Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
MATT
I’ve been married for a total of eight hours, and I’ve already lost my wife.
Yeah—lost.
After the nuptials, we parted ways at the door. Sunglasses on. No lingering. I went one direction. Jordan and Sabrina went the other.
I haven’t seen her since.
Paparazzi are known to hang out around City Hall. Not that I’m some huge target like a celebrity, but I wasn’t willing to take any chances.
It’s not a secret or anything. We want people to know we got married.
Need them to, even, for Cole’s case. But Jordan hasn’t had the chance to talk to her family yet, and I promised I’d go with her when she does.
She hates the spotlight too. It’s a sensitive space for her, for reasons I understand better than most.
I’m sprawled out on the couch with my laptop, one leg on the floor, the other on the ottoman, Top Gun: Maverick playing on the TV. I’m half-watching, half-working, waiting for Jordan to come home.
I texted her after work, asking what her dinner plans were.
Fucking crickets.
I hate when she does that.
Lucky for me and my admittedly questionable stalking skills, I pulled up her location. I’m surprised she didn’t stop sharing it after last night.
She’s at her Pilates studio. Has been for a few hours now.
Which is weird because her class is only an hour.
I scowl. I don’t get it. We were supposed to be moving some of her stuff in today. She’s supposed to be staying here now. And instead, I’m sitting on my couch alone, trying not to think about what it means that my wife hasn’t come home.
I thought we cleared the air last night. She seemed fine when I left.
Christ. Last night.
The way she just undressed in front of me like it was no big deal. Like it wouldn’t faze me. Like I wasn’t a man with a pulse. I’ve never been so tempted by the devil and not given in.
My phone buzzes again. Jensen.
We’ve been texting for the last hour, mostly about fantasy football, but I opened up a little. I told him we officially tied the knot today. That’s about it.
He responded with a Congratulations! And then: Should I start planning your honeymoon or your funeral?
Dick.
Jensen
You guys have Cole through Sunday night, right? Want to come over for brunch on Sunday? Alley insists.
Yeah. Honestly, anything to make things feel normal for Cole is great. Just let me know what time.
Jensen
K. I’ll talk to Al.
So you and Jordan… you really not gonna give me anything else? I know you don’t tell me shit. But I’ve always been able to read between the lines. You know that.
He had to go there.
Haha. Yeah, I think you’ve always thought you could.
Jensen
Ha. Bro, you’re so whipped. Everyone knows it but you.
Nope. I’m not giving him an inch. He’ll come at me with his whole spiel about me loving her and her loving me and all that bullshit. He doesn’t have a clue what he’s talking about.
Yeah, okay.
If I’m so “whipped” why have I been with so many women?
Jensen
Exactly my point. You sleep with so many chicks because you can’t get over her.
I sleep with chicks because I love pussy. And because I can. Now fuck off.
Jensen
Don’t be fucking daft. You can say or not say whatever you want. But unless you were planning to be married to Jordan forever, your little plan sucks.
He sends a GIF of Mr. Burns from The Simpsons doing an evil laugh.
I chuckle, searching for the middle finger emoji when I hear Jordan step off the elevator.
She saunters into the kitchen and dumps a bunch of shit onto the counter with a heavy breath.
Jesus. So much shit.
“Hey,” she says, turning toward me, chill as can be. She takes a long drink from her water bottle, and I—
I’m fucking frozen. Rooted to the spot.
Because one, Christ. What she’s wearing. Her body. It’s almost like I forgot.
Forgot how fucking sexy Jordan Demetriou is. Fit as fuck. Curvy as hell.
I tried not to look last night. But now?
Leggings. Sports bra.
I’m looking.
And I like what I see.
My dick likes what I see.
It hardens almost instantly.
She slips off her jacket and tosses it over the back of the barstool, then heads toward me like everything’s normal. Fucking normal. Like she hasn’t just gone missing for hours.
She pulls a face as she removes the elastic from her hair. “What? Why are you being weird?”
Her hair comes tumbling down, and she tilts her head, fingers combing through the mess, fluffing it out, wrecking my ability to think.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I’ve never been at a loss for words around women. Around anyone. I’m confident as shit. And it’s Jordan. I’m more than comfortable around her.
“Was I supposed to knock or something?” She laughs, and it finally pulls me out of my stupor.
I blink, forcing myself to snap out of it. “Sorry. I just…” I turn my attention back to my laptop, away from the walking distraction in front of me. “I wasn’t expecting you so late. Didn’t know Pilates was four hours long.”
She plops onto the couch next to me—no, practically on top of me, hair in her hand, elbow resting on the back cushion. Her knee falls onto my thigh.
“Didn’t know I had a curfew,” she says, in that tone she uses like ammo. The one that fucks with me. She sighs, softening. “What have you been doing?”
“Um…” I swallow, sliding my laptop up a little higher to cover my hard-on. “Just watching a movie. Little bit of work. Not very exciting.”
“Not your usual Friday night, huh?” she says, grinning.
“Nope.” I keep my face neutral. And since I know exactly what she means, I roll with it. It’s one of the reasons I blurted out Jordan’s name to the lawyer in the first place.
We have fun.
“But the night’s still young, babe.” I snap my laptop shut, adjusting myself in the process. “I was thinking maybe you and I could, you know…” I shrug, nonchalant. “Consummate the marriage.”
I turn, mirroring her, elbow on the cushion, head in hand, serious as hell. “Keep traditions alive.”
She bites her bottom lip, her grin stretching wide. “Consummate?”
“Yeah.”
“Like they did back in the fifteen hundreds?”
I nod.
She lets out a laugh. “Wow. Men haven’t changed one bit, have they? Only now, I think they’re calling it…” She leans in close, whispering in my ear, “Sex.”
I chuckle. “What do you mean men haven’t changed? Because we still want sex on our wedding night?” I cock a brow. “Seems like a pretty reasonable request if you ask me.”
“No…” She nudges my arm. “Because since the beginning of time, men have said and done anything to get it.” Her eyes flick to mine. “Including using consummating the marriage as an excuse.”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying to fuck his hot wife,” I say, unapologetically.
“No.” Her gaze holds mine, teasing, light. “I guess I can’t.” Then she adds, like she can’t help herself, “But this is coming from a guy who’s slept with, what, half of New York City?”
There it is. Deflection. The part of her that still doesn’t believe she could ever be the one I choose.
I play along, like I always do. “Well, I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”
“A reputation? What, New York’s wealthiest and sluttiest bachelor?”
A smirk tugs at my mouth. “Nah. That I get what I want. And I don’t beg.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Oh, really?”
I nod once. “And yet, here I am. Married to the only woman who’s ever made me work for it.”
She laughs softly. “Slutty and cocky.”
“Slutty’s what happens when the only woman I want to sleep with keeps turning me down.”
She stills, just for a second, then scoffs like that didn’t affect her at all. “Yeah, right. You’d get sick of me.”
I lean in, slow, and tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. “I haven’t yet.”
Her chest rises and falls, eyes locked on mine, and my heart rate kicks into high gear. Then her gaze drops, drifting down my body, and her mouth breaks into a grin. “Is that why you’ve got a little situation going on there?”
I play dumb. “What? My computer?”
Her smile grows. “Your computer?” She shakes her head. “No. I don’t think that’s what I mean.”
I lean back, casual as hell, even though my pulse is losing its damn mind.
“What do you want me to say?” I shrug. “Yeah. I’m turned on. You look hot. There. Happy?”
She smiles, and it’s so goddamn beautiful, so innocent, I almost forget she basically ditched me tonight.
Now all I can think about is kissing her, smothering that gorgeous mouth with mine.
“Oh, you’re not even trying to deny it.”
“Why deny it? I’m not ashamed.” I redirect, because if I don’t, I’m going to do something stupid. “So why were you at Pilates for four hours?”
“Why are you still stalking me?” she shoots back.
“Jordan.” My voice drops. “I’m serious.” I trace a line down her forearm. It’s meant to be platonic. I touch her like this all the time, but tonight it’s doing something to me. To the air. Like the temperature just climbed ten degrees. “You avoiding me?”
“What? No.” She shifts, pulling her arm away, and I wonder if she feels it too. The charge. The heat. “No, I’m not avoiding you, Matt. I just needed to move my body for a while. I was sitting a lot today. I took two classes. One at six and one at eight.”
Makes sense. She loves Pilates.
“It’s why I smell so good,” she teases, grinning.
She does smell good. Fucking incredible, actually.
“Why didn’t you text me back?” I ask.
“I did text you back,” she says, defensive. She grabs her phone. “I said, I’ll be at Pilates tonight. Be home around—” She swipes through her messages, then freezes. “Oh, shit.” Her eyes widen. “I never sent it.”
She turns the screen toward me. “See?”
The message is typed out, clear as day.
Unsent.
She runs a hand through her hair. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leave you hanging.”
Her gaze drifts around the room, slow and avoidant, before landing back on me.
She hesitates. “Matt… I know this situation is anything but normal, but… I’m not going anywhere, alright? I agreed to this. I just want it to feel as normal as possible. Like we’ve always been.” Her voice softens on the last part. “Only, now we’re roommates.”
Right. Like we’ve always been.
It’s never been like this. Living together. A sexless friendship.
I nod. “You’re right. Totally normal. Just you and me.”
“Just you and me,” she repeats. “Could be kind of fun.”
She takes my hand, and my shoulders relax, a weight lifting.
This. Right here.
This is why it could only be Jordan. She’s the only one that could take something so fucking abnormal and make it feel normal. The only one who’d plaster a smile on her face and make it fun. The only one I trust to follow through for Cole.
“Oh, we’re gonna have fun,” I say. Then I search her face, more somber now. “Thank you. For being so cool.”
“You’re welcome.”
She shifts again, leaning back against the couch and scooting in closer. She wraps her arm around mine and lays her head on my shoulder. “P.S., I don’t know if you’ve seen this place, but I hear there’s a hot tub and a pool on the balcony.”
I chuckle. “Oh, yeah? You excited about that?”
She nods. “Mhm. Heard the guy that lives here is about to become a billionaire. Some big shot.”
I shake my head, my chest warming.
“He’s hot too,” she adds.
“Is he?”
“Yeah. And you want to know the best part?” She looks up at me with a tender smile, eyes soft, that deep stare that always pulls me in.
“What’s the best part?” I ask, my voice rough.
“He’s one of the best people I know.”
It hits me somewhere I’m not prepared for. Not my ego. Not my pride. Somewhere deeper. Somewhere I can’t quite place.
I’ve been so caught up in logistics. In guilt. In worrying that I’m ruining her life, dragging her into my mess. And with one simple sentence, she releases something heavy I didn’t even realize I was carrying.
Maybe I’m not a shitty person for doing this to her.
My lips twitch, and I pull her closer, my arm settling around her shoulders. My pulse climbs into my throat, and I take a slow, shaky breath, letting myself lean into her.
The hard-on?
That’s nothing. Manageable. Temporary. Something I can deal with behind closed doors.
But this right here?
Having her relaxed against me, choosing me even when I’ve been acting selfishly.
That’s the real problem.
Because my body is reacting in ways it hasn’t in a long time.
Not since the last time she was here.
And it’s way too soon to be feeling this fucked.