Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ELLIE
As I sit facing Matt, I’m hit with the sudden realization that my description of “celebrity handsome” was freakishly accurate.
Because Matt Anderson isn’t just a professional hockey player.
He’s a famous hockey player. Like, household name hockey player.
And he fucked me against my shitty shower wall in my tiny one-bedroom apartment last night.
I try to bury the unfounded, retrospective shame, but my earlier Google search was quite…illuminating. The hat he’s wearing? That brand endorses him for millions of dollars a year. Millions. Matt is rich rich.
And worse? He’s known as the most charitable hockey player to date, literally.
Which means I have maybe one of the nicest hockey players to exist apologizing to me for trying to be normal for one night.
And it totally makes sense, everything he said.
He even has me feeling bad for him. Mr. Richy Rich.
And yet.
I’m not sure if it’s enough. I’m not mad anymore, if I ever even had the right to be. I just don’t think I can handle the hockey thing. Or the fame.
“You’re kind of famous.” The non-question slips out, my filter apparently not working at the moment.
Matt’s cheeks tinge pink and his shoulders lift slightly before falling. A shrug. He’s uncomfortable. “Hockey players don’t really get famous.” He pauses and then, “Comparatively.”
Charitable and humble. I’m screwed. Stay focused, Ellie.
“Do you deal with public attention? Like paparazzi and articles and stuff?” I didn’t see any tabloid-type stories about him during my search, but I also got the impression Matt doesn’t elicit anything really scandalous. So it’s possible they just don’t get written about him much.
Matt’s eyes are bouncing around my face, probably trying to make sense of this line of questioning.
Maybe he thought the offer of being an open book would lead to things more like “how often do you hook up with strangers” or “why hockey.” But I don’t really want to think about the former, and the latter I already know the answer to, thanks to the internet: his parents got him a mini plastic stick and goal for their basement and he became obsessed when he was four.
“I try to keep my life as private as possible,” he starts slowly.
“So I don’t have any social media or anything like that.
I mostly just do what I’m contractually obligated to in the media department.
” Matt clears his throat. “We don’t really have paparazzi here in Minnesota, so if you’re asking about pictures then it’s mostly just from fans.
Though usually those are pictures with them—they tend to be respectful of my privacy and not take candids too much, that I’m aware of at least.”
“And the articles?”
Matt’s brows draw down and his mouth sets into an almost-frown.
I can see the questions behind his eyes.
Why does she care so much about this part of my life?
“Some articles are inevitable, I guess. Most tend to be hockey-related though. I’m sure there’s the occasional invasive story about some aspect of my personal life.
I tend to only read things my family send me, so I wouldn’t see those if they exist.”
I think of how that would feel, having articles and stories about yourself get sent to you. I fight off a cringe. I’ve never thought about being in a position where privacy wasn’t guaranteed. There’s something to be said for mundane anonymity. Would I lose that if I kept hanging out with Matt?
“How did that all play into your past relationships?” I ask him.
Something flickers in Matt’s eyes, like maybe he’s started to connect the dots on where these questions have been coming from. “How did the public aspect of my life affect them?”
“Right, the lack of privacy,” I confirm.
Matt seems to perk up as he answers this time.
“Well, all of my serious relationships have started through mutual friends, so they all kind of knew what they were getting into. Honestly, they probably would’ve preferred to be in the spotlight more than we were, but that’s not really what I’m into.
There were other reasons, but that difference contributed to why we weren’t compatible ultimately. ”
I’m now picturing his previous girlfriends as ultrahot Instagram influencers.
The sharp pang of jealousy catches me off guard and I look to the water I’ve been holding in my lap.
It’s probably a good thing he doesn’t have an account for me to stalk.
I don’t remember seeing pictures of him with any women in my search, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist. “But they did get attention? Like they were photographed and stuff when you were dating?”
Matt doesn’t answer for a long time. I pick my head up to look at him and find him already watching my face carefully. He looks…despondent. I think he’s surmised this might be an issue for me.
He gives me a nod and continues to watch my face.
I look back to my cup. A few moments tick by in silence.
I hear movements and glance up to see Matt rounding the coffee table to come to the couch where I’m sitting.
He lines himself up beside me and drops softly, maneuvering that broad frame with more grace than you’d expect.
Matt surprises me when he plucks my water from my hands and sets it on the table, quickly reaching back toward me and taking one of my hands in his. He threads our fingers and rests them on his thigh. “Ellie.”
I look from our joined hands to his face. It’s really so striking up close, those green eyes sending flutters through my belly.
“I really like you.”
Those flutters turn into a full swoop.
“You hardly know me,” I remind him.
Matt shrugs and smiles at me. I feel his thumb gently moving along mine. “Well, I really like everything I know,” he says.
I fight my smile and feel my face heat. Matt reaches up with his other hand and swipes a thumb over my cheek. “I’d also really like to take you on a date.”
I know Matt can see my expression fall, but I can’t seem to help it. A date. Dating. Potential pictures and attention. Articles. I don’t think I can handle any of it. Don’t think I want to. “I don’t know if I’m up for all of that,” I confess quietly.
Matt’s eyes look back and forth between mine as his thumb stills its movement. “You’re not just talking about the date,” he guesses correctly.
I shake my head and feel the dejection of the situation settle in my stomach like a solid weight.
Matt looks down at our clasped hands. He seems to be mulling something over as his expression changes from understanding to thoughtful to…resigned? Maybe it’s disappointment. He starts moving his thumb again, almost absentmindedly. Nearly a full minute goes by before he speaks again.
“What if we kept it all—us, I mean—a secret?” Matt finally looks back up at me after he says that and I can read the disappointment clearly now.
He doesn’t want this to be a secret. But he’s offering it anyway. And it’s a relatively selfless offer for someone in his shoes. Matt’s the one who will have to work to keep anything a secret. Not me, really. I don’t have fans. No one cares what I’m doing every day.
But if we date publicly they might.
I look at Matt’s eyes. His lips and nose.
Those little scars that now make sense. I almost decide to give in and just agree to a date.
I really like him too. Maybe even more so because of how he handled today.
But I don’t think I can handle the attention.
So maybe keeping it on the “DL” would be the best of both worlds.
And honestly? Hanging out in secret sounds kind of hot.
“So like confidential fuck buddies?” I ask him.
Matt smiles and shakes his head, a low laugh slipping out in the process. “I never know what’s going to come out of here,” he tells me, reaching up to swipe a thumb over my lower lip.
“Is that a good thing?”
He nods and looks at my mouth. All of a sudden Matt drops my hand and grabs my waist with both of his.
In one quick move I’m lifted and turned, then deposited on his lap facing him.
He keeps his hands firmly on my waist as I reorient myself and find that I’m straddling him with my knees resting outside his hips.
Matt squeezes me. “Sorry, wanted to see your face better.” He says it gently, a soft contrast to the abrupt change in position I just experienced. He keeps eye contact with me as he rests back against the couch. I watch his eyes shift from my eyes down to my lips. Then back up. “Can I kiss you?”
I dip my chin and see Matt visibly sag in relief.
He sits up and slides a hand around my neck, pulling me gently to meet his mouth in a soft kiss.
I sigh at that contact and relax into him, tentatively offering a deeper kiss with a tilt of my head.
Matt angles me further with his hand tangled in my hair and starts to kiss me in earnest.
I think I’d be happy just being Matt’s kiss buddy. His skilled tongue traces mine like there’s no rush at all. Nowhere else to be but right here, with me.
I break away and rest my forehead on his, slowing my breathing. “So you’re gonna be my—”
“Confidential fuck buddy?” he says with a smile I feel against my own. He pulls my head back with a gentle tug of my hair so we’re face-to-face. I watch his smile fade as he licks his bottom lip, his gaze jumping from my eyes to my mouth and back. “If you’ll let me, Ellie.”
I think there would be a public riot if anyone knew I wasn’t one hundred percent sure about this. Who wouldn’t want to have regular sex with someone this hot? Someone this…charming. And apparently also rich and kind of famous. Ugh.
He did say secret though. And I don’t think he would offer that if he didn’t mean it.
I’m still trying to talk myself into it when an alarm goes off.
Matt closes his eyes and then uses the hand not in my hair to maneuver a phone out of his back pocket.
He looks at it for a moment before silencing it and setting it down on the couch next to us.
“Time for you to go?” I ask him.
He takes his time nodding, reluctant to give me confirmation.
It’s probably for the best. I need to figure out if this is what I want without his tempting presence right in front of me.
It’s hard to say no to ice cream when it’s shoved in your face.
Impossible when Matt Anderson himself is offering it to you.
And now I have an image of a naked Matt feeding me ice cream…
“So, can I call my confidential fuck buddy later?” Matt asks me with a sly grin, breaking me out of my dirty thoughts.
I blush at the fading image in my head and feign a glare. “Are you ever going to forget I said that?”
“No, ma’am.”
I watch as Matt grabs his phone again and types on it for a minute. He holds it up to show me a new contact: Confidential Fuck Buddy. The number is blank.
I roll my eyes. “Give me that.”
Matt’s eyes twinkle as he hands it over. I quickly type my phone number in and save it, handing it back to him.
“What’s my contact name going to be in your phone?”
I get up from his lap and grab my phone from the kitchen counter. “Can you call me real quick?”
He complies and I see an unknown number pop up on my phone. I reject the call and open the contact, typing out my chosen name for him. Matt gets up from the couch and wanders to me, peering at the screen from over my shoulder.
“How’s that?” I angle the phone so he can see better. I crane my neck to look up at him behind me. Matt glances at it and nods, taking the phone from my hand and setting it on the counter next to us. He gently pushes my hips back until they bump into the granite and presses a soft kiss to my lips.
“You can expect a call from Clark Kent, okay?”
He waits until I nod to release my hips and step away, turning to head to the door. I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until I hear it click shut behind him.
I wish Matt was still just an attractive, superhero-y stranger I met at the bar, but I’m pretty sure he just left to go get ready for his nationally televised hockey game. And not even the promise of seeing those quads in action on TV is enough to get me to watch one of those.