“Please more” or “please stop”?Conflicted, I delete the text again.
Matt: Just so we’re straight, I mean me. The best night of my life was playing whore for you.
I press my palm to my cheek, my skin suddenly feeling as though it’s been pricked by a million hot pins.Oh, Matt. This isn’t allowed.
Matt: So what do you say?
I say he’s not alone in that. For me, there will never be another man like him.
Matt: You should come with me. Then you could make sure I won’t get up to no good ...
“Oh.” My hand drops, my stomach along with it. Does he mean what I think he means, what it sounds like? That he has plans of ... hooking up?
No.My denials are almost instant. Not Matt. No way. I know he hasn’t ... not since I moved in.Unless there’s a stash of condoms at work and his hookups are between office hours.
“A man is a man is a man. Not one of them can be trusted.” My mother’s voice whips me back to the past. One of those eveningsshe was drunk and sad and looking for validation. “If they’re smilin’ and treatin’ you nice, it’s because they’re hiding somethin’.”
But those are her experiences. And, okay, they’re also mine, in the past. But Matt isn’t Pete, and that’s not what’s happening here—it’s not what his text meant because that’s not who Matt is. I know this as clearly as I know my own name.
Yet my chest still aches, my stomach knotty and tense. I put my phone down on the desk and make my way to the nearest bathroom, where I splash a little cold water on my face.
“We’re not together,” I tell my reflection. “But he still wouldn’t disrespect me like that.”
But my eyes fill with tears anyway as I realize why I feel so sad.
It won’t be tonight, but the time will come when I’ll lose Matt to someone else.
Chapter 35
Matt
I straighten the collar of my shirt in the mirror, my expression tense. I’ve been home for an hour, and Ryan is nowhere to be seen. I knocked on her door, but there was no answer. I know she’s in there—I heard her shower going. Which, if I’m honest, feels like a cheap excuse not to deal with this.
Long story short? I’m getting the silent treatment because of a little teasing. Or pushing. But fuck it, I really wanted her to be there tonight. By my side. I fucking hate being the fifth wheel.
It’s great that my friends are all loved up, but I could do without having my face rubbed in their happiness when I feel like I’m getting nowhere with Ryan. It’s time. Time for her to get off the fence. To take a fucking risk—on me.
I pull on the drawer and pick up my Cartier cuff links, then drop them immediately in favor of the Graff knots. Love knots, supposedly. They could be a lucky talisman. They were once before.I got so lucky that night.
It’s not like I’ve been putting pressure on her to meet my friends—I love living in our bubble for two. I just wish there was more of that. More days. More nights. More intimacy that isn’t swept under the rug the next morning.
I just want this so badly—I want her more than anything—and I’ll be damned if I become the one before the man she eventually falls for.
Enough,I think, stabbing the cuff link through the hole in my double cuff, flicking the foot of it open. My shoulders feel tight as I repeat the action, then whack on my jacket and jab my hand through my hair. I grab my wallet and phone, and after taking one more look at my resolute expression, I leave my room and thunder down the stairs.
As I reach the hallway, I notice the door to the formal lounge is open as muted light spills across the floor.
What the ... The only people regularly in that room are the cleaners. It still looks like it did the day the interior designer fluffed her last throw pillow before handing me an eye-watering bill.
“Ryan?” I call out stridently, the soles of my shoes loud against the tiles. I’m still fucked off. Annoyed. With myself, with her. I’m done with this bullshit.
“In here.”
I press the flat of my hand to the door. “We need to talk,” I begin, my words spilling hard yet honestly before the door is fully open. “I take your rent. I give you your space. I eat my fucking dinner alone like some feudal lord, but for the love of God, Ryan, it’s time to meet me half ...” My words draw off, the rest echoing in my head:halfway and just come to dinner with me.
“I changed my mind.” Her voice is small and her words tentative as she stands on the far side of the room, framed by the art deco cocktail cabinet of burl wood. “I hope that’s okay.”
Dazed, I open my mouth, but the words aren’t immediately available. I shake my head, rattling the jammed cogs of my brain. “Yeah, of course.” And so much for righting my brain’s workings, as my gaze slides over her like that of an old letch. Only, she doesn’t seem to take offense.
