Chapter Two Matt
Lizzie’s teal bag perches on the corner of her desk like it might come to life and attack me. Honestly, that would be better than the suffocating silence that’s followed my offer for a weekend non-date. Her new hair—the soft, rich auburn—catches the fluorescent light, and I can’t stop staring. I’ve never seen her look more radiant, more beautiful, or more intimidating.
I’m trying to play it cool, but every second she doesn’t respond feels like I’ve asked her to move to Mars with me instead of to dinner and a concert. My heart is doing this ridiculous staccato rhythm, and I swear, if I lean forward just a little, it’ll spill out of my chest.
Lizzie leans back in her chair and crosses her arms. I can’t tell if she’s amused, suspicious, or plotting my demise. Probably a mix of all three. “So, let me get this straight,” she starts, her voice carrying that razor-sharp edge of skepticism I both fear and admire. “You want me to go to dinner and a concert with you. As your fake friend .”
“That’s right.” I nod, trying to keep my tone light. Casual. Like this isn’t the most important negotiation of my life. “Just two friends enjoying a nice evening out. Totally platonic. No HR forms required.”
Her eyebrow arches. “Totally platonic, huh?”
“Completely,” I say, my voice cracking just a little on the word. I clear my throat and press on. “It’s the perfect solution. We get to spend time together without breaking any rules, and no one at ChemTech has to know.”
She tilts her head, studying me like I’m some kind of complex equation she’s trying to solve. “Don’t you have real friends for this?”
“Byron doesn’t like Indie music,” I say coolly. My throat is full of sawdust, but I refuse to clear it again.
“Why me?”
Because I’ve been hopelessly in love with you for months and I’m too much of a coward to just say it out loud. The thought barrels through my mind, but I shove it into the deepest corner of my brain and lock it up tight. No way I’m admitting that. Not yet.
“Do I really have to spell it out for you?” I lean forward like we’re sharing some big secret. “Last weekend, I went by myself, and it was depressing. I ate an entire bag of kettle corn just to keep from looking like a total loser.”
“Kettle corn is a solid choice,” she says, her lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile. “But I’m not sure how that translates into me accompanying you.”
I shrug, forcing a grin. “You’re fun. You make everything better. And, honestly, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend a Saturday night with.”
Her arms drop, and for a second, I think I’ve won. But then she narrows her eyes, and I realize I’ve underestimated her. Again.
“Would you come pick me up?” she asks, her voice as smooth and lethal as a freshly sharpened blade.
“Sure. Friends pick friends up for events they’re attending.”
Her lips press together, and I can’t tell if she’s holding back a laugh or if she’s about to muscle me out of her office. Either way, I’m sweating bullets.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she sighs. “Fine. Dinner and a concert. As friends.”
Relief crashes over me like a wave. “Yeah,” I say, grinning like an idiot. “It’s going to be so much fun, I promise.”
“We’ll see,” she mutters, but there’s a glimmer of something in her eyes—something that looks an awful lot like hope mingling with desire.
I stand, ready to make my escape before I can say or do anything else to jeopardize this fragile agreement. “I’ll pick you up at six. Wear something comfortable. It’s an outdoor concert, so there’ll be grass and twigs and bugs and things.”
“You’re not selling this,” she says with a half-smile. “Now get out of my office, so I can get this paperwork filed.”
I don’t need to be told twice. I head for the door, my heart still racing, and throw her a quick wave over my shoulder. “See you later, Lizzie.”
As I step into the hallway, I can’t help but grin. I did it. I got her to say yes. Sure, it’s as a fake friend , but it’s a start. And maybe, just maybe, my plans to take our friendship into a secret relationship won’t end in a complete disaster.
By the time I pull into my driveway, the adrenaline from my “fake friend” win has worn off, leaving me with nothing but nerves and a mild case of buyer’s remorse. What if this backfires? What if Lizzie sees right through me? What if I accidentally call it a date and that somehow gets back to Angela in HR? You should see this woman; she has the perma-frown of a bald eagle and the sharp eyes to match.
“Stop overthinking,” I mutter as I get out of my car and head for the front door. “It’s just a friendly dinner and a concert. No big deal. ”
The moment I step inside, I’m greeted by the unmistakable sound of claws skittering across hardwood floors. A split second later, a blur of gray fur launches itself at my legs, with a slightly darker charcoal only a moment behind.
“Hey, fellas.” I crouch down to scratch my felines, Purricell and Purroxide. They’re brothers and Maine Coon cats with big personalities and even bigger appetites. Purricell is the most vocal of the pair, and he meows loudly, his tail swishing like he’s scolding me for being late.
“I know, I know,” I say, heading for the kitchen to fill the food bowls. “I had a long day too, buddy. And I may or may not have just made a complete fool of myself in front of the woman I’m trying to impress.”
He meows again, hopping up onto the counter to watch me with those judgmental green eyes. “You remember Lizzie, right? She was wearing the sexiest dress on the planet today, and she took the morning off to get her hair done, and she’s a redhead now, guys.”
I open the can of food and mix it in with their dry kibble. Purricell yowls and glares, as if he doesn’t care about Lizzie, which simply can’t be true. Purroxide rubs against my calf, and I think of the Diet Coke Lizzie threw at me when I surprised her.
I grin like a fool, because her defense tactic wouldn’t scare away a spider.
Purricell paws at my hand, and I startle back to the present. “Don’t look at me like that,” I say, setting their bowls down on the floor. “It’s not like you’ve ever had to navigate ChemTech’s dating policy. Or ask the prettiest woman in the state to dinner without actually calling it a date.”
The cats ignore me and dive into their food like they haven’t eaten in weeks. I lean against the counter, watching them for a moment as fondness tugs through me.
And how pathetic is that?
The nerdy chemical engineer smiling sweetly at his cats, because they’re so cute and amazing? “This is why you need a girlfriend,” I tell myself as I open the fridge and pull out a can of lime sparkling water. The house is quiet, as I live alone, and all that punctures the humming of the refrigerator is Purroxide’s enthusiastic crunching of kibble. It’s peaceful, but also a little lonely.
Fine, a lot lonely. I’m lonely, and I can admit it to myself.
I make a drink with an orange-mango packet and the sparkling water and wander into the living room before collapsing onto the couch. My laptop sits on the coffee table, and I open it up, pulling up the ChemTech employee handbook for the second time this week. The dating policy stares back at me, mocking me with its endless rules and regulations.
“Why does everything have to be so complicated?” I ask Purroxide as he joins me, his dinner scarfed down. He stretches out beside me, his tail flicking against my leg.
The truth is, it’s not just the dating policy that’s holding me back. It’s me. My inability to just say what I’m feeling without turning it into a joke or a half-baked “fake friend” scheme.
I close the laptop, setting it aside, and run a hand through my hair. “You’ve got two days to figure this out, Matty,” I tell myself, hearing it in my mother’s voice. “And you can do anything in two days.” She always told me that, and I wish she wasn’t out in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean so I could call her.
Because if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that Lizzie Trenton is worth every ounce of effort. Every awkward conversation. Every nerve-wracking moment. She’s the smartest, funniest, most incredible woman I’ve ever met. And I’d walk through fire—or a mountain of HR paperwork if it comes to that—just to see her smile.
Purricell meows, curling up against my side, and I can’t help but smile. “You’re right,” I say, scratching behind his ears. “One step at a time.”
I reach for my phone and call my sister. Chanel is the closest thing to my momma I can get right now. Thankfully, she knows to answer when I call, or I’ll just pester her until she does.
“Matty,” she says, calling me that childhood nickname I grew up with.
I smile as I lean back into the couch and stroke Purroxide as he snuggles into my other side. “Guess what I did at work today?”
“Solved the energy crisis,” Chanel says without missing a beat.
I laugh and shake my head. “No, silly. I’m a chemical engineer,” I tell her for at least the fiftieth time. “I don’t even work in energy.”
“You ate a peanut butter and peach jam sandwich.”
“Guilty, but I wouldn’t call you about that.”
“You finalized the chemical formula for a pill that will cure cancer.”
“Now whatever I say will be super-lame.”
“You told me to guess.” Chanel carries a smile in her voice, and I’m not really upset.
“I talked to Lizzie.”
“You talk to Lizzie every day.”
“I asked her to go to the concert with me this weekend.”
Chanel doesn’t immediately fire back at me, and that’s how I know what I’ve done is huge. “So you’re going to fill out the paperwork?” she asks. On her end of the line, a baby cries, and it gets louder as she presumably goes to get her three-month-old daughter.
“No,” I say, a keen sense of supreme satisfaction pulling through me. “We’re going as friends.”
“Friends.” Chanel says the word like she doesn’t know what it means. “But Matty, you don’t want to be friends with Lizzie. ”
“But friends don’t have to fill out sixteen sheafs of paperwork to go to a concert in the park.”
“Oh, I see what’s happening here. You’re going to pretend to just be her friend in public while you secretly kiss her in private.”
“We have a winner, Purricell.” I laugh, and Chanel adds a giggle or two to my voice, but it doesn’t last long.
“I worry this is going to turn into a friendly fiasco,” she says.
“That’s because you worry about everything.”
“And you worry about nothing,” she fires back. “Matty, you’ve liked this woman for months. What if this backfires on you?”
Part of me wants to laugh it off the way I do most things. I’d rather just look at life from a glass-half-full perspective than anything else, but what Chanel doesn’t get is that a pit of anxiety lives in the bottom of my stomach at all times.
“I’ve thought through this for months,” I say. “ChemTech makes one or both parties turn in a detailed write-up of every date. Every single one, Chanel. They have a word count requirement.”
“You work for a weird company.”
“Scientists are kind of weird,” I say, because everyone teases us about that anyway. I might as well admit it.
“So tell me your plan, Doctor Weird,” she says.
I do have a Ph.D, and Chanel likes to poke fun at me about it. “Well, obviously,” I say. “I’m going to do a few friendly things with a good friend of mine from work, and I’m going to pour some gasoline onto the sparks between us, and hope that something hot happens.”
“Oh, yeah,” Chanel teases. “This is going to be a very friendly fiasco.”
We laugh together, but I’m hoping for exactly that, because my life is as dull as watching paint dry, and I can definitely use something, or rather, some one , to liven it up.
And I’m okay if there are elements of it that aren’t exactly perfect, as long as there’s a lot of me getting to kiss Lizzie.
My phone beeps at me, and I pull it away from my ear. “Oh,” I say, surprise and fear rushing through my bloodstream and spiking my adrenaline. “Lizzie’s calling, Chanel. I have to go.”
“Yep, go,” my sister says. “Tell her?—”
But I swipe to connect Lizzie’s call, because she’s never called me after work before, and I’m suddenly dying to know what she has to say.
Matt can’t be serious, right? How is THIS going to work? I think his sister might be right, and this is going to be A VERY FRIENDLY FIASCO, which you can preorder now!