Chapter 11
ELIAS
Matty is much better at pretending than I am. It’s a good thing—a great thing—because if left unchecked, I’d lead us into dangerous territory. At least one of us has some degree of self preservation left.
Unfortunately, Matty’s ‘pretending’ looks an awful lot like avoiding me.
It’s only been a couple of days, but every time I come home, he’s quick to ask if we can just go to bed, and the casual touches I’ve grown accustomed to are oddly absent.
During the day, he’s been extra focused on Cal or the technical side of his work, so we hardly get more than surface level conversations.
I crossed a line. Maybe one I can’t peddle back from.
That’s why I’m going to pull it together and sit him down for a serious talk. I don’t want this uncomfortableness to linger between us. We can clear this up and move past it. I’m positive.
The only way to do that, though, is to risk interrupting his … um … personal time. While Cal is at therapy for the next two and a half hours, I have to convince Matty that I can absolutely just be his friend—and keep my hands to myself. Easy peasy.
I sent him a text to let him know I’d be heading home for a bit with an extra apology if I get in the way of whatever sexy time he might be up to.
Matty
Just writing up some stuff today. Have some pictures from a few nights ago that need to go up.
I’m not sure why, but all of his replies seem curt lately. Not rude exactly but more withdrawn. It makes me feel like shit.
And sad. God, does it make me sad.
There’s music playing when I get back to the house, something light and soft but with the unmistakable cadence of what Matty usually dances to. He’s not now—no—he’s sitting at the dining table, hunched over his laptop, but he certainly isn’t stationary.
His head bobs, his fingers tap to the piano notes on the table, and he’s swaying softly while he types out words with his other hand.
I’ve missed seeing him like this.
I’ve missed him.
And I see him every day.
“Hey.” I rap my knuckles on the wall gently so as not to startle him.
He stills, staring at his screen for a couple of seconds before looking up and putting on a smile. “Welcome home.”
Just like that, he goes back to what he was doing, and the knot in my gut pulls tight.
“Whatcha writing?” I pull out the chair beside him and fold my arms on the table.
He glances over, lips twitching, but he cuts off the smile before it fully takes root. “A fantasy.”
I want to ask him what the fantasy is about, less because I know it’s sexual and more that I want to hear him talk. I want to lay my head on my arms, close my eyes, and just bask in the sound of his voice.
“I’m bothering you, aren’t I?”
He doesn’t answer at first, fingers moving over the keys at a rapid speed, and once they slow down he lets out a breath. “Distracting,” he mumbles.
Maybe this was a bad idea.
I stand up and head into the kitchen, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water. Down it in three gulps and fill it again. This time I stare down into it and curse under my breath.
Things are awkward and stilted, and that’s the last thing I want.
Glass in hand, I walk back to the dining table and take my seat. Condensation drips down the glass, and I drag my finger through it as I work up the nerve to speak.
Finally, I clear my throat, and Matty’s furious typing comes to a halt.
But he still isn’t looking at me.
“We need to talk,” I say, watching as his brows scrunch. “Please look at me.”
Surprise fills his widening eyes, and when he tilts his head at me, there’s the beginning of a blush forming on his cheeks.
“Sorry. I was focused.”
I shake my head. “It’s fine.” The words hit me in the chest and force out a dry laugh. “Shit. No it isn’t.”
That gets his attention. His brows draw together, he pushes his laptop to the side, and scoots his chair out and over, holding his hand up on the table in invitation.
I take it readily, squeezing his fingers against mine.
“What’s wrong?”
I blow out a breath and dip my head. “Are you mad at me?”
With my eyes angled away, I can’t read his expression, but I can hear the soft, strangled sound that passes through his lips.
“What? No. Not at all.”
As much as I want to pull inward, I jut my chin out and lift my eyes so I can be sure he hears me.
“I feel like you are. I feel like I did something I shouldn’t have, and now you’re pulling away from me.”
“Something you shouldn’t—” His words cut off with a whoosh, and the tinge of pink turns a daring scarlet. “Fuck. No. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then why have things been so weird?”
Matty shifts in his seat, pulls both hands into his lap and wrings them together. “You noticed that?”
“Of course, I noticed. You walk away every time I enter the room.”
He winces, biting down on his lip. “I do?” With a sigh, he leans back in his chair. “I’m sorry. It’s not you, Elias. Well, it is, but not the reason you think.”
“What do you mean?”
Matty’s wry smile picks at the knot in my stomach. “I’m horny, Lee. All the damn time. Being around you makes me want to jump your bones.”
The world turns a flurry of different colors. My mouth opens to … what? Reassure him? Commiserate with him?
His eyes crinkle, and the little laugh that escapes is clearly mortified. “I can’t get it out of my head. How your lips felt on my neck. Your fingers digging into my waist. I’m half afraid that if I stay up with you at night, I’m just going to climb in your lap and beg you to touch me again.”
Oh. If his intent was to turn me off wanting exactly what he’s describing, then he’s doing a horrible job. Because right now, seeing the look on his face, I can’t think of a single reason why I’d turn him down.
“I’ll get over it,” he says with a firm nod. “Just give me a little bit of time.”
Over it like over me or over this sex spell he seems to be under?
I don’t want him to get over me.
The thought knocks the wind out of me. It’s disgustingly selfish. I want him to think about me. In all of the sweet, sappy ways. In all of the dirty ones that make him blush.
“I’m sorry for making things awkward.” He grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze.
“Do you mind if I take a quick shower? I planned on popping in after I finished my work, but if you want to hang out before you have to leave, I’ll do it now and we can sit on the couch together while I get these posts written out. ”
The apprehension in my body loosens up. “Yeah, of course.” He lets go of my hand and heads for the hall, and a tiny spark of a thought pops into my mind. “Are you going to touch yourself?”
Matty’s entire body goes still, choking on his next breath. He whirls back, hair flying around the deep red of his cheeks. “Elias Lee!”
I bark out a laugh, finally feeling the anxiety shift away. “We’re never going to get through it if we can’t joke! Besides, you told me you were horny. Of course I’m going to think about you getting off.”
I know I’m only making matters worse, but he’s so cute I can’t help myself.
“Shut up.” He finally smiles. “Just for that, I’m taking extra long.”
“Not helping yourself, Princess.”
He flips me off and turns the corner, leaving me a giddy, grinning mess. I bury my face in my arms, but it doesn’t let up in the slightest.
I like him so much.
It’s when I’m tidying up a few minutes later that I really step in it. I was going to close his laptop and put it away until he finished his shower, but I accidentally swiped the mousepad, and now I’m face to face with one of those smutty stories he said he writes for his site.
I don’t mean to read it; I really don’t. It’s just one line; one line that leads to more I can’t look away from.
Backed against the counter with his arms around me, I feel secure. With his lips laying claim to my neck, I feel wanted. With the hard length of his body pressed to my back, arousal evident as he rocks against me, I feel desired.
Is he writing about us? About me?
What would happen if I turned? Met his waiting mouth with mine? Sunk my hands under his shirt? Into his pants? Would he take my kiss and turn it into something more? Would he let me touch him until my fingers ache? Could I taste him and still hold this fragile alliance of ours together?
He writes fantasies; that’s what he told me.
Fantasies about us?
I want to read more. I want to understand what he wants, because it sounds a lot like what I want, and if he wants this as badly as I do …
Could I risk that?
Could I risk hurting him because we’re both so blindly in lust with each other?
I’m going to do something that isn’t smart. It might even be considered a breach of privacy. But I need to know. I need to put us in a firm box in my head and stop letting these feelings leak all over everything.
I take out my phone and download the subscription service app that he uses, and then I search up the username on his screen.
Nothing shows up, so I click through the settings until I find the pesky ‘Hide Adult Content’ switch and turn it off. Try again.
There we go.
This time, I close his laptop and gently move it to the coffee table, and then I walk to my room and shut the door. The sound of the shower is still going, so I sit on the edge of the bed and scroll through the one page on the internet I absolutely shouldn’t.
Matty’s Midnight Musings
Not everything is locked under a paywall. There’s plenty of mundane, waxy prose under a free subscription tier. I belatedly realize he’ll probably get a notification about me joining, but whether he thinks a new subscriber simply named Lee29 is anything special is yet to be seen.
He posts a couple of times a week, and just when I think the lowest tier is all of his sweet ramblings—which I don’t mind; I always enjoy seeing Matty’s soft side—I scroll across a picture posted a few days ago that makes it hard to breathe.