“Is he really that insistent?” Mrs. Santiago gives me a worried look. “With everything that’s happened recently…”
Her gaze darts to Rose, who nods somberly, before their focus shifts to me.
“Oh, no, I don’t think that’s going to be the case.”
“You know, if he gives you a lot of trouble, I can tell Miguel to have a talk with him,” Becky offers.
I shake my head immediately. Bringing more attention to my failed relationship is the last thing I need or want right now. And knowing Damien, that would only piss him off more.
“I have it under control, but thank you.” I finish the rest of my drink and push to my feet. “I’m going to grab a refill.”
God knows I need it.
“Oh, let me…” Becky starts to get up, but I wave her off.
“I can do it.”
Slipping from my chair, I make my way into the house. The loud chatter from outside is just a dull noise in here. I let out a long breath as I make my way to the fridge. The cold air blasts into my face, cooling off my warm cheeks as I scan the contents before settling on a bottle of soda. There are different bottles of alcohol on the counter. I find the one I want before pouring some vodka into my glass and adding soda.
“Still a shitty choice of alcohol, I see.”
The softly spoken words make me go stiff as I feel his probing gaze burning at the back of my head.
Slowly, I place the bottle on the counter and force myself to relax my fingers before I turn to face him.
Matthew is leaning against the doorjamb, his dark eyes zeroed in on me, watching me intently. The need to get the hell out of here is overwhelming, but I swallow it down and lean against the counter, returning his gaze head-on.
He slowly lifts his hand, taking a sip of his beer. The motion makes the hem of his shirt rise slightly. I’m not sure when he found a new shirt, but thank God he did. Although, there’s no erasing the image of him shirtless from my mind.
His hair is unruly, brown locks curling at his nape. A dark shadow is cast over his square jaw, accentuating the little scar from where he fell off his bike.
“Says the man who drinks beer.”
“Fernandez has some good stuff.”
I roll my eyes. “There is no universe in which any kind of beer can be considered ‘good stuff.’”
Grabbing my drink, I push from the counter and go for the door, but before I can sneak past him, Matthew steps into my path. “We should talk.”
My stomach tightens, his deep voice sending shivers down my spine. “There is nothing to talk about. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
Once again, I try to walk around him, andonce again, he’s in front of me.
“Trouble…”
“Don’t call me that,” I bite out, my gaze meeting his as I shove his hand away.
What is it with all these men suddenly wanting to talk to me?
Matthew’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t try to touch me again. “What am I supposed to call you, then?”
“Nothing. You didn’t have a problem not calling me anything for the last four years, so I don’t see why that should change now.”
The moment the words are out, I regret saying them. They give away too much, reveal things that are better left buried, but there is no taking them back now.
“Fuck.” Matthew runs his fingers through his hair before letting his hand drop. “Seriously, Tro—” I shoot him a death glare that has him biting his tongue. “Fine. Jessica. Is that better?”
I suck in a long breath at the sound of my name coming off his lips. The way it rolls off his tongue like a caress. Low and raspy, making goosebumps prickle my skin.
