Chapter 2
Chapter Two
MATT
Hey… you alright?
I stare at the words for way too long, waiting for them to turn to read, but they don’t.
Frustrated, I set my phone face down on the vanity and turn for the shower, needing to wake the hell up. I twist the knob and wait for the water to warm before stepping inside.
The steam hits first, the pounding spray instantly easing my hangover. When the hell am I going to learn I’m too old for this shit? Too old to drink the way I did last night. I’m not twenty-five anymore. I can’t party until sunrise, drink everyone under the table, and wake up ready to do it again.
But who am I kidding? This is what I do. What I always do. Weekends. Drinking. Women.
It’s the one thing I took from my dad: when life gets too loud, drink or find someone to fuck until you can breathe again. Simple. Effective. Makes you feel in control.
I’m running multiple companies: my real estate empire, boutique hotels, residential towers, the nightclub—employing hundreds of people. It comes with a lot of stress. And it builds. All fucking week it builds. So by Friday?
I’m ready to un-fucking-wind.
The door to the bathroom opens and the blonde steps inside. Can’t remember her name for the life of me. She’s naked, hair a mess, mascara smeared under her eyes.
“Shit,” she mumbles, squinting at the light as she shoots a hungover glance at me. “I gotta pee.”
She beelines for the toilet room, and my eyes follow her naked ass until the door shuts, then shift straight to the vanity, to my phone, wondering if Jordan texted back yet.
I wash quickly, turn the water off, and step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my waist just as the blonde comes out to wash her hands. My gaze rakes over her backside at the sink, then lifts to the mirror, to the reflection of her tits.
She offers a wry smile. “Sorry. I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”
My cock twitches. Pure reflex—a reminder there are two naked women ten feet away.
But my mind is already elsewhere.
“You’re fine,” I grunt, eyes darting to my phone again. I reach around her and pick it up, my heart punching my ribs when I see Jordan’s name light up the screen.
My fingers move way too fast for someone this hungover.
Jordan
Shit.
Sorry. I didn’t mean to text you.
How are you?
The fuck?
Bullshit.
I talked to Jensen. You alright?
Jordan
Of course you talked to Jensen. Great. I guess everyone knows by now. I’m fine. I didn’t mean to text you.
Bullshit.
You did. And you said you wanted to talk.
So talk.
Yeah—dick move, I know. But Jesus Christ, she pops back into my phone on her supposed-to-be wedding night after practically six months of radio silence, and then pretends it didn’t happen?
Fuck that.
The blonde steps out of the bathroom, and I’m torn. Normally I’d go finish what we started, fuck both of them senseless. But now?
Now all I care about is this text thread.
Jordan
Fine.
I couldn’t go through with it. My mamá hasn’t stopped crying. My yiayiá won’t speak to me. It’s a fucking mess, and I’m embarrassed. I’ve been better. But it’s not your problem. I’m sorry I texted you in the middle of the night.
This is so Jordan. Prideful. Stubborn. Defensive. Determined like hell to stand on her own two feet, even when she so obviously needs someone.
I blow out a heavy breath.
When can you meet?
I spot Jordan on the patio of a coffee shop halfway between her place in SoHo and mine in the West Village.
It’s a crisp morning, but the sun’s out, warming the cool air, perfect weather for the inevitable argument we’re about to have.
It’s been two days since we texted. I hit the gym early and moved my morning meeting so I could be here.
She sees me as I approach, and the faintest smile curves her lips, just enough to make my pulse kick up a notch.
Same shit, different day. Thirty fucking years of it.
A grin pulls at my mouth as I reach her table. “You look like hell.”
She doesn’t, of course. She never could.
She lifts her drink to her lips, her face tilted toward me—cool, collected, very Jordan. Even if it’s a facade, the truth hidden behind her oversized sunglasses and jacket.
“Good to see you too,” she replies dryly. “Dick.” She nods toward the second mug. “Ordered you an Americano.”
“Thanks,” I say, sliding into the seat across from her. I take a sip of my coffee, and silence settles, comfortable and awkward, the kind only decades of history can pull off.
I lean back and take her in. Her hair’s pulled up on the top of her head in that messy-but-sexy way she always pulls off. But even with the sunglasses, she looks tired. Worn out. Sad. Like she hasn’t slept in days… or eaten… or even gotten out of bed.
“You okay?” I finally ask, breaking the tension.
Her lips press into a tight line. “Not really.”
I wait for her to say more, but she doesn’t.
Great. Classic Jordan. We haven’t spoken in months, and she’s already building walls I’ll have to break through.
Good thing I know how.
“You wanna talk about it?”
“No.” A small smile ghosts over her lips. “But I guess that’s why we’re here, right?”
I shake my head, frowning. “No. I’m here so I can make you feel like shit about the past two years.”
I’m only half joking.
Her bottom lip scrapes against her teeth. “Right.”
Awkward. Comfortable. Silence.
And I relish it as I burn my gaze into the dark lenses she’s trying, but failing, to hide behind.
Let her squirm.
I’ll fucking wait.
She rubs her lips together, shifting in her seat.
Finally, she whispers, “I couldn’t marry Richard.
I don’t know what came over me, but I was standing there—music playing, priest waiting, Richard at the altar.
My pappoús linked his arm in mine to walk me down the aisle, and I just… froze. I couldn’t move.”
She looks down at her tea, takes a breath, then looks back up at me, a fresh tear sliding down her cheek. She swallows, and it kills me seeing her like this. Hurting. Shamed. Desperate to hold it all together.
“I love Richard. I really do. But it’s like my future with him flashed before my eyes, and it just didn’t feel like mine.
” She sniffles. “I didn’t mean to hurt or embarrass him.
Or my family. God, the way my yiayiá looked at me the next day.
The way everyone looked at me…” She shakes her head hard.
“I just want to hide in my apartment for a year and pray everyone forgets. You know how the Greek community is. Everyone talks.”
I sit quietly. She doesn’t have to explain the rest. I know her well enough to fill in the blanks.
Her controlling grandmother lecturing her to no end.
Her mother making it all about her, crying to anyone who will listen.
Her sweet grandfather, heartbroken and devastated, but worried for her.
Her entire community whispering behind her back.
It is humiliating. Scarring. Soul-crushing.
And underneath all that? The one thing she inherited from her dad. Defiance. The part that wants to tell them all to fuck off.
I nod, unsure what to say. I’m torn—part of me wants to comfort her, but the deeper part, the part with thirty years of history, wants to lecture her.
Because what the hell did she think would happen? I called bullshit on that relationship two years ago. She was settling.
And then she practically ghosted me.
“I’m sorry,” I say finally, my voice rough. “What do you need?”
She shrugs. “I know I don’t deserve your friendship after everything, but I could really use a friend right now.”
Jordan hates vulnerability. She hates feeling out of control. She’s always been one to just grit her teeth and bear it.
So for her to admit this? To ask? It’s huge.
“You’ve hardly talked to me for two years. Fuck, you acted like I didn’t even exist. And now suddenly you want to be friends again?”
“It’s not like that, Matt, and you know it.” She crosses her arms, rubbing them like it’s chilly outside. “You don’t know what it’s like to be tied to you. I was engaged. Richard has a lot of good qualities, but not being jealous isn’t one of them.” She pauses. “Like someone else I know.”
I scoff. “Jealous isn’t even in my vocabulary. There’s a difference between jealousy and protecting the people you care about. Mine is always the latter.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not how it comes off. You’re possessive as hell.”
I huff out a laugh. “Christ, Jordan. You know exactly where to swing, don’t you?”
She just shrugs.
She fucking shrugs.
She hits below the belt, shrugs like it’s nothing, and somehow I’m the one left bleeding. It’s always been that way.
“You know what? As much as I love rehashing the past, why don’t we skip the bullshit.
” I lean in slightly. “If you wanted me to make you forget about him, you should’ve just said so.
I’m free tonight. Say the word, and I guarantee you won’t be thinking about Richard, let alone the fact that you left him standing at the altar. ”
She stills. Was it too much?
Maybe.
I can feel her glare behind those sunglasses, laser sharp and furious.
Good. Be pissed. I’ve been pissed for two fucking years.
Pissed she pushed me away.
Pissed she acted like she barely knew me anytime we crossed paths.
Pissed she didn’t even invite me to her goddamn wedding.
“Don’t be an asshole. That’s not why I texted you. I need a friend. Someone who actually gets me and the pressure my family puts me under.”
I point to myself. “Me don’t be the asshole? I’m not the one who treats our friendship like a fucking yo-yo.”
She sniffs hard, and God, I feel like such a dick. But I can’t just let her waltz back in, deflecting and throwing her pain my way—at me. Like what happened is somehow my fault.
I lower my voice. “You acted like you didn’t even know me, Jordan.
That night at the charity a few months back.
The ironic thing is, I know you better than anyone.
Better than your mom. Better than your yiayiá.
Better than fucking Richard.” A soft chuckle escapes me.
“I don’t doubt I know you better than you know yourself sometimes. ”
Tears stream down her cheeks now, and she wipes them with the back of her hand the best she can with her sunglasses still on.
“I know,” she whispers, voice cracking. “And I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve that, and it was wrong of me. I was confused and… it was awkward with Richard there.” She hesitates, then asks quietly, “Why did you come if you’re so mad at me?”
Because I miss you.
A corner of my mouth lifts. “Because I made a promise to you twenty years ago. And I intend to keep it. Always.”
She stares at me for a beat before the faintest smile breaks through, nostalgia slipping past the hurt. “You know you don’t have to do that. It was a long time ago.”
“Come on, you know I care about you. You’re one of the few people on this earth who actually matter to me. One of the most important ones, too.” I lift a brow. “Which is why I’ve been so pissed. It hurt, babe. It really fucking hurt.”
I’ve been calling her babe forever.
She lifts her sunglasses to the top of her head and meets my gaze with red, puffy, wet eyes. “I’m really, really sorry, Matt. I never meant to hurt you. You’re one of the most important people in my life, too… Can we be friends again? Please?”
I lift my mug to my lips and take a drink, swallowing down the stupid thing in my throat that always shows up when I get too close to actually feeling shit. “I never stopped being your friend.”
Truth is, I could never stay mad at Jordan. Even when I’m pissed, I’m not really pissed.
It’s just… frustration.
And it’s confusing as fuck.
She smiles at that. It’s soft and barely there, but it’s real. I mirror it, and just like that, we slip right back into the way things have always been. Friendship. Comfort. Talking through the hard shit. Just like old times.
“There can be no sex this time,” she says, cupping her mug with both hands.
Okay.
Maybe not like old times.
“Why?” I ask, because one, I’m a guy, and two, I can’t fathom why she’d want to deny us both one of the best parts of our friendship.
“Because that’s why I always have to push you away. I can’t stay friends with a guy I’ve recently slept with while dating other people. I can’t have both.” Her brows pull together. “Plus, it’s just too hard. Too confusing.”
“What’s confusing? There’s nothing hard about it, babe. We’re very good at sex. We should be having it. And often.”
Her small smile turns into a grin. “I’m serious, Matt. We can’t slip into old habits. I’m not ready to jump into the dating pool yet, but I’m not getting any younger. I still want to find someone. You know I want that.”
“Yeah, I know you do.”
“So… no sex then? Platonic friendship. You can do that?”
I mull it over, feigning indifference when really the request scrambles my brain and knots my stomach. “Sure. What my baby wants, my baby gets.”
Her nostrils flare, smothering a smile. “Matt.” Her tone is teasing but laced with warning as she points a finger at me. “That’s the kind of shit I’m talking about. None of that. I’m not your baby. Not this time.” She shakes her head. “Not like you need me to get laid anyway.”
True. But no one really compares to her… not that I’m comparing.
I chuckle, the weight of the past two years lifting. I reach across the table and drag my index finger over the top of her hand, giving a slow, reluctant nod, like agreeing to this costs me something I’ll never admit out loud.
“Alright. No sex,” I agree, even though I know we most definitely will be having sex. Eventually. It’s only a matter of time because—when have we ever not?
She breathes out a sigh of relief. “Okay, then.”
She’s relieved to not be having sex with me. I hate that. I hate that so much that something recoils in my blood.
Her gaze locks on mine. “I’ve missed you. We should make this a weekly thing. Or maybe even lunch.”
Lunch. Like I’m making plans with my mother.
We’ve always done lunch. But we also used to do dinners, and dinners always led to… dessert.
Lunch is a one-way ticket to the friend zone.
“I can do lunch,” I say anyway.
She smiles. “Great. Now catch me up on all the things. How are you?” she asks, moving on like what she just asked me to agree to was as simple as tying shoelaces.
Of course she can pivot. She’s always been better at pretending than I am. She’s done it her whole damn life.
Me? What you see is what you get.
I push it down. I’d rather her be in my life than not be. Sex or not.
Even if the terms suck.
I shake my head. “Later. Tell me more about you. What’s next, and what are you going to do about your family?”