious.
I laugh. “No.”
He feigns offense. “Rude.” He takes another sip, and I force my gaze away from his mouth as his tongue slides across his lower lip. “Okay, but in all seriousness,” he says, setting the glass down. “I need a date.”
“Then get one. You’ve got an arsenal of women in your contacts.”
