by Kacey Shea
“Mia, you need another drink?” Matt asks from across the table.
“Yeah,” I say and he lifts his brow, just the slightest toward Violet. Shit. He knows I hurt her on purpose. Probably thinks I’m acting like a stupid, petty girl. It shouldn’t bother me because I shouldn’t care what he thinks, but it does. I don’t have any desire to embarrass him or his brother’s friends. He stands from the table and I do the same. “I’m not sure what I want. I’ll come with you.”
I follow him out of the dining room, through the living area, and into the kitchen. He walks toward the refrigerator, but before he opens it, he stops on a dime and whips his gaze around so I almost lose my balance or crash into him. His response is automatic and his hands grab my hips to hold me steady. They slide along the waistband of my jeans, and a shiver works its way up my spine at the touch of his fingers. They dig just slightly into my flesh and he holds me steady. As if his hands belong there. I want them to. It’s a dangerous thought and one that has me taking a step back out of his reach.
Matt doesn’t miss a beat and opens the fridge to retrieve another beer for me and a water for him. “So, women’s footwear isn’t just for wearing? When the description called them killer boots they weren’t kidding.” His lips pull up with a wide smile as if he finds it funny I stepped on Violet’s foot. I take that as a good sign.
“You better watch yourself, Haywood.” I tap my toe near his as I twist the top off my bottle and take a pull. His gaze follows my drink and his eyes zero in on my mouth. They heat like warm honey and that look alone causes my body to thrum with need. “Cross me and I’ll bring these bad boys on the mats.”
“You play dirty, Mia.” His deep murmur spikes the space between us full of desire. I should quash it. Nip it in the bud. But my inner woman roars with the power of it all.
“Wouldn’t you like to know just how much?”
His eyes darken and that woman inside claps with approval. I wonder if he might kiss me. He’s more likely to prop my ass on the counter and devour me the way he’s staring now. I’d enjoy it, too. I can guarantee it. That part doesn’t scare me. It’s the moments after when he becomes clingy or things get awkward that keep up my guard.
“So, now you know. Never cross me.” I grin and tip my drink, breaking the mood, and Matt recovers as if it never was.
“Noted.” He grins and downs his entire bottle of water.
I sip my beer and a roar of laughter from the other room reminds us both there’s a party we’re avoiding. Before we head back there’s something I’ve been dying to ask Matt since his brother answered the door. Matt’s not easily offended—ever in my experience—but I know the topic can be a sensitive one so I drop my voice in case of any eavesdroppers. “So, I’m just going to come out and state the obvious. Your brother is . . . black.”
Matt’s laugh, the one that booms from his belly, fills the kitchen with his amusement and it takes a moment for him to catch his breath. “He’s actually half black, but I get what you mean.”
I shake my head, because I’d like to know the story behind that. I find myself curious about his life, family, and upbringing, but when he doesn’t expand on the topic I decide to feel out his take on Nikki. “And his girlfriend is . . .”
His brows rise and he nods for me to continue. “Say it. You won’t hurt my feelings.”
A mean girl. Pretentious. Un-fun. None of them are acceptable answers so I go with the most positive thing that pops in my head. “Not right for him?”
“Right? You got that vibe, too? Just from a few hours. But how about that friend of hers, the one you foot stabbed? She’s a real piece of special.”
Violet. Yeah there’s a place in hell for women like her. “Oh, I’ve met her before.”
“Wait, what? She didn’t act like she knew you. Wow. That only makes her even more of a bitch.”
“My sentiment exactly. For the record, I’ve also met Nikki before.” I didn’t put two and two together, not until Violet walked in, but I knew there was something familiar about Danny’s girlfriend. She came to Rae and Jared’s blowout Halloween party two years ago. Threw up into a ficus planter on their community rooftop deck after hooking up in front of everyone with some random guy on a lawn chair. But since she’s dating Matt’s brother I leave out those details.
Matt’s brow etches with concern. “What? Wow. That’s really disappointing. That doesn’t make her any better than her friend.”
“Not that I’m defending her or anything, but I’m pretty sure she didn’t recognize me. It was a few years ago at a Halloween party. Costumes were involved and we were all heavily intoxicated.”
“Yeah, she’s a real catch, that one.” He rolls his eyes. “But more about this infamous Halloween party. There was a pillow fight and you kissed a girl, didn’t you? Do we have pictures?”
“I most certainly did not.” Laughter bubbles from my belly and I roll my eyes. “And I’m sure Jared has them somewhere.”
“Can I see them?” His grin is like that of a little boy.
I shake my head because there are some things that are universal when it comes to men. “God, what is it with guys and Halloween costumes?”
“Honest truth. They tend to unleash the inner slut in even the most sensible of single women.” His smile is not deterred by my scoff.
“I’m not sure if I should be more offended by you calling me a slut or boring.”
His eyes widen and he shakes his head. “No, no, no. I would never. You are neither, I swear it.” He clears his throat and stands a little taller. “Let me try again. The reason most straight men love the costumes that come with Halloween parties is because they’re basically themed lingerie. Sexy butterfly, sexy mermaid, sexy cop, sexy Catwoman . . . Make that just Catwoman. She’s inherently sexy.”
“Mmm hmm . . . Remind me to find you a picture of the time my eighty-year old grandma dressed up as Catwoman. You may rethink your position.”
He shudders and I can’t help but giggle. The laughter and festive chatter from the other room reaches us in the kitchen but Matt doesn’t make a move to re-join the party. He seems to enjoy our one-on-one conversation as much as I am so I continue our little Q & A.
“So, while we’re on the topic, let’s talk favorite holidays.”
“I am going to take a wild guess that yours is Halloween.” He grins.
“While I don’t normally like to conform to stereotypes, I’m glad you’ve been paying attention enough to take an educated guess. And yes, Halloween is my favorite holiday. But what’s yours?”
“Now that you’ll never guess.”
“Challenge accepted. You’re more predictable than you like to let on.”
“Hmm . . . We’ll see. Guess.”
“Christmas.”
“Nope.”
“Fourth of July.”
“Not even close.”
“Oh! I know! It’s all about the food. Thanksgiving.”
“Try again, sister.”
“Wow, you are really throwing me for a loop here.”
“I’m sorry, all I hear is blah blah blah, you still can’t figure it out.”
“At least tell me the month.”
“Fine. February.”
“Oh, hell no! You can’t be a Valentine’s guy?”
“Why? Because I’m big and strong and like to beat people up?”
“Well, yeah. That and it’s so romantic. It’s disappointing, really.”
“Good thing you guessed wrong, then. Give up yet?”
“There’s no other holiday in February!”
“Sure there is.”
“Wait. President’s Day?”
“Nope.”
“Fine, just tell me.”
“Groundhog Day.”
“Punxsutawney Phil? What’s so special about a gopher predicting the weather? Of all the possibilities, why is that yours?”
“Groundhog. Not gopher.” He actually appears offended, his face scrunching up with his words. “It’s a g
reat holiday. Probably one of the most underappreciated of all awesome days, not to mention one of the most epic Bill Murray films of all times. You ask me why, but the better question is how can you not love Groundhog Day?”
“Ahhh . . .” The smirk on my face grows with his passionate explanation.
“Ahhh what?”
“Underdog.” I nod, knowing I’m right. I’ve got him pegged, at least when it comes to this. “You always root for the underdog. Don’t you?”
“No, I don’t.” He stares but I lift my brow at him and he relents. He tosses his empty bottle on the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. “Fine. I do. Hell, I was the underdog. Still am.”
“I think for once we’ve actually found something we agree on.” I smile, lean my back against the opposite counter, and tip back my beer. The cold ale tastes a whole lot like the small victory of seeing Matt Haywood rattled.
He shakes his head. “Are you sure? Because I watched the news this morning and hell was most certainly not freezing over.”
“Funny, big guy.” I set my bottle next to the other empties. I dread going back to the party of meaningless small talk and rude women, but I know we have to. It’s not that I can’t be social and friendly with strangers, it’s just that I find it tiresome and exhausting. More so a challenge when I find nothing in common. Matt’s brother Danny has been nothing but nice and maybe I’d be more excited to re-join the party if his girlfriend were as well.
Matt clears his throat and I glance up to find him staring. He opens his mouth to say something so I wait patiently until he does. “How about we ditch this joint and go watch a movie or something?”
A smile stretches across my face and his follows at my answer. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Matt’s bike takes us to an apartment not far from his gym. It’s not even on the way to my place, which means for weeks he’s been going entirely out of his way to drop me back home after training. I don’t mention it because I don’t want to know the meaning behind it. Instead, I follow him up the outside staircase and along the walkway to his place.
“It’s simple, but it’s home. For now.” Matt unlocks the door and steps inside first to flip on the lights. I’m not sure what I expect, but probably not this. He wasn’t kidding when he said simple. The place is small, but hell, I know how much rent runs in this city, so lots of places are. What gets me are the blank white walls. There’s nothing but one older television on a black stand and a leather couch that looks as if it came straight from the early eighties. That’s it. Even the kitchen counter doesn’t hold much but a few canisters of protein powers and a blender.
“Have a seat on the couch. Remote’s on the cushion,” he says, kicking off his shoes and locking the door behind me.
“What do you want to watch?” I say and unzip my boots to leave them by the door. Not sure if that’s the proper protocol, but considering the carpet looks practically brand new, I go with it.
“You pick,” he offers, but when he catches the evil glint in my eye he recants. “Wait. No. Let’s just scroll through until we find something we both like.”
“Ugh. No fun, Haywood. Where’s your sense of adventure?” I tease, and eye the couch for a place to relax. There’s a serious concern the fabric will completely split when I sit on it. A few seams are already held together by duct tape so it’s entirely possible.
Matt laughs and walks around to the other side, and digs under one of the cushions before retrieving the remote to power on the TV. “I store it with my self-preservation. Right behind my fight or flight. Sit. Scroll. I’ll grab us drinks. What do you want? Water, pop, wine?” He hands me the controller and backs up with an expectant grin.
“Wine.” I sink into the cushion of his couch and resist the moan that threatens to leave my lips when my back hits the padded leather.
“Best couch ever, right?” His brows waggle.
“It’s okay,” I lie and his laughter carries as he steps into the kitchen. It continues from behind the refrigerator door. This is the most comfortable piece of furniture my ass has ever felt. If it were mine, I’d never use my bed. Hell, I’d move it inside my room so no one else could experience the luxury. With my finger on the remote I open the Netflix app and thumb through to locate acceptable options.
Matt comes back in, two glasses in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other and a bag of chips cradled in the crook of his arm.
“Snacks, too. You so fancy.” I snag the chip bag and pop it open.
“I treat you right.” He winks before pouring my glass.
“Okay, I’ve got it narrowed down . . .” The cursor lights up Santa Clarita Diet.
“Nope.” He says popping the P.
Okay, then. I click over a few more until I find Warm Bodies. “How about—”
“Nope.” He’s already rejected it, so I hover on two more of my all-time favorite zombie films. “Nope. Nope.”
“You’re being difficult, Haywood.” I shake my head, almost frustrated enough to hand over the remote, but I won’t. God knows he’d corner me into watching one of the Rocky movies. I pause my surfing a moment to drink.
Matt chuckles. “Your shows suck, Mia.”
I grumble to myself and head toward something that might be considered middle ground, not sure what that would even look like. He turns his nose up at every option I like. “This is impossible.”
“Wait.” He stops me from flipping past Game of Thrones.
“You watch this?” My jaw drops more from the fact we’ve found a show we both like.
“Hell, yeah, I do. It’s in my top five.” He grabs a handful of chips from the bag in my lap. “Cue it up.”
“And you like it?” I’m still flabbergasted.
“Love it. You want to start from the beginning or watch last season?”
“Oh. My. God. I can’t believe we agree on something.” My eyes wide, he finally turns his chin to meet my stare. My mouth opens and closes twice before I get out the words. “I’m in shock.”
His chuckle holds as much humor as the corners of his eyes. “What’s not to like about this show?”
“Nothing. It’s cinematic perfection.” Shaking my head, I recover enough to scroll through the episodes, and hit play at the beginning of season six. “Wait a minute, you just watch it for the boob shots and sex, don’t you. I bet you’ve never even read the books.”
“Got me. It’s hard for me to read, Neanderthal that I am. Me man. Me eat food. Watch shows.”
“I knew it,” I gloat and his smile grows so wide I can’t help but mirror the movement. He laughs and I almost release one of those annoying giggles. Thank God I don’t because I’m certainly not the giggling type. Sinking further into the soft leather cushion, I ditch the bag of chips and prop my feet into the middle of the couch.
Sipping on wine, I enjoy everything about this moment. The comfort. The show. And yes, even that muscular man next to me on the couch whose laughter lights up my entire body each and every time his mouth opens. Whose tastes in television surprisingly cross over with mine. Whose finger trails soft circles along my calf while his gaze stays trained on the television screen. Even through my jeans his touch sends goosebumps over my skin.
I want that touch everywhere. All over me.
Damn it. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m so screwed.
I’m not sure why I let her believe I don’t enjoy reading, or why I play stupid other than it seems to make her smile. God, that smile. It’s not the pinched, guarded pull of her lips she gives most people. No, it’s the grin that begins slowly and grows wider with her amusement until the outside edges of her eyelids wrinkle together and all her teeth show. It’s the smile I’m thoroughly addicted to. The one I’ll act an idiot to gain.
She’s here, in my apartment, and while I should be relishing in the proximity, I can’t help but heed my little brother’s warning. Don’t sit on the bench too long. You freeze up one moment and you’ll be friend-zoned for a lifetime. That’s one posit
ion I don’t want to be held down to by Mia.
I should ask first. I want her full consent, but my fingers can’t stay put in my lap with her legs so close. There’s nothing overtly sexual about the way I’m touching her. Just stroking her leg over the material of her jeans. Who am I kidding? Everything between us is charged with an untapped lust we’re both too chicken or proud to give in to. I want Mia—every part of her—but she’s made her position clear. No sex with these dates. It was part of the deal.
The show plays on-screen, and while I watch the action unfold I don’t hear one bit of the dialog. I’m too preoccupied with the woman beside me, wondering if she wants me as much as I want her. There’s no way to know for certain but I take it as a good sign that she never once moves her leg away from my touch. Maybe I’m too afraid to chance another rejection, but I’d like to think it’s because I’m working to respect her boundaries. Either way, I’m glad I’ve already seen this episode or I’d be clueless as to what’s going on. In true Game of Thrones tradition, it doesn’t take long for the characters on screen to get physical. This scene in particular is so damn arousing my dick pushes painfully against my jeans. I close my eyes to calm myself, quite literally, but that only makes it worse. The heavy breathing and moans travel directly from my television to my groin.
“Matt,” Mia says and I lift my gaze to find her breath coming just as rapidly as mine.
“Mia.” Her name is the sweetest sound on my lips.
“Can our date be over?” She’s looking at me from beneath hooded eyes, her chest rising and falling in the most distracting way. She has a fantastic rack and I don’t understand her question. Does she want to leave? Her body says the opposite.
“Over?” I barely get out the word before she’s up off the couch. Taking the full glass of wine from my hand, she drinks most of it and then sets both the empty glasses on the kitchen counter. Too scared to ask questions because it might impede whatever she’s after, I don’t say a word. Her hips sway on the way back to the couch, but instead of taking her previous seat she stands directly in front of me, unmoving and blocking my view of the television. Not that I mind, but it is sort of humorous considering how much effort it took to agree on the show.
