I liftthe glass of Cognac to my lips and let the smooth richness slide down my throat, contemplating how much longer I need to be here, making an appearance, before I bail. Not that I don’t love a charity event. I usually do, but without Alley and Jensen or Jordan here… Not gonna lie—I’m bored as hell, and I wasn’t about to drag someone along I wouldn’t have fun with. Not when I’d just be counting down the minutes until I could take off her clothes.
No thanks. I’d rather go alone, drink first, then find someone at the end of the night to fuck.
Speaking of which?—
I look up and glance around the museum. Hot. Women. Everywhere.
It’s no use, though. I’m not in the mood.
And I’mnevernot in the mood.
My father catches my eye from across the room. He lifts his glass with a smug salute he thinks passes for affection, and I give him a flat nod back, bare minimum acknowledgment, then look away.
We understand each other.
Keep the distance. We don’t give a shit. Why pretend otherwise?
Thank God my mother’s not here. She’d force him to come over.
I scowl into my drink, irritation replacing the dullness of tonight’s event. This would have been a hell of a lot better if Jordan would have just come with me. I lean back against the bar and watch as couple after couple pass by. Men’s arms draped low across their dates’ backs, women laughing. I take another sip.Damn. I’m fucking restless. Jordan’s been turning me down for dates and even hangouts for months now, but tonight? It grates.
I keep falling into this trap. I chase. She lets me catch her. Ditches me. Comes back. Repeat the cycle.
Problem is, I love hanging out with her. I love talking to her. Doing nothing with her. Kissing her. And I sure as hell love fucking her.
Christ. She’s so fucking good in bed.
My cock jerks at the thought, and I turn toward the bar. No one needs to see Matthew Grayson chubbing at a charity for kids. Alone.
I pull out my phone with a heavy exhale.
What you doin?
Christ, I’m pathetic. I toss my phone on the bar. I couldn’t tell you the last time I second-guessed myself. But ever since Jordan ran from her wedding—to me, I might add—I’m all in my head about it. I’ve never been in my head about anything.
Not even with her. In the past, it was always obvious: what I did wrong, where I stood, what we were. Boyfriend. Fuck buddy. And something in between the two.
But now? Now I don’t know what the hell I am or where I stand or what we are. And it’s driving me insane, this bullshit situation she calls friendship.
My phone lights up.
Jordan
Currently surviving an emotional interrogation.
A smile tugs at my lips. It’sthateasy. She responds and my mood’s instantly better.
Your mamá or your yiayiá?
Jordan
Lol. Both. Somebody kill me now.
I grin, gripping my phone with both hands now.
Jesus. Let me guess—lecture on why you’re still single and how grandbabies don’t make themselves?
Jordan
