Chapter Sixteen
“How can you eat that?”
Matt looks up at me from the metal container he’s currently digging through with his chopsticks. Definitely wooden, definitely the sort that come with the meal and have to be broken apart and rubbed free of splinters. Not a bit of gilded rose gold in sight. “Huh?”
I point to his food with my own plain chopsticks. “That.”
“Chow mein?”
“It looks like something I once vomited.”
“Oh, charming. That’s definitely the sort of thing you should be talking about when a person’s trying to eat.
” That doesn’t stop him from digging back in—probably with more gusto than he actually feels, all in an effort to disgust me.
“Let’s not forget that I’ve seen you throw up, and it didn’t look anything like this. ”
“You’re gross.”
“You started it.”
He’s right, of course, so all I do is stick my tongue out at him.
“Thanks for paying the delivery fee anyway.”
“And now, you have the nerve to sit here and criticize my food choices.” He shakes his head. “Ungrateful.”
“That’s just a drop in the bucket compared to what you owe me,” I remind him before picking up a piece of sesame tofu.
“Meanwhile, how can you eat that garbage? It’s like eating a sponge.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“It is.”
“When’s the last time you ate tofu?”
He shrugs. “I don’t remember.”
“When’s the last time you ate a sponge?”
“This morning.”
I barely manage to keep a straight face. “You’ve probably never eaten tofu, and you’re just parroting what you heard somebody else say.”
Is he blushing? It could be a trick of the midday light flooding in through my living room windows.
This is the first time Matt’s ever been here.
I just straightened up yesterday while avoiding a tricky plot point in Phoebe’s story, so I figured it was safe to have him over.
No random underwear or feminine hygiene product wrappers in the bathroom—that sort of thing.
“Have I ever talked about my best friend, Hayley?” I ask. It’s a question I didn’t plan on asking. I’m just as surprised as he is at the sound of it coming from my mouth.
He frowns, lowering the white container of rice he was just shoveling in. “I don’t think so. Why?”
“She had a super-embarrassing thing happen the other night, and I told her it’s probably more common than she thinks it is.
” Okay, bald-faced lie. That’s what Hayley told me when I texted her—that it was common for people to let loose with various bodily noises, even when they were making out or in the middle of having sex.
Am I as sheltered and prudish as everybody’s been accusing me of lately? Because it’s starting to seem that way.
“Oh?” He goes back to shoveling rice in like it’s his job. “What happened?”
I can tell he doesn’t really care, and that’s probably not a bad thing. No sense in him paying close attention. This isn’t supposed to be anything deeper than idle conversation.
“She was making out with some guy, and it was getting pretty hot, you know. But then she burped. Like, loudly.”
He snorts. “That sucks.”
“I know. She was so humiliated. She doesn’t know whether the guy will want to see her again or anything.”
His eyes meet mine for a beat when he glances up from his food. “Hmm.”
“Hmm?”
“Is it that big a deal? Burping? I mean, I could burp for you right now, if you want.”
“I don’t want.”
“I’m just saying.”
“Yeah, I know you are, but why would I want you to?”
He shrugs. “It’s a normal thing.”
“For a guy maybe. Not for a girl. We’re not supposed to do things like that.”
“That’s dumb.”
“I don’t make the rules. That’s what we’re raised to believe. No burping. No …” I wave my hand around behind me, near my butt. “Only in private.”
“Is that why I’ve never heard that from anybody I’ve dated? I thought they all had something wrong with them.”
“Stop it.”
“I’m serious.” He looks it too. “I didn’t know it was, like, social conditioning.”
“Are you truly that obtuse?”
“Now, you’re just being hurtful.” But he’s grinning, so I figure it doesn’t bother him too much. “So, what did your date think when you burped in front of him?”
“He said it was okay—” My chopsticks clatter to the floor once I stop talking because, dang it, he got me.
And he loves it.
“I thought so.” He laughs. “You’re not a good liar. You suck at it, in fact.”
“Laugh all you want,” I mutter, teeth clenched. “It was a very real embarrassment for me. But please, take pleasure in my humiliation.”
“I doubt it was that humiliating.”
“What did I just tell you? It’s unladylike and gross.”
“If you think a burp is the least ladylike thing there is, you must be a miserable lay.”
“Hey!” I grab the closest thing to me—a packet of duck sauce—and fling it his way. “That’s rude and wrong. I’m not a miserable lay.”
“Do you ever make noises?”
“That’s not the same as moaning somebody’s name, Matt.”
“Ooh. Say it again. My name. But moan it.”
“Shut up.”
He sits back in his chair, crossing one bare ankle over the other knee. He truly doesn’t like wearing shoes. Even in my apartment. I guess it’s okay. I threw up all over his place after all, and I’ve slept naked in his bed.
“Okay. Serious now. What did your date say or do when you were so unladylike?”
I don’t know what’s more humiliating—having gone through it or having to tell the story to this smirking, smug jerk. I shouldn’t have said a word. “He laughed until he cried.”
A twitch of his lips. “At you? Or at the situation?”
“What’s the difference?”
“Did he point at you and laugh and ask why you even bother breathing, being such a pig?”
“No!”
“So, he laughed because it was funny and unexpected, and you should’ve laughed with him and gotten past it instead of making it a big deal. I’m guessing that’s what you did.”
I wish I could tell him he was wrong. I really do. “I was embarrassed.”
“Everybody does embarrassing things sometimes. I guess when you’re, you know, in a relationship or whatever, stuff’s gonna happen. I wouldn’t know, but I’m guessing.” He pokes around his container, shrugging.
“You’ve never been in a relationship?”
“Not really.”
I lean forward because this is intriguing. “No? You’re sort of a catch. I mean, for a certain type of person who doesn’t mind getting made fun of.”
He points to himself, his lips pursed like he’s surprised. “How am I a catch?”
“Don’t make me throw anything else at you. You make decent money—at least, I guess you do. You’re not completely heinous to look at.” Massive understatement, but his ego is already inflated enough. “And you have a super-awesome neighbor who lives across the hall.”
“Oh, I’m sure that would be a huge selling point.” He rolls his eyes, snickering. “I guess I’m not cut out for it. Relationships. Commitment.”
“No? You don’t want to settle down with somebody? Make a life with them?”
“Not really.” When I gape at him, he frowns. “What? Is that a crime?”
“No, not a crime. I just don’t get it.”
“You don’t have to. It’s my life. It’s how I feel. Just because you believe in happily ever after doesn’t mean the rest of us do or even want to. I’m happy enough by myself. I don’t need anybody else to make my life happy or, you know, complete me.”
“I never said I did either.”
“No?” His brows lift, practically hidden under his floppy hair. “You write about that sort of stuff though. Don’t tell me you don’t believe in it.”
“I do, but I don’t need it.”
“Right. You mean to tell me, if Mr. Wonderful proposed tomorrow, you wouldn’t jump at the chance?”
“Blake would never do that, and I don’t want him to. I hardly know him.”
“I didn’t mean him in particular. Just, you know, the perfect man for you. Hell, I sat here and told you I don’t believe in settling down and building a life with just one woman, and your jaw hit the floor. Come on.”
“You know what?” I stand, food forgotten. “You can leave my apartment if this is how you’re going to be. I don’t feel like having you criticize me anymore.”
“I’m criticizing you? You’re the one who acted like there’s something wrong with me.”
He stands, which I wish he hadn’t done since he’s so much taller than I am. I don’t like looking up at him.
With my chest stuck out and my hands on my hips, I snap, “You have commitment issues. That’s not exactly healthy.”
He points a finger at me. “And you’re lost in some dream world where there’s one person for everybody and nobody can make a life for himself or herself without having that one special person next to them.
Where nobody wants to be single for the sake of being single.
This is the real world, sweetheart, and some people just want to have fun. Not everything has to be so emotional.”
“Get your finger out of my face and then get out of here,” I growl, teeth clenched. “I don’t appreciate your attitude.”
“I don’t appreciate yours.”
“Go.”
He does but not without slamming the door. I’m sorry he did because I wanted to be the one to slam it.