19. Goldie
Chapter 19
Goldie
“ A RE YOU OKAY?” It’s the only thing I can think to say.
“I…don’t know. I think so.” His cheeks are a little pink.
I’m overcome with the need to touch him.
Which is probably the worst idea ever.
“Drink.” Anthony tosses a napkin in front of me and sets the drink on top.
I snatch it and take two massive gulps, then proceed to cough. “Heavy…pour,” I gasp, thwacking my chest as I struggle to get myself back under control.
Happily, the whole thing has served to yank Matty out of his daze. He jerks to attention, grabbing my left arm and pulling it into the air.
The move is so startling that I look up at him, lightly coughing as I ask, “What…are…you doing?”
“My grandma always said to raise your left arm when you coughed.” His cheeks get even rosier as he releases my arm and resettles on the stool. “Sorry.”
A pint glass of plain water appears as Anthony glares at me. “Water.”
I do as he says, sipping at the water until I get myself under control. Or as under control as possible, given that Matty is still studying me with an intensity I can barely take.
His eyes. The slight furrow between them. The way he’s biting the inside of his cheek. All of it makes me press my legs together to try and ease the ache there.
After another few minutes of silence, I finally cave. “Are you going to speak at all?”
He clears his throat and takes a sip of the fresh beer Anthony slid in front of him. “You’ve had a lot longer to come to grips with this than me.”
The word grip makes me think of the way his hand wrapped around his dick, and my cheeks heat. “Fair.”
He blows out a breath, then reaches to touch a strand of my hair. “You…dyed it just for the one night?”
It takes everything not to lean into his touch. “I put a temp wash on it,” I explain. “I don’t know why. But I did. Do you—would you have recognized me otherwise?”
“Honestly? I’d like to think so, but…” He trails off as his eyes search my face, spending more time on my lips than is decent. I lick them self-consciously, and I swear to God, a tiny moan escapes him. A moan that I’ve only heard two other times. “Stop,” I whisper.
Matty’s gaze snaps to mine. “Stop what?”
I shake my head, leaning forward to whisper. “Stop staring at my lips and moaning, because I’ve freaking seen your dick, Matthew, and right now? All I want to do is take you into the bathroom and go to my knees. So. Stop. ”
His jaw unhinges. “Holy…”
I straighten and fluff my hair. “I said what I said.”
He chuckles, then it grows into a laugh. A deep belly laugh. Which makes me start laughing, until we’re both practically howling, tears streaming down our faces. “You said…what you said,” he sputters, then we laugh again.
Finally, we ease out of laughing, and I wipe the tears away. As we reach for our drinks, our eyes meet and hold. They hold as we drink and stay connected as we set our glasses on the bar. I want to fall into their caramel swirls forever.
“What are we going to do?” he whispers.
I press my lips together and shake my head, unable to answer him. Because it hits me that maybe he might want this. But maybe he doesn’t. That despite our weeks of getting to know each other as James and Dawn, it might not be enough. Maybe the only thing I’ll ever be to him is his best friend’s little sister.
He looks up at Anthony, who’s moved down to our end of the bar to check on us. “I think we need shots. Yes?” He glances at me.
“Yes.” I can’t say it fast enough.
“Tequila?”
“Again, yes.”
Anthony swivels his gaze between the two of us, probably trying to assess what’s going on. The good thing is, even if he were to somehow figure it out, he won’t tell his brother. And right now, I think we both need as much privacy as this town will give us. He must get whatever he’s looking for, because he nods and turns away to grab the bottle and shot glasses.
“Don’t bother with salt and lime,” I tell him, my eyes never leaving Matty’s.
The shots appear. We raise the glasses in a silent salute, then toss the tequila back. It burns going down, like always, and I welcome the familiarity. We slam the glasses down.
“Another.” We say it at the same time.
“Hand over your keys,” Anthony grouses. “I don’t know what you two are up to.”
Matty’s lips—the lips I’ve kissed and fantasized about every night since—tip into a grin. “He’s probably right.”
I dig into my purse and slide my Jeep’s key fob over to him, making sure to keep my house key. Matty pulls his truck key off the ring and slides it across the bar. Anthony takes them both and drops them into a jar behind him. Satisfied, he pours our second round.
By the third round, we’ve discussed our fake names, both of which are our middle names and both of which we can’t believe didn’t immediately give us away. By the fourth round, we’re babbling about anything and everything that doesn’t involve the two of us and our situation, completely ignoring the big ass elephant in the room and pretending everything is fine.
When I order a fifth round, Anthony shakes his head and holds his cell up. “I’ve called an Uber. Matty’s buying.”
“I am?” He hiccups. “I am. Of course I am. I’m a fucking gentleman.”
I snicker. “Yes, you are.” With a really thick dick.
He whips his head to me, eyes wide. “What did you just say?”
My own eyes go round as saucers. “What did I just say?”
He leans forward and whispers. At least, I hope it’s a whisper. Who even knows anymore? “Did you just say I…had a thick dick?”
I lean away, my entire body heating up with a blush to end all blushes. “Um. Yes?”
His eyes widen as he breaks into a huge smile. “ Really ?”
I’m going to die.
“Uber’s here. I’ll walk you out.” Anthony is in front of us, gesturing for us to get off the stools and follow him. “I put a twenty-five percent tip on the card, Matty. For me and the driver. You’re good for it.”
“Yes. Yes, I am.” His chest is puffed up as he holds his hand out for mine.
I take it. “He’s good for a lot of things, Anthony.” May as well lean into it, right? If ever there was a moment to say ‘fuck it’ and just remove the filter, this is it.
Anthony glances at me, then at Matty, and shakes his head. “I’m sure he is, Goldie.” He opens the door and ushers us out and into the rideshare.
We’re silent in the car, but we sit close, each of us using the other to prop ourselves up. Tilting my head up, I take in his shaggy hair and full lips, and when they lift in a smile, I meet his eyes. They’re my undoing. They always have been.
“Goldie Dash,” he murmurs, reaching his hand up to cradle my face.
Thank God I’m sitting, because the man would have just brought me to my knees.
“I’m glad it was you.”
And now I’m dead, because he has killed me with the swooniest of swoony phrases.
He tilts his head, putting our lips inches apart. I remind myself to breathe. He closes the distance, and?—
“We’re here!” the driver announces cheerfully, prompting Matty and I to rear back and stare at each other.
“R-right,” Matty says, fumbling his words and undoing his seatbelt, his cheeks blazing.
Right.
I watch Matty exit, not making my own moves to do to the same.
“Miss?”
“Mmm?”
“I’ve got another fare.” The driver’s eyes meet mine in the rearview.
Oh. Oh. “Of course.” And then I’m the one blushing and getting out of the car.
I trail Matty, not sure what to do, and soon we’re inside with all the animals surrounding us. “Chill out, guys,” Matty says, walking to the back door off the kitchen to let the dogs out.
I pull cups out of the cabinet and fill them with water for us to chug, not remotely near sobriety. We move in sync, as though this is something we do all the time, but this has never—and I mean never —happened. I’ve been here once. Willa is the Dash sister who knows her way around here.
I shake my head. Nope. Not thinking about my sister right now. Worst idea ever. In fact, right now, in this moment, I have no sister.
Matty finishes his water, refills it, and chugs again. I might watch his Adam’s apple bob with each swallow. And I might think about how sexy that is. I might also take a moment to let my eyes linger on how his shoulders fill out the T-shirt he’s wearing and wonder what his chest looks like in person these days.
He lets the dogs back in, then locks the door and walks in the direction of what I can only assume is his bedroom. “Coming?”
It’s midnight. I could still call an Uber and get one. Instead, I finish my water and follow. Because again: we are in ‘fuck it’ territory.
The room is dark, but I can see he’s toeing off his shoes. I do the same. And when he flops onto the bed, face-planting into the pillow, I follow. Minus the face-in-pillow part.
When sleep comes, I welcome it with open arms.