Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
JORDAN
I startle awake to my least favorite sound as it blares through the room. I blindly smack at my nightstand for my phone.
Where is it?
My fingers fumble across the surface a few seconds longer before I let out a frustrated breath and push my sleep mask up. I blink, letting my eyes adjust to the dark.
Oh yeah.
I’m at Matt’s.
My stomach tightens. Matt’s.
I find my phone and silence the alarm.
I ended up nodding off to the movie last night, practically on top of him. I finally gave up trying to stay awake and went to my room around eleven. I showered, then crawled into bed.
Matt was still out there. And I hated that his words followed me into bed.
I haven’t yet, babe. I don’t have the bandwidth to even think about it.
I stretch an arm across my body.
Shit. I’m sore.
I was at Pilates all night. I don’t know why I did that. I never take two classes back-to-back, but I panicked. I needed something, anything, to keep me busy. Something that didn’t have me thinking about Matt. Something that didn’t look like I was trying to avoid him.
Because last night, I wasn’t ready to come home to my husband.
Yesterday. The ceremony. It was over just like that. The thing I always thought would be the biggest day of my life was done in a matter of minutes, sealed with an awkward half-kiss. Then we threw on sunglasses and went our separate ways like it was nothing.
So I took a class at six, ate something quick, chatted with a friend, then took another class at eight.
God, I’m the worst.
To be fair, I really did think that I texted him.
By the time I got to Matt’s, I was desperate for things to feel normal again. So I faked it the best I could. Did what I always do—flirted, joked, laughed. That’s what we do.
I open my phone. A text notification sits at the top of my screen.
Mamá
Your yiayiá is making dinner tonight. It would be nice if you could join us.
I groan. It’s the only sound that feels appropriate.
Dinner tonight?
A hint of panic swirls in my stomach, waking up my anxiety like it needs the reminder to do its job.
Shit.
What does this even look like? I’ve spent the last week shoving thoughts of my family into a far-away corner of my brain to deal with later.
Do I lie? Pretend I didn’t get married?
No. They’ll find out eventually.
And I can’t miss dinner. That alone is a red flag.
Reluctantly, I force my fingers to type.
What time should I be there? And will you let Yiayiá know I’ll be bringing a friend?
A friend.
It’s not a complete lie.
I can already picture the look on my yiayiá’s face when I say, Oh, yeah, by the way, Matt and I got married.
“Whatever,” I mutter.
I toss my phone on the bed and stretch, reaching my arms high above my head, working out the soreness in my muscles.
I shuffle into the bathroom to pee and brush my teeth, twisting and turning as I go.
Three minutes later, I’m standing in front of the mirror, spitting toothpaste into the sink. I splash cold water on my face and assess my reflection.
I went to bed with damp hair, so it resembles something like a lion’s mane, only curlier.
I run my fingers through the roots, fluff it, and push it to one side.
It’s fine.
I head into the kitchen still in pajamas, a white tank and high-waisted women’s boxer briefs. It’s what I always sleep in. And yes, it’s basically underwear, but Matt’s still asleep.
He’s seen it before, anyway.
I just want things to feel normal.
Normal is making tea before I start thinking too hard.
The house is quiet, dark, still. I flip on the under-cabinet lights, fill the kettle, and set it on the burner.
Ten peaceful minutes later, my hands are wrapped around a warm mug. I’ve just started for the couch when Matt’s door opens.
I pause, turning toward the sound.
He’s padding down the hall in his underwear. Not a care in the world.
Oh my God.
You’d think I’d never seen a naked man before. Not only is that not true, but I’ve seen this man naked.
A lot.
My stomach doesn’t flutter. It drops. Hard. Like my body is waking up and remembering I’m a woman standing in a kitchen with her husband.
My husband… who’s hot as hell.
Jesus. Be normal.
We make eye contact and he grins.
“Morning,” I say, a smile pulling at my lips as I clock his morning erection barely fading.
He walks right to me, cups my face in his hands, and presses his mouth to mine. It’s short. Soft. Sweet. Just long enough for my brain to register that his lips are on mine.
“Morning,” he murmurs as he pulls away, his voice low and rough with sleep.
I blink, stunned. “What the hell was that?”
He shrugs like it’s not a big deal. “Just making up for yesterday when you dodged my kiss. Thought I’d try it out.”
He leans back against the counter, folding his tattooed arms, smug as hell. His grandfather’s silver cross catches the light against his chest. He’s not religious, but he’s never taken it off.
“Yeah,” he adds, “I could definitely make that a regular thing. But I think you could do better next time.”
I stare at him. “I’m sorry—next time?” My eyebrow lifts. “There will be no next time.”
He just grins wider. “Sure there will. You gonna deny me an innocent little kiss from my wife every morning?”
I press my lips together so I don’t smile.
He thinks he’s so fucking cute.
“Well that’s not—” I shake my head, frustration building.
He laughs.
The fucker laughs.
I give up. “Did you forget your pants? I can see the outline of your dick.”
“So?”
“So you need to wear pants.”
“You’re not wearing pants,” he points out. “Besides, it’s like you said the other night about your tits.” He grabs a mug from the cupboard and messes with the espresso machine. “You’ve seen my dick. Not a big deal. Don’t make it weird, babe.”
I huff out an exasperated breath. “Oh, well then I guess we should both walk around naked.”
He pulls his espresso shot, then turns, wearing a grin so big it’s practically begging to be smacked off his face.
“Sure,” he says. “You go first.”
We stare at each other, and God, I don’t even know what I’m feeling.
Irritated. Turned on. And despite it all… happy.
I’m having fun. Even though he’s pissing me off.
I set my mug on the counter a little too hard. “We have dinner plans tonight at six at my grandparents’ house, by the way. You’ll need to wear something nice.”
“Can’t wait,” he says dryly.
Matt hates going there.
I don’t blame him.
It’s… intense.
“I know.” I swallow. “I’m sorry. I can totally go alone, if you’d rather not.”
He shakes his head. “No. I’d never make you face that alone. I told you I’d go with you when you tell them. I’m coming.” He takes a sip of his coffee, eyes hovering over the rim. “I’m just not excited about it.”
No shit.
I bring my tea to my lips and mutter, “You and me both.”