Chapter 4
Chapter Four
MATT
I lift the glass of Cognac to my lips and let the smooth richness slide down my throat, contemplating how much longer I need to be here, making an appearance, before I bail.
Not that I don’t love a charity event. I usually do, but without Alley and Jensen or Jordan here…
Not gonna lie—I’m bored as hell, and I wasn’t about to drag someone along I wouldn’t have fun with.
Not when I’d just be counting down the minutes until I could take off her clothes.
No thanks. I’d rather go alone, drink first, then find someone at the end of the night to fuck.
Speaking of which—
I look up and glance around the museum. Hot. Women. Everywhere.
It’s no use, though. I’m not in the mood.
And I’m never not in the mood.
My father catches my eye from across the room. He lifts his glass with a smug salute he thinks passes for affection, and I give him a flat nod back, bare minimum acknowledgment, then look away.
We understand each other.
Keep the distance. We don’t give a shit. Why pretend otherwise?
Thank God my mother’s not here. She’d force him to come over.
I scowl into my drink, irritation replacing the dullness of tonight’s event.
This would have been a hell of a lot better if Jordan would have just come with me.
I lean back against the bar and watch as couple after couple pass by.
Men’s arms draped low across their dates’ backs, women laughing.
I take another sip. Damn. I’m fucking restless.
Jordan’s been turning me down for dates and even hangouts for months now, but tonight? It grates.
I keep falling into this trap. I chase. She lets me catch her. Ditches me. Comes back. Repeat the cycle.
Problem is, I love hanging out with her. I love talking to her. Doing nothing with her. Kissing her. And I sure as hell love fucking her.
Christ. She’s so fucking good in bed.
My cock jerks at the thought, and I turn toward the bar. No one needs to see Matthew Grayson chubbing at a charity for kids. Alone.
I pull out my phone with a heavy exhale.
What you doin?
Christ, I’m pathetic. I toss my phone on the bar. I couldn’t tell you the last time I second-guessed myself. But ever since Jordan ran from her wedding—to me, I might add—I’m all in my head about it. I’ve never been in my head about anything.
Not even with her. In the past, it was always obvious: what I did wrong, where I stood, what we were. Boyfriend. Fuck buddy. And something in between the two.
But now? Now I don’t know what the hell I am or where I stand or what we are. And it’s driving me insane, this bullshit situation she calls friendship.
My phone lights up.
Jordan
Currently surviving an emotional interrogation.
A smile tugs at my lips. It’s that easy. She responds and my mood’s instantly better.
Your mamá or your yiayiá?
Jordan
Lol. Both. Somebody kill me now.
I grin, gripping my phone with both hands now.
Jesus. Let me guess—lecture on why you’re still single and how grandbabies don’t make themselves?
Jordan
Worse. They’re trying to set me up with my mamá’s friend’s nephew who just moved back to New York. Of course he’s handsome, rich, and comes from a good Greek family. Blah, blah, blah.
Seriously. Save me.
Hey, I tried. Bet you wish you were at this charity with me now, don’t you? You’d be two drinks in. Laughing. Having a great time with your good-looking friend, Matt. Karma sucks.
Jordan
Yeah, okay. Rub it in.
I chuckle under my breath.
Jordan
Wait, why are you texting me? Where’s your date?
Came solo.
Jordan
That’s what she said.
My grin grows wider.
Good one. So... this nephew. Did you see a pic? On a scale of 1 to Greek God, how worried should I be?
My thumb hovers. My chest tightens. God, I’ve missed her. Missed this.
Jordan
You? Worried? Please.
Just wondering if I’m about to lose my friend to some Greek guy.
Jordan
You’re ridiculous.
Am I? Wouldn’t be the first time.
The text bubbles appear and then disappear. Shit. I feel the words land wrong—too much—so I backpedal.
Sorry. I’m a dick. Forget I said that. You gonna go? You could always say no.
Jordan
And disappoint Yiayiá? (clutches pearls.)
I laugh and call her.
It rings twice. “Why are you calling me when you’re supposed to be mingling?” Her voice is light, teasing, and it makes everything else disappear. “That’s not very philanthropical of you.”
I chuckle. “It’s not. I donated, though. That counts, right?”
She laughs softly. “That always counts.”
The line goes silent for a beat. I ask, “How you holding up? Need me to kick some Yiayiá ass?”
She snorts. “It’s fine. Same old.”
“You could always stand up to her,” I say.
“Yeah, right. I don’t have the balls for that. You know how she gets. My mamá too. I’ll never meet the standards they’ve set for me.”
“Thank God you don’t have balls.”
She laughs, and I add, “You at your mamá’s?”
“Yeah. Last-minute family dinner. We’re filling out invitations for a big luncheon she’s hosting in three weeks.”
“Now you’re just trying to make me jealous.
” She laughs again, and I sober. “Sorry you’re being grilled tonight.
I think the trick is being a defiant little shit early on.
Parents get tired of trying to fix you and leave you the hell alone.
” I huff out a laugh. “Probably the only thing I ever did right.”
“You don’t think I’ve been defiant? Matt, we were assholes growing up.”
“No. Jensen and I were assholes. You were the too-sweet girl who hung out with us.” I rub the back of my neck. “I’m afraid I corrupted you.”
I take one last swig of my drink, set it down, and head toward the exit.
I’ve made my appearance.
“Can’t corrupt the willing.”
I smother a grin, waving a hand in goodbye to people as I pass.
“God, I felt so cool having the bad boy as my boyfriend. Remember when we stole your mom’s cigarettes and smoked them on the patio?” Her laughter bursts through the speaker. “We hid them in the planters when she came home, and Jensen told her we were lighting a candle. We were so dumb.”
“Yeah, and we should’ve had our asses kicked, but Mom didn’t give a shit.” Still doesn’t—except when I skip Midnight Mass. Which I always do. I spend Christmas Eve with Jensen’s family. Kills her.
“Hold on a sec,” I say so I can text Pete, my driver, letting him know I’m ready. I walk halfway down the steps of the museum, take a seat, then bring the phone back to my ear. “Oh, forgot to tell you, I have to go to Chicago next week. Business with Leo. Can we reschedule lunch?”
“I’d have to check my schedule, but Thursday or Friday might work.”
“Should we tentatively plan on Thursday then?”
“Sure.”
“It’s a date,” I say with a grin.
“A day date.”
I chuckle. “You won’t let me forget it.”
“Nope.” I can practically hear the smile in her voice. “Friend zone territory.”
I grimace. “A place no man wants to be.”
There’s a beat of silence before she says, “Guess I should let you go before Mamá and Yaiyiá implode.” She pauses before she adds, “Night, Matt.”
“Night, babe.”
Leo and I make our way to the back of Craft’s Pub and Kitchen, a Michelin-starred restaurant he co-owns with Alley’s brother, who also happens to be the chef.
I’m sure Leo’s sick of eating here, but the food’s fantastic and the drinks are even better.
The vibe’s cool, too: moody, modern, and never too loud.
Since I don’t live in Chicago and don’t get to eat here often, Leo appeases me.
I’ve been looking forward to this all day, especially after the hot dog I inhaled last night at the Bears game.
I took my godson, Cole. The kid talked my ear off the entire time and ate so much junk food I almost felt sick for him.
Nate gave me hell about not getting an invite, and that I kept Cole out late on a school night, but I took Nate to lunch this afternoon between meetings to make up for it.
Not that lunch makes up for seats five rows behind the bench. Not even close.
Bears won, too. Epic night. I fucking love that kid.
Leo’s wife, Vivian, is already seated when we arrive. She stands, greeting Leo with a kiss before turning to me. “Hi, Matt. It’s so good to see you.”
“Hi, Vivian. Great to see you, too.” I offer a quick side hug, appropriate for your business partner’s wife. I know Vivian, but I don’t know Vivian.
Leo and I met about ten years ago at a conference and hit it off.
A few years later, he partnered with me to open the Chicago branch of my New York nightclub.
Since then, I’ve invested in a few real estate ventures here, and my current project is funding a resort in Switzerland.
Leo’s British and connected me with the developers, some friends of his in London. It’s going to be massive for me.
Just as I’m pulling out my chair, a familiar voice calls out, “Matt!”
I turn, and Alley’s grin lights up the whole damn restaurant. She lets go of Jensen’s hand and throws her arms around me. Her pregnant belly presses into me as my hands stretch around her back.
“Hey, Al.” She lets go, and I give her a quick once-over. “You look incredible. Can’t even tell you’re pregnant.” I flash a grin, and she whacks my arm.
“Liar. I’m a whale.”
I laugh. “Seriously, though. You do look great, and you’d never even know you’re pregnant from behind. All belly.”
“Ahh, did you look up things to tell pregnant women before you came?” she teases, grinning as she steps aside to hug Vivian, giving me a clear path to Jensen.
We throw our arms around each other in a clapping hug. “Hey, brother. Good to see you,” I say, and Christ, do I mean it.
“Back at you. How ya doing?”
“Good. No complaints.”
“That’s good. How’s Jordan?”
Of course he asks about Jordan. Jensen’s in the loop—we talk all the time—but I’ve always been vague when it comes to Jordan. He knows enough to make assumptions, and I don’t ever correct him.
“She’s good. Just had a big success at work,” I redirect, not wanting to talk about her. “You getting excited? Baby’s almost here.”
“Yeah…” He grins and starts telling me about all the baby things to come.
We settle into our seats, and Alley jumps in, and suddenly I know more about baby shit than I ever wanted—appointments, labor plans, name debates… Jesus, even breast pumps.
And for the first time in my life, I’m fucking jealous—envious of all he has that money can’t buy. Every time he reaches for Alley’s hand. Every time she steals a glance his way. My chest squeezes, like my heart’s trying to remind me to get my shit together. To do more. Want more. Be better.
The sound of Alley and Vivian’s laughter blends with the clinking of silverware, music, and low conversation, fading into the background. I nod, smile, and chime in when needed, joking and pulling laughs. Just like always.
Damn, my life is so fucking predictable. So fucking boring. I could snap my fingers and have anything I want. Have someone bring it to me, even. Fuck any woman. Go anywhere in the world. Stay in the nicest hotels, drink the most expensive liquor, and literally shit on caviar.
I know a million people. Have hundreds of friends.
And as I sit here with some of the ones I love most…
I realize I’ve never felt more alone.