Chapter 40
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?
The reply came back almost instantaneously.
Matty: I squeezed them and imagined it was you. And yes, I'd love to see you.
Sloan closed her eyes and imagined lunch: lingering touches, a brush of fingers under the table, Sloan's mouth close to her ear, soft and precise, promising what might come later if she could make it through lunch without combusting.
Sloan: I'll have to bring Mum. Can you hold it together?
Matty: Yes—of course. I can do lunch with Gloria. I'll behave. Just…don't make me wait too long, yeah? I've been on edge all morning, thinking about your hands on me, and it's taking everything I've got not to touch myself.
Sloan clutched the phone to her chest and stood very still until the urge eased.
Sloan: Banjo's. One hour. Sit beside me. Opposite Mum. Do you wear dresses?
The typing bubble appeared, then stopped.
Matty: Yes, I do.
Sloan: Good. Do that. No tights. One hour.
She set the phone down and went to her underwear drawer.
Reaching in, she took out her favourite set and started pulling it on.
The rich petrol-blue lace against her skin always made her feel worth wanting, and today, she wanted to feel desirable, and fully aware of her body and the effect Matty had on it.
***
Matty placed down her phone and opened her wardrobe door. Yes, she had dresses, and yes, she liked to wear them, but she didn’t have many and definitely didn’t have anything she’d have picked for lunch with Sloan.
She glanced at herself in the mirror—black jeans, white T-shirt. Neutral. Not sexy.
Hangers slid left, then right, as she considered every item. In the end, she settled on an off-the-shoulder summer dress that fell just below the knee, no bra required. It was bright yellow, dotted with tiny blue forget-me-nots.
The material brushed her nipples every time she moved—a constant reminder not to touch.
She groaned, then grinned to herself. She wanted Sloan’s eyes on her—quick, hungry glances she’d feel like heat—while Gloria sat opposite, none the wiser.
She paired the dress with comfortable slingbacks and a small bag and checked herself in the mirror again. At the last minute, she untied the hairband and let her curls fall free, running her hands through them until they tickled her bare shoulders.
“Not bad,” she said to herself, giving a twirl. “This should definitely give Sloan something to think about.”
On her way out, Sarah wolf-whistled, adding, “Go get her, tiger.”
“That’s the plan. I’ll see you later when I pop back and get changed for work.”
Sarah laughed. “You should pull a sickie. Spend the night with Sloan.”
Matty couldn’t deny she’d thought about it, but then…wasn’t that half the fun?