“Fuck yeah, babe.” Matt lifts his glass, pride beaming in his eyes. “Congratulations. You deserve it.”
I clink my glass against his, and we both take a celebratory sip.
He sets his drink down, grin curving slow and deliberate. “Now… for celebrating. I’m thinking you in a Vera Wang dress at a charity gala this Saturday. I’ll wine and dine you, then we can head back to my place and do what we do best.” He taps my crossed leg under the table, that grin of his pure trouble.
I just shake my head, laughing. “You’re the worst.”
“But I’m really the best.”
“We’re not doing this again.”
“Sure, sure,” he says easily, still grinning. “I’ll just admire from this side of the table, then.”
“Do your worst,” I quip, letting his gaze roam over me, knowing exactly what’s running through that deliciously dirty mind of his.
Matt and I have never been good at being just friends.
No, that’s a lie.
We’re terrible at it.
In fact, we’ve never really beenjust friends. We’ve been off and on our whole lives. Either together, friends with benefits, or not speaking at all.
There’s no in-between.
The last time we were actually together was eight years ago, when we were twenty-seven. I broke it off. I’m always the one who breaks it off. Hard to stay with someone when you don’t know how to push back on everything trying to pull you apart.
Then we did the whole Matt and Jordan“friends”thing, where we continue to sleep with each other but aren’t together. I started dating someone a year later. It got serious, and I cut ties. We didn’tspeak for almost two years. Not until he turned thirty and somehow crept back into my life… and my bed.
Like always.
A few years later, I started seeing Richard and cut Matt out again. Not only does it not sit well with other men to haveMatthew Graysonas your best friend, it’s impossible for usnotto repeat the same bad decisions.
And because I’m not a cheater, I push him away when I’m with someone else.
Our food arrives, a medium-rare ribeye for him, a summer salad for me, loaded with berries, nuts, and a zesty orange vinaigrette.
I’m not falling back into old habits this time. I want to get married. Have a family. And time isn’t on my side. I’m thirty-five. I’m not getting any younger.
Matt dumps his glazed carrots onto a side plate and slides them across the table for me, then steals a piece of my sourdough like he owns it.
The meat eater and the vegetarian.
It’s still new, whatever this version of us is. I’m still trying to figure it out. Which is why I’ve given him lunch on Tuesdays.
It’s only been three months, but it’s so damn easy to fall back into a rhythm with Matt.
He knows me better than anyone. He’s the one person I’ve shared my deepest, darkest secrets and fears with. The one person I feel safe enough with to just… be me.
To let the parts of myself show that would shame my family.
The parts Matt never shies away from.
The parts only he knows.
Chapter Four
MATT
