Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
MATT
I lean back in my office chair, clicking the end of my pen up and down, my chin resting on the ball of my fist. My calendar is slammed today. I rearranged my entire schedule just to carve out a lunch break to get married. But it’s not a big window.
I’m grateful for the distraction. Being busy has kept me from thinking too hard about what I’m about to do and what it will mean.
But my last meeting ended early, and now I’ve got ten minutes to kill. Ten quiet, uninterrupted minutes.
It’s not that big of a deal, is it?
It’s just a piece of paper. At least that’s how I sold it to Jordan. A legal document that can be undone in a few months by another legal document.
I’ve never understood why people put so much emphasis on it. Standing at an altar, spouting promises, most of which end up being bullshit anyway. A marriage license is just another contract. No different than the ones I sign every day.
And yet, somehow, the thought of signing this one has every nerve inside me buzzing like a live wire.
Maybe because it’s one thing to cheat the system, to lie. It’s another thing entirely to do it with Jordan. Because it feels like I’m lying to her. And that’s not something I ever want to do.
It’s just a fucking piece of paper.
It’s not like Jordan doesn’t know what she’s doing. She’s a big girl.
Besides, it’s the words people say, their actions when the going gets tough, honesty, loyalty, staying when everything goes to hell, fighting to keep each other. That’s what makes a marriage. And unfortunately for most, they just don’t get it.
My parents sure as hell don’t. Jordan’s didn’t.
So sure, we’re getting married. So what? The only real thing that’s changing is the label we’re putting on our friendship. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
What we have is far better than most marriages anyway. That alone is enough logic to make this thing easier today.
So why am I restless?
Could be the fact that my dick hasn’t been touched by anyone in three weeks, which is a really fucking long time for me.
I can’t even remember the last time I went more than two without sex.
Christ, I usually have it two to three times a week.
I’ve got an insane amount of women in my contacts, ones just as horny as I am and always down.
I never thought I’d be masturbating like a teenager again, eager to get home so I can take a shower and rub one out.
It’s not something I normally even do. I haven’t needed to. Not in a long time.
I used to save all that built-up frustration and take it out on the weekends.
Looks like those days are long gone.
Five months.
What the hell was I thinking when I agreed to that?
But Jordan wouldn’t have agreed if I hadn’t, and Cole—
A knock on my door pulls me out of my thoughts.
“Mr. Grayson?”
“Come in,” I call.
Harper pushes the door open.
I can do anything for five months. I’m Matthew Grayson for Christ’s sake. This is nothing compared to what I’ve already done.
“Sir?”
I shake my head. “Sorry. What?”
“These are the documents that need signing,” she says, holding up a slim folder. “The ones for the Lynch deal.”
Documents.
“Uh…” I wave a hand, distracted. “Just set them on my desk.”
Her brows pinch together. “Um… the Lynch team’s assistant is here. She’s waiting to take them back.”
“Oh. Right.” I snap out of it, leaning forward as she sets them in front of me.
I sign my name. Easy enough.
She flips the page. I sign again. Flip. Sign. Flip. Sign. Over and over until my signature stops meaning anything at all.
“Is, uh… is everything okay, sir?” Harper asks.
I glance up, just briefly enough to register that whatever she’s wearing is wildly inappropriate.
Tits. That’s all I see.
It’s been three goddamn weeks.
And I feel absolutely nothing.
Flip. Sign.
Great. Now my dick’s broken.
I’m going to be one of those guys in the Viagra commercials. Thirty-five and incapable of getting it up.
An eyeful of cleavage after three weeks in the desert should wake something up down there. A twitch. A jerk. A hello, did you forget about me?
It’s not like Harper isn’t attractive, either. She’s young. Her body’s ridiculous.
But... nothing. And I’m not sure if it’s because I’m too distracted, or because the only person I want touching me right now is the one I can’t have.
I scribble my name on the last page and let out a heavy breath. “I’m fine. Just a lot on my mind.”
She bites her lip, hesitant. “Well, it’s not good to hold things in, so… you know.” She gathers the papers, hands a little shaky. “If you ever need someone to talk to…”
Jesus Christ.
I can usually handle her flirty nature. Sometimes it’s even cute. But right now? I don’t have the patience.
“Thanks, Harper.” I force a barely-there smile and redirect. “I’ll be out of the office until two. I’ll need you to hold my calls and let people know I’ll get back to them later today.”
“Yes, sir.”
She turns to leave, but I stop her. “And Harper?”
She pauses, hopeful.
I almost say something about her outfit. But no, that’s a conversation for HR. Not me. “Thank you,” I say instead.
“It’s my pleasure.” Her smile turns sweet, then she slips out the door.
I stand, close my laptop, and follow, pulling out my phone to text Jordan and let her know I’m on my way.
We follow the clerk into a room that looks like it belongs in an elementary school. Plain cream walls, fluorescent lighting, one long bench resting beneath an average-sized window. A small podium sits front and center.
It’s anything but a place to get married. We even walked through metal detectors a few minutes ago, for Christ’s sake.
Jordan looks completely out of place in the best way. She always dresses up for work, but today she’s in a dark green dress, and damn, that color on her.
“Are you two exchanging rings?” the clerk asks over her shoulder.
“No,” Jordan says at the same time I say, “Yes.”
The clerk pauses, and Jordan looks at me, brows knitting together.
“I picked up a ring for me the other day,” I say, pulling it from my pocket and handing it to her.
She gives a tiny smile. “Alright, then. Rings it is.” She slips off the one I gave her and places it in my palm.
“You ready?” I ask, my heart thumping harder than it should.
Jesus. Why am I nervous?
“I think so,” she whispers.
I lock eyes with her and give a slight nod, letting her know I’ve got her. That I’m here. Even if I don’t know what the hell that really means yet. “Let’s do this then.”
Sabrina stands a few feet away, grinning ear to ear. Jordan brought her as our witness.
The clerk stands behind the podium. “Hold hands,” she says, tone flat. She barely looks up as she starts reciting words I’ve heard a hundred times in movies and at friends’ weddings.
Do you take… do you promise… love, honor, cherish.
Jordan answers automatically, her voice unwavering. “Yes. Yes.”
She slides the ring I bought onto my finger, my grin spreading wide before I can stop it.
“Matthew,” the clerk says, finally looking up. “Do you take Jordan as your wife?”
Jordan quirks a small smile.
“Yes,” I say, the pounding in my chest easing.
“Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and keep her for as long as you both shall live?”
I keep my eyes on Jordan. She’s steady. Grounded. Calm in a way I’m not.
“Yes,” I say, surprised by the conviction in my own voice.
“As a symbol of your promise, please place the ring on her finger.”
I slip the ring over Jordan’s dainty finger, and she lets out a soft laugh as I thread my fingers through hers.
The clerk continues.
As you both have consented… The power vested in me… I now pronounce you married.
The word married barely has time to register before she looks up. “You may seal your vows with a kiss.”
Shit.
We didn’t talk about this.
Jordan’s eyes go wide, and I grin like a fucking creep. There’s no way in hell I’m passing up the opportunity to kiss her.
She hesitates.
I don’t.
We lean in together, but at the last second, she turns her head. Just enough that my lips land against the corner of her mouth instead.
She laughs it off like it’s nothing.
I swallow the brief sting of it. It’s not something I’m used to.
“Sorry,” she says softly.
“It’s fine, babe,” I reply. “I get it.”
“It’s not that. It’s just—”
“Congratulations!” Sabrina interrupts, rushing over and playing the part, the excited friend. Jordan told me she knows it’s all an act.
An act. A performance. A play. Something I usually fall asleep to.
Sabrina hugs Jordan, and my eyes rake over my new wife.
My wife.
I know it’s not real… But I like the way it sounds.
And I sure as hell am not falling asleep.