Chapter 17
Madi
“Wait,” Matt said as I reached for my door handle. “I know you can open your own door, but please, allow me.”
“Chivalry isn’t dead.” My voice held only a hint of sarcasm. After all, SSI was paying Matt to be chivalrous.
“Not when you’re on a date with me.”-
“Fake date.” I whispered as his door closed. I’d never admit it, but I liked men to be chivalrous, especially when they acknowledged I was capable.
Matt was the perfect gentleman in Spain, too. He paid my tab, opened doors, placed his hand on my lower back, and he was polite. Respectful.
Until our clothes came off, then politeness went out the door. Respect didn’t. Matt was respectful despite being demanding and bossy, and it was hot as fuck.
By the time Matt opened my door and extended his hand, a blush had crept up my cheeks. Hopefully, the interior light behind me isn’t bright enough for him to notice.
Matt kissed my hand.
My blush deepened. Damn my fair skin.
Matt leaned in close as he closed my door. “What are you thinking about, Red?”
Innuendo oozed off his tongue. His scent, cedar and mint, wafted over me. Damn him for smelling so damn good.
Hearing him call me Red sent shivers down my spine and heat to my core. His grin told me he knew it, too.
Two can play this game.
I licked my lips and watched his eyes zero in on them as I smiled. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
At a snail’s pace, he shifted his focus from my lips to my eyes. “You’re playing with fire.”
I was, and it wasn’t fair to Matt. I wouldn’t suffer the same consequences if we crossed the line and my brothers found out. Sure, they’d tease me, but they’d destroy Matt.
I pulled my hand out of his and created space between us. His scent still lingered, but at least it was no longer interfering with my ability to think clearly.
“Let’s go. I’m starving.”
“As you wish.”
He used the phrase again, making me wonder: was it a coincidence, or had I told him about the movie? If I could gather the courage to bring up Spain, I’d ask.
Or maybe I’d live without knowing, because talking about Spain meant thinking about Spain and thinking about Spain made me want to yank off his dress shirt and tear his T-shirt off that gorgeous chest with my teeth.
I’d pull his jeans down as I sank to my knees.
Nope. I’m thinking about Matt that way. I clasped my hands in front of my waist, hoping to appear calm as I used the discomfort of my grip to force my mind to the here and now.
Our table wasn’t ready, so we went to the bar and ordered cocktails. I ordered one of the daily specials, made with gin and lavender syrup, and Matt ordered an aged Scottish whisky, neat.
Matt held up his glass. “To our first official date.”
I clinked and sipped my drink. I opened my eyes after savoring the perfectly balanced drink and licked my lips to see Matt staring at me over the rim of his glass.
“What I wouldn’t give to be that drink.” His voice had turned gravelly, and it made my lady parts respond in ways I didn’t want them to.
Damn him. His dilated pupils and laser focus made me want to forget I had three brothers who signed his paycheck.
“Want to try it?” I held my glass out to him, but he shook his head no.
“I’d rather watch you enjoy it.”
The flirting, the grin, the glint in his eyes. It was like we were reliving the night we met.
This isn’t real. My father’s paying him to be here.
Only it didn’t feel fake, and that worried me. I couldn’t afford to fall for Matt and his playboy charm.
“We should-”
“Mr. Robinson, your table is ready.”
Saved by the hostess.
At the table, Matt pulled out my chair. No guy had done that before. My cheeks turned red as I awkwardly figured out when to put my ass on the seat.
“Relax, Madi.”
I nodded, embarrassed that I didn’t know how to handle the situation. “Thanks.”
After he sat, the hostess handed us our menus and said, “Your server will be right with you.”
“Thank you,” Matt said.
Matt looked at me over the small candle burning in the middle of our white cloth-covered table. “You’ve never had a guy pull out your chair for you?” Disbelief filled his voice.
Was it common? Did I have the bad luck of dating the few guys who didn’t? I didn’t think so. Most women complained that chivalry was dead, so I didn’t believe for a second it was normal behavior.
Your brothers do it. I told the voice in my head to shut up.
“Never.”
He was quiet for a moment. “They should have. You deserve to be treated like a queen.”
Of all the things I might’ve anticipated him saying, that wasn’t on the list. I didn’t like being treated like helpless royalty. So why is it different with Matt?
Because Matt didn’t ignore my intelligence when he told me I was pretty.
Because Matt put forth the effort despite my independence.
Because Matt made me feel seen, heard, and valued.
Why was Matthew fucking Robinson so good at dating?
I continued reminding myself this was fake and not to fall for his charm.
Matt reached across the cozy table for two and gently nudged my chin until I looked at him.
I cleared my throat. “Aren’t you just full of surprises?” I asked with a laugh that I wished hadn’t sounded maniacal.
“You shall see.” He winked.
Fuck me. Against my better judgment, I was dying to know what other surprises Matt had up his sleeve.
“Interested in an appetizer?”
“Sure. What do you want?”
He narrowed his eyes at me and grinned. “They don’t have mozzarella sticks, but the cheese plate sounds interesting.”
He remembered me saying I craved gooey fried cheese sticks during a brief intermission that first night. He’d also called room service and had an order delivered along with chicken fingers and more water.
“We need to keep our strength up,” he’d said after hanging up the hotel room phone.
That’s not how tonight will end.
“Sounds good.”
While we waited for the appetizer, I asked, “So, how’d you get the nickname Robinhood?”
His soft smile was endearing as he answered. “My teammates gave it to me after they learned I was decent with a bow and arrow.”
“Like archery or crossbow?”
“Archery. Shane, the rancher I worked for growing up, taught me.” He sipped his drink. “It’s not the most useful skill, but it taught me a lot about discipline and patience.”
“Useful skills for becoming a SEAL.”
He nodded.
“What’d you do on the ranch?”
“Everything from mucking out stalls to teaching kids with challenges how to ride a horse.”
Matt helped challenged kids? If that wasn’t panty-dropping information, I didn’t know what was.
“Did you—”
He cut me off. “Nope, my turn.”
It was only fair.
“Did you always want to be a nurse practitioner?”
The details Matt retained shouldn’t have shocked me—the Navy trained SEALs to remember details, no matter how small—yet they did.
The differences between a nurse and a nurse practitioner were huge, yet most people still called me a nurse. Most of the time I didn’t bother correcting them.
“No, I wanted to be a nurse.” As a kid, I’d never heard the term nurse practitioner. “I decided I wanted to learn more after serving for years as a corpsman.”
“Why the Navy?”
“Dad instilled the need to serve in all of us. If the Marine’s had medical personnel, I would’ve followed in his footsteps.”
“Did you ever serve with a Marine unit?”
“I did.”
“Then you’re an honorary Marine.” He held his glass up to clink.
“Thank you.” I didn’t care that I served in a different branch than my father, but it was sweet that Matt wanted to give me that connection.
Our server delivered our cheese plate and took our meal orders. I chose the recommended wine to accompany my meal. So did Matt.
He nudged the platter towards me. “Ladies first.”
I gave my brothers shit for always insisting I go first. At least they do now. When we were kids, meals were a free for all, every man for himself. Until our parents told them to stop acting like animals.
But with Matt, it felt different. Good.
Too good. I couldn’t catch feelings. For so many reasons.
I listed them in my head as I chose my cheese selection.
Matt told me he didn’t want a relationship.
I didn’t want a relationship.
Matt worked for my family.
I had to focus on my career.
I wanted the clinic to specialize in women’s hormone health. Which meant studying in my free time, not dating.
“Do you use the name Lynn often?” Matt asked as he helped himself to an assortment of sliced cheese. He picked up a slice, studied it, then shrugged and popped it into his mouth.
“That’s Parmesan.”
“Really? I’ve only ever had it shredded or grated.”
“Do you like it?”
“I do.” He grinned. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Only if I want an anonymous encounter.”
“Do you do that often?” There was no judgment in his question.
“No. That night wasn’t the first time.” He nodded, studying me with his deep chocolate-colored eyes. Just say it. “But it was the last.”
There. I’d said it. I kept the fact that I hadn’t been with anyone since that night to myself.
“Same,” he whispered.
“Really?” My voice went up an octave.
He laughed. “Yes, really.”
“You haven’t slept with anyone since then?” What a stupid question, guys like Matt didn’t do celibacy.
His eyes sparkled with mischief, and rather than answering, he asked, “Have you?”
I resisted the urge to fan my face as heat flooded it, no doubt turning it bright red. “Forget I asked.”
“Safer topic?” Matt asked.
“Safer topic,” I agreed.
He lifted his chin. “Do you want more cheese?”
He was making it too easy to forget this wasn’t real.
“No, I’m saving room for dinner. Help yourself.”
We piled our small square plates on the empty cheese board as the server brought over our meals.
My shrimp and broccoli Alfredo looked big enough to feed two.
Matt’s T-bone steak, loaded baked potato, and sauteed vegetables looked even bigger.
“Would you like freshly shredded Parmesan?” the server asked.
“Yes, please.”
I told her when after a semi-respectable time.
Matt lifted his glass of Malbec. I lifted my glass of Sauvignon Blanc.
“To new friendships,” he said, tapping his glass to mine.
As a reminder to myself, I added, “And fake dates.”
Was that disappointment in his eyes?
No, it can’t be. Must be the ambient light.
We tapped our glasses on the table before sipping our wine.
“Dig in,” he said, lifting his fork.
And we did. The meal was amazing. The creamy sauce and seasoned shrimp were I-want-to-eat-myself-sick delicious, and I had to force myself to slow down.
“Want to try a bite?” I asked.
“Sure. Want to trade bites? This steak is cooked to perfection.”
“Yes, please.” As a Texan, I loved all things steak.
“It’s medium rare, is that okay?”
“The only way to eat it.” Cooking steak more than that was an insult.
Instead of handing each other our forks, we fed each other.
Matt’s pupil’s dilated as I pulled the steak off his fork. His knee hit the table when I licked my lips.
“Sorry,” he said, steadying the table while trying to hide his flushed cheeks.
I enjoyed having that effect on him. It meant I wasn’t the only one thinking about the night we got naked together and wanting to do it again.
Could we be friends with benefits?
Three faces flashed in my mind’s eye.
Nope. My father’s sons would make our lives a living hell if they so much as suspected we might be sleeping together.
“Your turn,” I said.
Eating pasta isn’t sexy. Unless it’s Matt eating it off your fork while staring into your eyes and moaning as the sauce coated his tongue.