“True. She can, yes, but she’s been getting better recently.”
“Just because she’s behaving with you doesn’t mean she is with Sloan.”
“I guess so.” Matty shrugged again. “I hope that isn’t the case. It would be nice, you know, if they worked out whatever the issue was between them.”
“That’s not for you to worry about,” Sarah said, turning and leaning back against the worktop.
“I know, but if this goes anywhere, then it might become my issue too.”
“Maybe you just need to enjoy it for what it is now and not get ahead of yourself.”
Matty thought about it. “I know you’re right.”
“And yet, the thought of her forever is enticing?”
“Maybe.” Matty grinned into her coffee. “Maybe.”
Chapter forty
Sloan stayed in the shower longer than usual. She washed her hair even though it wasn't due for another day or two. She scrubbed, shaved, tidied, being methodical and thorough, then rinsed and stood there under the force of the water, letting it beat hot against her skin.
Something in her gave. The tears came anyway, silent and stubborn, lost in the spray.
She kept her face tipped down, eyes squeezed shut, as if doing so could stop the memory from doing what it always did—rebreaking her heart. Maggie's back. Maggie's hand on the door. The way she'd said she was going—calm, already gone—like Sloan's life was something she could step out of and leave behind.
Somewhere in the mess of it, Sloan had always suspected her mother was the convenient reason. The clean exit. The story that made it easier to walk away.
The water ran over her mouth as she stood there, chest tight, waiting for the pain to ease. She'd lived without Maggie for long enough.
It was the hurt that hadn’t moved out when she had.
And here Sloan was, letting herself want someone again. This time it was different. Her mother wasn't a bargaining chip with Matty.
Just thinking about Matty eased something within her. Matty wasn't only her mother's white light—she was a light Sloan hadn't known she also needed.
She turned the lever and the water stopped. Rivulets slid down her skin as she stepped out of the cubicle, and with it came a sudden sense of yearning, and a reminder of the evening before.
The kiss. The flirtation. The instruction.
Where had she left her phone?
With the towel wrapped snugly around her body and tucked in to keep it from slipping, she crossed the hall and entered her room—the only room that ever felt like hers.
The bed was still unmade. She pulled the duvet back into place, remembering where she'd dropped her phone earlier and fished it out.
She grabbed it up and scanned for messages. Seeing Matty's name made her smile, and she felt those stirrings of interest pique.
One missed call and then a text.
Matty: When you said no touching…do nipples count? Asking for a very frustrated friend.
She read it several times. Each reread landed with more force, until the need between her legs had her standing motionless in the middle of the room. A vision of Matty standing naked before her, grounded Sloan. In her mind's eye, she saw Matty’s bare chest, nipples tightened, that knowing look on her face pressing buttons in Sloan, one after the other, until Sloan would have no choice but to do something about it.
Matty’s message had been sent an hour ago. It was almost lunchtime now. They were supposed to be meeting.
Her hand hovered over the phone as she considered her response.
Sloan: Tell me exactly what you did. P.S. Still on for lunch?
