Matty took a step closer anyway, seeming to decide she’d rather be brave than comfortable. “I kind of had the impression you might be attracted to me too.”
Sloan’s arms, which had started to fold, fell back to her sides. “And that would be a problem if you’re working for my mother?”
“Is she the one paying me to work here?” Matty asked. There was a challenge in it—gentle, but real.
Sloan’s gaze didn’t leave her. “No.”
Matty moved closer still. Her fingertip traced the edge of the table first—slowly, deliberately—before it found Sloan’s wrist. Bare skin. A light touch that asked a question without words.
It wasn’t a grip. Nothing like the one Sloan had put on her at Art. It was Matty, choosing to touch—testing the boundary and watching to see if Sloan would let her.
Sloan’s breath caught, almost inaudibly.
Matty leaned in.
The first brush of her lips against Sloan’s was soft and tentative, giving Sloan every chance to pull away. Warm. Careful. A kiss that asked, not took.
Sloan didn’t pull away.
Her hands rose and framed Matty’s face—thumbs at her jaw, fingers steady at the nape of her neck—guiding her closer with a control that didn’t feel like force, but more like permission.
“If you want me to stop,” Sloan murmured, voice low, “say so.”
Matty swallowed, eyes on Sloan’s. “Ikissedyou,” she said, almost dazed by her own courage, then a quieter, “Don’t stop.”
Something in Sloan shifted.
She kissed Matty again, deeper this time—slow at first, then certain. Not rushed, not sloppy, but like she was choosing every second of it. Matty made a small sound into her mouth and Sloan greeted it, tasting it, letting her tongue slide in and press—not taking, but meeting—testing the edges of what Matty would give, and finding her willing.
Matty melted into it, hands coming up to Sloan's waist, holding on as if she'd been waiting for that moment without even knowing it.
Sloan pulled back first.
Not because she wanted to. That much was written all over her—breath tight, pupils blown, the faint tremor she refused to let reach her hands.
She stepped away, creating space as if she could build a wall out of air.
“We can’t,” she said, and the words came out sharper than she meant them to. She glanced towards the hallway, then the lounge, as though she could already hear Gloria shuffling closer. “Not like this. Not here.”
Matty blinked, still flushed, still open. “Sloan...”
Sloan moved to the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, looking like she needed something solid. She looked back at Matty, and for a second the ice slipped, fear showing through the control.
“You’ve gone cold,” Matty said softly. It wasn’t an accusation. It was hurt. “Why?”
Sloan’s jaw worked, like she was grinding the truth down into something she could say out loud.
“Because I want you,” she said, voice low, “and I can’t...I can’t do that.”
Matty’s brow furrowed. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“It makes perfect sense.” Sloan’s eyes flicked towards the lounge again. “My mother is calmer with you. She listens to you. And if this goes wrong—” She broke off, jaw tight. “I need you here.”
Matty’s expression softened, the hurt shifting into something like understanding. “So that’s it, then? This only works if I stay useful?”
Sloan flinched. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
“It is,” Matty said quietly. “You kissed me back, Sloan. And now you’re acting like it has to mean nothing because you’re scared I’ll walk.”
