Page 69 of The Daddy’s Girl

It can’t wait until tomorrow.

Throwing off the covers, I climb out of bed and put on the same clothes I tore off when I got home. Then I run off into the night, hailing the first cab I see.

If nothing else, I know one thing for certain. I need to see her.

Rule #19: Secret bedroom kisses are the best kisses.

Amelia

Trying to sleep is futile. For one, it’s only nine thirty. And for two, I still have the burn of Matis’s stubble on my lips.

That kiss will haunt me for the rest of my life.

The kiss on Saturday night was delirious and reckless.

The kiss tonight was a declaration.

He wants me. No, he aches for me. How the hell am I supposed to move on after that? I can never go back to the Amelia I was before I had that information. That he wants me. That this love is not unrequited. Or lust. Or whatever this is.

After my brother came in, looking awfully suspicious, I had to spend a while convincing him that I was fine and just overly annoyed with our meddling godfather.

Then I had to take Jacob outside and let him down easy. I explained that with my busy work life here and his life in America, I didn’t see much point in exploring this. It felt awful, but the whole time, I just kept thinking about that kiss.

There’s not a chance I’ll see or hear from him again, and I do feel a little bad about that. He was a nice guy. He was just no match for the sexiest, most charming man in all of France. Or Europe. Or hell…the world.

Lying on my bed, I stare at my phone screen and wonder if I should text him—Matis, that is. Should I be the one to start the conversation? Do I let it rest for a couple of days?

Part of me is hesitant to reach out to him out of fear of rejection. Even after the whole ache for you line, Matis grappled with this attraction. There’s a very good chance he’s going to continue pushing me away for self-preservation’s sake.

The other part of me just…misses him. It’s silly of me, but this is nothing new. My life for the last five to seven years has been measured in moments between the ones where I get to see him. And right now, we’re going on two hours, and while it’s nowhere near the longest I’ve gone, the way we left things has me feeling especially anxious for our reunion.

Suddenly, there are voices downstairs, and I sit up in a rush when I recognize the deep cadence and French accent of one in particular.

He’s here.

He’s…here?

My lips part as I wait, unable to make out anything he’s speaking to my dad about. He’s not…telling him what happened, is he?

Jesus, no, Amelia. Why would he do that?

I crawl off my bed and tiptoe toward the door, listening to their conversation. My room is far enough from the front of the house that voices don’t normally carry, but he is being loud, almost as if it’s on purpose. He’s warning me of his presence.

Opening my bedroom door, I walk down the hall toward the landing of the second floor in an oversized T-shirt. Peering over the banister, I freeze at the sight of him laughing casually with my dad.

“Well, you know I’m no help with technology,” my dad says with a laugh.

“I’m not normally this bad,” Matis replies as he looks down at his phone. “I hope you don’t mind me dropping in on you like this.”

“I never mind.” My dad places a warm hand on Matis’s shoulder and seems to guide him toward the living room. “Come have a drink with me first.”

Just then, Matis’s eyes skirt upward and find me watching from the second level. I feel mine widen, mirroring his. What on earth is he doing here? Is it possible this has nothing to do with me and Matis randomly had a hankering for a drink with his best friend? Whose daughter he just felt up.

For the next hour, I pace a hole in my bedroom floor, wondering if I should go down there and say something (what, I don’t know) or if I should just sit up here and wait. Do I text him?

Am I overthinking this? Would a normal girl shrug it off, play it cool, and pretend nothing is happening? In my dreams. Me? I’ll just continue wearing out the rug in my room and chewing my nails down to the cuticle.

After about thirty minutes of this torture, Matis’s voice grows closer. I freeze, watching my open door.