Alexander’s hand returns to my back as we step outside, the cool night air brushing against my bare shoulders.
I turn to face him. “I think I’m going to grab a cab, if that’s alright.”
“Sure.” He gives me an easy smile, no pressure, no disappointment—just understanding.
It makes me feel terrible.
The streets are swarming with taxis, people coming and going in every direction. Alexander flags down a driver dropping someone off, gets an approving nod, and opens the back door for me.
“Thank you for being understanding,” I say with a soft smile. “And for tonight. I really did have fun. I’d love to see you again.”
He steps closer, backing me up against the car, his gaze locking onto mine. “It’s no problem,” he murmurs.
My pulse picks up, nerves skittering. I can’t tell if it’s excitement or my body screaming that this is all wrong. Either way, all I can think about is Matt. Like my brain short-circuits and rewires itself to him every time Alexander touches me or gets too close.
His hands cup my face, warm and gentle, and his lips find mine. The kiss is soft. Respectful. Appreciative—though he has no reason to feel that way. I certainly haven’t given him one.
I kiss him back. Partly because I don’t want to deal with the fallout of pulling away… and partly because I’m starved for affection.
He deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping in, and there it is again.
Matt.
His hands.
His mouth.
His tongue.
The realization hits hard and unforgiving—this isn’t fair to Alexander.
I pull back abruptly, ending the kiss a second too soon. “Um,” I whisper, placing a hand on his chest.
A boulder drops into the pit of my stomach.
Shit. Awkward.
“I should go. Thank you. Again.”
He studies me for a brief moment, then offers a faint smile and gestures toward the car. “Goodnight, Jordan.”
“Goodnight.” My limbs tremble as I slide into the backseat, the knot in my stomach pulling tighter.
The door shuts behind me, sealing the moment. And the discomfort.
God, I hate dating.
I let out an exhale big enough to blow down a brick house and immediately reach for my phone.
Chapter Eleven
MATT
I sink backinto the couch and take a sip of the craft IPA I picked up on the way home from Leo’s earlier. There’s a football game on, but I’m not really watching it. I’m restless. Losing my damn mind.
I went to Leo and Vivian’s for dinner, which was a good distraction. Leo’s always good company. He was a therapist for years and still teaches psychology at the university one night a week. He has a way of listening that makes you feel like you’ve said more than you actually have, and he never makes you feel dumb if you do.
Still. I’m restless.
