Chapter 12
MATTHEW
I couldn’t believe I was telling him this. I couldn’t believe I’d told him any of it. I’d shared more personal details with Louis in one dinner conversation than I’d shared with anyone since Ally died.
It felt . . . good? I’d always been more reserved.
Everyone else always had so damn much to say, but I’d never felt the need to add my own voice to the mix.
That wasn’t to say I didn’t enjoy conversation.
I enjoyed a healthy discussion from time to time with the right people.
I had a sense of humor. I knew how to laugh and to deliver a well-timed quip.
But from the moment we’d gotten Ally’s diagnosis, I’d been completely locked down.
How could I have meaningless conversation when my wife was dying?
Why would I spend my time with anyone else when I could spend it with her?
For ten months I’d shut everyone out, my focus entirely on the woman who’d been my everything.
And I didn’t regret it. But when she’d passed and the dust had settled after the visitation and funeral, there was no one left.
I was completely alone, and had been ever since.
I liked it that way. I wanted it that way. It was easier. It had allowed me to stew in my own grief undisturbed and unbothered.
And yet here I was, having a meal and a conversation with a man I’d met just two days before. I’d told him I was a narrator, something no one else knew. And I found myself wanting to tell him more. What the hell was that?
“Okay, so if you don’t want me to ask you a million questions, this is where you would expand on what you just said.”
I felt one corner of my mouth curve up at his snark. “I’m in the preparation stages, which means I’m still reading the book. I haven’t begun recording yet. I’d hoped to start on that the day after tomorrow.”
“Where do you record? Can I watch?” His face lit up with glee at the prospect, and damned if I didn’t find myself smiling back at him.
“I have a recording studio below the bookstore. And absolutely not.”
He pouted, and I could tell it was in an effort to be playful, not because he was actually trying to be difficult. “Will you at least tell me what the book is about?”
I stared him down, contemplating my response. Once again, I couldn’t believe I was talking to him about this, but I had a feeling he was going to wear me down anyway. “It’s a gay romance. Childhood friends to lovers and bi-awakening.”
“Did you say gay romance? Like two guys?”
“Yep.”
“Do you narrate a lot of gay romance?”
“This is my first one.”
When I’d said the words gay romance, his eyebrows had shot up above his glasses and then continued to climb higher as I’d answered each additional question. If he’d had a hairline, those brows would have been hidden at this point.
“Do you . . . like it?”
Memories of the way I’d gotten hard while reading last night, and then the way I’d jerked off afterwards, had blood rushing to both my face and my groin, making me lightheaded.
“It’s a well-written story,” I hedged.
He snorted.
“Listen, some of the best writing I’ve ever read comes from romance novels and—”
“I’m a romance fan,” he interrupted. “You don’t have to convince me. But most romances contain at least some sex, and by the way your face is flushed, I’m going to assume you’ve read at least one of those scenes in this book you’re working on.”
I shrugged, adopting a nonchalant attitude. “Sure. It’s not a big deal.”
He stared at me long and hard. I could see so many questions in his eyes, and I wanted to squirm under his scrutiny, but I met his stare with an eyebrow raised in challenge.
The fact was, I hadn’t fully wrapped my head around what had happened last night, and I sure as shit wasn’t ready to talk about it with anyone else.
I knew he was just trying to have a little fun with me, but the topic was closed as far as I was concerned.
He must have come to the same conclusion, because he relaxed his stance and changed the subject. “I was going to turn on the game. You want to join me?”
“You watch football?”
The change in his posture was instantaneous. His shoulders crept up to his ears and a crease formed between his brows. “Gay guys watch football.”
Shit. That wasn’t why I’d said it. “My assumption wasn’t based on your sexuality. I know straight guys who don’t watch football. I just didn’t take you for a football type of guy.”
He relaxed a bit, though his expression remained guarded. “I’ve been a lifelong Chiefs fan. My whole family is.”
“Me too.”
“So, do you wanna watch?”
“Sure.”
We were just starting the second quarter, and I’d lost count of how many times I’d caught myself watching Louis rather than the game.
He was so vibrant. So alive. He didn’t just watch the game, he experienced it.
He’d yelled at the refs as if they could hear him through the TV, sat on the edge of his seat with his elbows on his knees and hands covering his mouth when the Chiefs went for it on fourth and one.
And he’d stood with arms straight up in the air, hollering with excitement when Mahomes had scrambled into the end zone for a touchdown.
He’d insisted on high-fiving me before grabbing his phone and shooting a text to his family’s group chat.
They’d been texting back and forth the whole time, which he’d told me was their usual protocol when the Chiefs were playing.
The only other person I’d ever seen watch a football game with every part of their body had been Ally.
He reminded me of her in many ways. The way he was all in with whatever it was he was doing—making cookies, setting a festive table, even just having a conversation.
He listened intently, making you feel as if whatever you were saying was the most fascinating thing he’d ever heard.
And he looked at you like he really saw you.
Louis took off his glasses and rubbed them with the hem of his sweater before returning them to his face, then he turned to me with a wide grin. I felt my own mouth turn up in a smile, though perhaps not as wide as his. His joy was contagious.
“You should do that more often,” he said.
“What?”
“Smile.”
“I think I’d forgotten how.”
Time slowed and we looked at each other for a long moment, the air suddenly charged between us. His phone buzzed in his hand, but he didn’t remove his gaze from mine. I liked the way he looked at me, I realized. Liked the way his eyes lit up with warmth and humor. I liked it a whole lot.
I stood abruptly. “I think I’m going to go.”
His smile fell. “Now? There’s still a lot of game left. It’s not even halftime.”
I looked around as if I was searching for escape. As if I couldn’t see the front door right in front of me. “I need to feed Ernie. And I need to finish that book.” I was grasping at excuses, plucking them out of the air like low-hanging fruit. “I just need . . . I need to go.”
He’d risen to stand, confusion and concern written all over his face, but I brushed past him, trying not to flinch at the contact. “Thank you for dinner,” I tossed over my shoulder without looking back. “I’m sorry. I just have to go.”
I stepped out into the cold air, pulling the door firmly shut behind me before leaning against it and breathing deep. Snow was falling again, fat flakes gathering at the edges of the walkway, but I paid it no mind as I pulled in great lungfuls of air.
I was overheated. And overstimulated. And over . . . I didn’t know. But I needed air. And space. And quiet. I needed to think. Or maybe to not think at all.
I scrubbed a hand down my face. Jesus, what was wrong with me? I pushed away from the door and made my way back to my own apartment, where Ernie wove himself between my legs, reminding me that it really was time for his dinner.
I went through the motions of feeding him and freshening up his water, all the while considering what had triggered my desire to flee.
I thought it was the intensity in Louis’s gaze that had ultimately done it.
It had stirred something inside me, a flutter in my gut that I hadn’t felt for a long time, and I’d panicked.
I wasn’t sure if it was because he was a man or because he wasn’t Ally, but it had scared the shit out of me and I’d fled.
There was a knock at my door and it didn’t take a genius to figure out who it was.
Couldn’t I have a moment to think? To freak out in the privacy of my own home?
Frustrated, I strode across the room and yanked the door open, knowing there wasn’t any sense in pretending I wasn’t home.
He’d just persist until I caved and answered anyway.
“I’m sorry. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“Stop. Apologizing,” I growled, actually fucking growled.
His eyes flashed. “Fine. I’m not sorry. Not a goddamn bit. We were having a good time. Or so I thought. And then you just left in such a hurry. You’d have thought your apartment was on fire.”
“I told you, I needed to feed—”
“Your cat. That’s what you said. But we both know that’s not why you left. What’s going on?”
He was angry and vibrating with it. But there was hurt in his eyes too. In my haste to leave, I hadn’t considered how it would make him feel.
I deflated, slumping my back against the door frame. “I’m sorry I ran out of there. It wasn’t your fault.”
He relaxed moderately, but there was still cautious concern in his eyes, like he wasn’t sure whether to believe me. “Then what was it?”
“I just . . . it’s been a long time since I’ve spent time with anyone other than Ally, and I guess I was overwhelmed.”
He looked up at me, eyes softening. “From everything you’ve told me, I’d think she wouldn’t want you to be alone. She’d want you to have friends, right?”
“Friends. Yeah. Sure.” My tone was laced with sarcasm.
“What?”
I blew out a breath, shaking my head as the thoughts and feelings inside me waged a battle.
Louis placed his hand on my shoulder, the warmth of it burning through my sweater.
I watched as a snowflake landed on his pinky, melting immediately.
His nails were manicured, I noticed, clean and neatly trimmed.
But it was still clear they were a man’s hands.
Touching me. Sending heat surging through my body.
I finally dragged my eyes up to his. “My feelings are anything but friendly.”