16. Matt
16
MATT
I hate myself as I walk away. Being a big fan of cuddling after sex, this distant approach is killing me.
I want her in my bed, her wild hair spilling over my chest as she uses me as a pillow. I want her scent to seep into my sheets, leaving me a part of her when she’s gone.
Though, I also know she would run for the hills if I suggested any of that. So, I swallowed my aftercare needs to respect her boundaries, and I don’t regret it. Lying in my bed, alone, I know it was the right choice.
Even if the house is too quiet, the bed is missing her softness, and her scent washed away by my shower, I know it was the right choice.
Just like googling breath play was the right choice. Fuck, the way she came all over my cock, harder than ever, was mind-blowing. The way she trusted me with her safety, with her life, it’s a gift. A gift I’m not sure I deserve, but I sure as hell don’t plan to return.
I spend Saturday morning cleaning the entire house. I love to clean, but with me being away most of the time, there isn’t a lot to do. It’s a silly thought, wishing to have more messes to clean, but the lack of it is another reminder of my lonely house.
Luckily, I don’t have the whole day to wallow in my loneliness because I’m going to a game with Connor and Eric. Spending half of my life in hockey, I’ll always love it. And although I never got into the pros, I still enjoy watching them.
Connor avoided my calls to join me for games for over two years—after a tragic injury cost him his hockey career, but ever since he got a hockey-crazed stepson, he’s been in the stands. Now, it’s become tradition for the three of us to watch the Seattle Glaciers games as much as we can.
Eric and Connor are already there when I arrive, Eric waving at me with a big foam finger, wearing his Glaciers jersey. Connor and I aren’t wearing jerseys, being fans of the game, not of one particular team.
As usual, we get three hot dogs, two with mustard and one with ketchup, two beers, and an iced tea. The whole thing is a practiced routine and I love our little tradition.
“Dad and I went skating today,” Eric informs me.
“Really? How was it?”
“I scored three goals on him.” His lips turn up in a proud smile. Connor isn’t his biological dad, but there’s no way to tell. They’ve been two peas in a pod ever since they’ve met.
“Wow, I guess I’ve been teaching you right.” I high five him while Connor rolls his eyes.
“What? You want me to show you a couple of tricks too? I think I have an opening in my under 6 group.” I goad Connor.
“Very funny,” he responds.
“I thought so.”
Eric is deeply engrossed in the game, so Connor nudges my shoulder and quietly adds.
“What’s going on with you and Natalie?”
“Nothing much,” I respond, my voice higher than intended.
He gives me a pointed look, so I continue.
“Uhm, we may have had some more...encounters.” I shrug, playing it cool.
“Really? What are you? Friends with benefits?”
“Pretty sure she’d kill me if I suggested that.” I snicker. “I’m not sure what we are. I guess we’re friends now. We work together well. And we’re obviously attracted to each other, so we tend to get caught in the crossfire, even if we don’t mean to.”
“And how are you dealing with something so painfully . . . casual?”
“Good, I guess. It’s weird, but worth it.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling you for years, man. Sex without feelings can be amazing.” My eyes drop to the side.
“Fuck. It is without feelings, right?” he asks after noticing my weird look. I shrug, unable to say what he’s asking for.
“Damn...Having feelings for Ms. Independent? Rough.” He takes a sip of his beer and I follow suit.
He’s right. It’s probably the worst idea I ever had. Trying to be casual while developing feelings for the girl that doesn’t do feelings. But I’m too addicted to stop.
Too hooked on the taste of her lips, the sound of her moans, the touch of her skin. Too pulled into her gravity to get the hell out.
“Amazing job, Natalie and Matt. You make a great team.” Kiara praises us after my short debrief of our project during the Monday morning meeting.
My smile is wide, but Natalie bounces her foot, obviously uncomfortable with the notion.
We scheduled a three-day break from the clinic to do some of our regular work. After that, we have two more schools before we shut down the clinic until next year. With the annual BYC gala coming up, soon we won’t have the time for the pop-up clinic. Still, I’m eternally grateful for the opportunity to do this.
She avoids me at the office, making excuses to leave every time I enter the room. It’s not hostile, more like she’s anxious around me.
I would rather she hates me again. I would rather see her feisty personality turned against me than to give her any sort of discomfort.
On Thursday, we’re meeting at another school continuing the work at our clinic. We came early to prepare, so I use the time to clear the air.
“What’s going on, Natalie? Am I back on the silent treatment?” I ask her, cautiously.
“Nothing’s going on. I’m acting perfectly professional. It’s you who expects more from me, but trust me when I say you aren’t entitled to my smiles or jokes.” She’s back. I hate the fact she wants nothing more than a professional relationship, but the force of nature I’ve grown to like is back. I can’t help but poke the bear.
“Really? Sorry if I got the wrong impression the last time you were riding my cock in a room not much different from this one.”
She scoffs, fire raging in her eyes.
“I knew it was a mistake.” She pokes a finger at my chest. “I knew you’ll think that just because we fucked a few times, I should giggle and twirl my hair in your vicinity, bending over backwards to get your attention. Not going to happen. So better get used to the professional approach or I could get back to the hostile one in a second.” Snapping her fingers, she shows me how serious she is.
I’m well aware she would never bend over backwards for my attention. I still want to give her all of it.
Lifting my arms in a surrender motion, I try to signal I mean no harm. The only person I truly care about thinking I’m a good guy is the only one who doesn’t think I am one.
She might be right. A part of me really thinks she should give me a chance even though she stated time and time again it’s not what she wants.
Luckily, the first clients arrive, leaving me no time to ruminate in my thoughts. It’s a married couple with a giant stack of medical bills their insurance refuses to cover. By lunchtime, Natalie is gone and comes back a minute before our next client’s appointment.
Not even the happy tears of a single mother I’ve helped find an apartment in one of Connor’s rent-controlled buildings can snap me out of the funk her words put me in.
After the last client of the day, she tries to escape with a quick ‘Goodbye,’ but I catch up to her near her car.
“Look, I’m sorry. You’re right. I have no right to expect anything more than what you’re willing to give. I think we work together well, and I’d like us to be friends, or friendly. That’s it. Nothing more.” She gives me a pointed look. Understandable, given our track record. “And I promise I won’t start up anything else inappropriate between us. I’ll be perfectly professional.” I use her words.
“Really?”
“Yes. Cross my heart and hope to die.” She chuckles at my childlike promise. “If you ever change your mind about it, it will be up to you to make a move.”
“Ok. Friends.” Her relieved smile slices straight through my heart.
“Friends.”
A feeling of calmness floods me on the drive home. Sex with her was the best sex of my life, but having her smile at me seems like an even better deal. And her wishes are as valid as mine, so if she has her reasons for not wanting to explore this further, I won’t force myself using the deadly chemistry we have between us.
“This was a pretty good day,” she concludes, her full lips pulling up into a smirk. It’s the last day of the clinic—for now—and we are placing all the client documents in the folders we brought.
We worked as a team and reveled in the stories of these impressive people we’re hoping to help. Each client leaving with a smile granted a mini celebration between the two of us.
“It was. We should celebrate everything we’ve accomplished these two weeks,” I offer, not sure if she’ll say yes, but she jumps on it right away.
“Sure. I’ll find the closest bar.” She pulls up her phone.
Turns out, the closest bar is a mangy, old place with a faded sign, a distinct smell of aged wood, and stale beer. The seating is worn, with cracked leather upholstery, but nothing can dampen our mood.
“To our clinic!” I toast with my beer, clinking her gin-tonic glass.
“To us.” Her dark eyes glow with happiness and my chest swells.
“I never thought having a job could be so rewarding.” I shake my head, making her chuckle.
“Yeah, well, we’re probably one of the lucky ones.”
“That we are. So, have any plans for the weekend?”
“Lunch at Nonna’s tomorrow and I’ll probably hang out with Eric on Sunday—take him to the park or something. So, big plans.”
“That boy is crazy about you.” I chuckle.
“Can you blame him?” She jokes, but no, I certainly can’t blame him.
“Damn, I wish my nephew is closer so I could hang out with him more.” She wants to know everything about Benji, so I show her the pictures.
“He’s adorable,” she coos, and I couldn’t agree more. “What’s he holding?”
“It’s his current favorite toy. A tissue box.” Her laughter fills the room. “You can joke all you want, but you take it away from him and he’ll make you regret it.” Wrinkles still surround her eyes from laughter as she listens to me ramble on about him. It’s so effortless, hanging out with her.
Well, my dick probably wouldn’t agree since he’s straining my pants to get to her, obviously not agreeing with the friend decision. But he’s not the one in charge.
I order another beer, but she decides on a Coke. By the time we’re leaving the bar to head home, we decide to take advantage of the sunny forecast for Sunday and call up the guys for a barbeque at my place. I do them from time to time, but Natalie never showed up. Now, she’s helping me organize it. Funny how things change.
“It was my idea. You have to let me help and bring some things,” she says, but I’m not having it.
“Nope, I’m the host, so I’ll be hosting.”
“Fine, but I’ll bring my mom’s salad. Well, I’ll make it, but it’s her recipe.”
“Deal.” Other than grilling, I’m not much of a cook.
This weekend just got a whole lot better.