Chapter 6 #2
Then he sends a picture of a koala bear with a sad face.
You really going to manipulate me with adorable animal photos?
Matt
You bet your ass I am.
I’m that desperate.
And pathetic, I might add. Are koalas really endangered?
Matt
I have no fucking clue. But they’re cute and they deserve the best. And if I make it through the whole night (happy and drinking) you know I’ll throw money at those damn animals like I’m at a strip club.
I laugh out loud just as Pappoús comes striding back into the living room. He stops in front of me, holding out his hand, a check pinched between his thumb and forefinger.
I look up. His face is calm, eyes soft. Then my gaze drops to the check, and my stomach flips.
Twenty-five thousand dollars. Holy shit.
I could pay it all off right now, but…
“Oh, Pappoús. No.” I shake my head. “I can’t. I can’t take that.”
“Take it, kouklaki. You work hard. You’re a good woman, and I’m damn proud of you. Use it for your business, or pay off those damn cards. I don’t care which. Just promise me you won’t let them rack up again.” He wiggles the check at me. “Take it. Before your yiayiá finds out.”
I grip the check between my fingers, meeting his gaze. “Thank you, Pappoús.”
Yeah, no way in hell I’m cashing it.
No matter how tempting it is.
I don’t need a man, or anyone for that matter, to fix my problems.
“Go ahead and slip into your gown with the ties in the front. Dr. Sawai will be in shortly.”
The nurse leaves and I strip down, tucking my bra and underwear inside my folded clothes.
Why is that a thing? The doctor’s about to shove her hand up all in my business, and I’m worried about my underwear showing?
I laugh to myself, set my clothes on the chair, and grab my phone, pausing when I notice the stack of magazines on the side table. It’s an old edition of Town & Country from a few months back—and Matt’s on the front cover.
I set my phone aside and pick up the magazine instead. His face stares back at me from beneath the headline, Manhattan’s Most Eligible Bachelors.
Suit. Arms crossed. Grinning. Looking as good as ever.
I never actually read the article. I’d picked it up once at a coffee shop when it first ran, but I was engaged to Richard then and it didn’t feel appropriate.
But I’m not with Richard now.
I hop onto the exam chair and lean back, unfolding the paper blanket and draping it over my legs like it’s going to do anything against the cold. It’s freezing in here.
I flip to page twenty-six and grin. There he is, in all his glory.
Matthew Grayson, 35—Real Estate Magnate, Nightclub Owner, Investor.
And right below the headline—holy shit.
Matt’s still in his suit pants, belt, and jacket, but shirtless.
Of course he is. His hands are casually tucked into his pockets, jacket pushed back just enough to frame those abs.
Drool-worthy abs, I might add, the kind that make you want to trace every groove with your fingers…
and your tongue. A deep V cuts along his hips, tattoos trailing up one side of his chest, just begging to be touched. God, he looks good.
I squeeze my thighs together, praying Dr. Sawai won’t notice or say anything about the sudden rush of heat pooling between them. It’s not like I don’t already know how good Matt looks. I’ve seen him naked more times than I can count. But this? This is another level.
Doesn’t help that I haven’t had sex in months.
I shove the images of him hovering over me, doing what Matt does best, out of my mind and focus on the article. The journalist gives a quick rundown of his life and career before getting to the interview section.
Jessica: What does an average day for you look like?
Matt: Early mornings. Gym. Coffee. Work. Repeat.
Jessica: And what does “work” usually entail?
Matt: Meetings. Travel. Contracts. Lawyers. It varies day to day, but there’s always a dozen more things that need doing.
Jessica: Sounds busy. Tell me you find time for fun in all the chaos.
Matt: (laughs) Of course. I live for the fun—parties, charity events, weekend getaways. But honestly? My favorite weekends are the low-key ones. Football games and brunch with family and friends. Sleeping in.
I smile. That’s so Matt.
Jessica: Sounds nice. Would you say you prefer a big crowd or a smaller circle of close friends?
Matt: Small circle, for sure.
Jessica: You’ve developed a bit of a reputation for being… well, popular with the ladies. No offense. Any plans to settle down?
Matt: (laughs) None taken. I’m not opposed to settling down, if the right person came along.
Jessica: You’ve been linked to Jordan Demetriou previously over the years. Care to comment on her upcoming wedding?
Matt: Jordan’s a longtime friend. I’m always happy to see her doing well.
Friend. The word sticks out like a sore thumb.
I’m the one who made it that way, and the one who’s kept it that way, but still…
We’re so much more than that. We’ve been so much more. He knows it. I know it.
I try not to dwell. I left. I got engaged. End of story.
Jessica: Ever been close to something serious yourself?
Matt: (chuckles) Almost.
Jessica: What happened?
Matt: Timing, probably. Or life.
I roll my eyes. Or maybe it’s you, Matt. Jesus.
Jessica: Would you call her “the one who got away”?
Matt: (smiles) I’d say she most definitely got away.
Jessica: Do we get a name?
Matt: No comment.
The one who got away? The words echo louder than I want them to. My stomach flutters. I run through his past girlfriends, coming up empty. He’s never been with anyone longer than three months—besides me.
Jessica: Last question. What’s the one thing you find most attractive in a woman?
Matt: Confidence. I like a woman who knows who she is and isn’t afraid to stand next to me in the spotlight.
Confidence. Yeah, that one stings. I’m a pretty damn confident woman, always have been, and it’s hard not to feel confident standing next to someone like Matt.
Sure, it can be intimidating, knowing people are looking, whispering, talking shit.
Knowing that he chose me was always enough to put the haters in a box and tuck them away for the night.
But the box was still there, and on hard days, it would crack open, and every word I’d heard or read came tumbling out, challenging the woman in the mirror. Tabloids are brutal. I learned a long time ago to stay the hell away from the comment section. That’s where confidence goes to die.
The one who got away…
Whatever. I close the magazine and force a laugh, pretending I don’t care, even if my racing pulse says otherwise.
Matt’s always been good at saying just enough to keep people guessing, even me. And the truth is, when Matt wants something, he goes after it. Relentlessly. He doesn’t let it get away.
I did.
More than once.
But not this time.
It’s my turn to lead this dance between us, and the friend zone is where he lives now.
And it’s where he’ll stay.
A soft knock startles me as the door swings open. “Hi, Jordan. How are you today?”
I set the magazine aside and meet Dr. Sawai’s gaze with a polite smile, pushing thoughts of Matt away. “Hi. I’m good, thanks.”
She settles onto her stool, clicking a few keys. “So, Jackie mentioned you’ve been having some irregular spotting?”
“Yeah. It’s kind of random. Some cramping and bloating, too. Which is weird because I haven’t had any issues since the first few months with the IUD. But it’s been almost four years, so I figured maybe it’s just time to replace it.”
Dr. Sawai nods, typing something into the computer.
“Irregular bleeding after a few years with an IUD isn’t uncommon.
It may have shifted a bit, or it might just be nearing the end of its lifespan.
I’ll take a look today and then order an ultrasound just to be thorough.
If everything looks good, we can talk about replacing it afterward. ”
I nod. “Okay. Sounds good.”
She pulls on a pair of gloves with a soft snap. “All right, go ahead and slide down toward me a little.”
I take a deep breath and scootch down, the paper crinkling beneath me. I settle my feet into the stirrups and stare at the ceiling, letting my mind wander.
Back to the magazine article…
Back to Matt.
The ultrasound tech is kind and chatty, explaining as she goes. I stare at the ceiling again, pretending I’m anywhere but here, listening to the faint clicks of buttons. Every pause feels louder than it should.
“Everything okay?” I finally ask.
“I’m just getting all the angles for Dr. Sawai,” she says with a smile that’s a little too tight.
Right.
My pulse doesn’t get the memo.
I went down a rabbit hole while I was waiting for the tech, Googling every possible reason I might need an ultrasound.
Most of them pointed to the obvious: expired IUD.
But a few mentioned precancerous cells, and just seeing that makes it impossible to settle my brain.
God, I even planned how I’d tell my family if it was bad.
I wouldn’t.
I wouldn’t tell anyone.
Once she finishes, she wipes the gel off my stomach and helps me sit up.
A few minutes later, I’m back in the exam room, half dressed and trying not to spiral.
Dr. Sawai walks in and pulls her stool close before she sits.
“So,” she begins gently, “your IUD is still in place, which is good. Your uterine lining is just a little thicker than I expect with an IUD, but that can happen with hormone shifts or toward the end of its lifespan.”
“Okay… is that bad?” God, I feel like I’m gonna puke.
“Not necessarily,” she says immediately. “It’s a common variation as an IUD gets older. I’m not concerned, but I’m noting it so we can keep an eye on it and compare it at your next visit.”
I swallow, hesitating. “I hate to be this person, but I Googled while I was waiting, and… I read something about precancerous cells. Is that why we’re keeping an eye on it?”
My pulse thumps rapidly. Jesus. Get your shit together, Jordan.
“Oh, the dreaded Google.” Dr. Sawai smiles softly.
“As long as it doesn’t grow or change, it’s nothing to worry about.
If the bleeding and cramping are bothering you, we can switch the IUD out right now.
Or we can always do a six-month follow-up if that helps ease your mind, but this isn’t something I’m concerned about today.
” She meets my eyes. “And you don’t need to be either. ”
I exhale, tension spilling out of my shoulders even though my adrenaline is still buzzing.
It’s fine. I’m fine.
“Okay. Thank you.” I glance at my watch. “I’m actually running short on time. Can I schedule a replacement on my way out?”
“No problem. I’ll let the front desk know.”
Holy hell. For a second there, I freaked out.
I’m barely thirty-five. I haven’t even lived yet.
I’m not married, not even close. That ship sailed four months ago, along with any chance of pleasing my family.
I don’t have kids. Or the house in the Hamptons with two dogs and a cat I always dreamed of.
I haven’t traveled to all the places on my bucket list. Shit, I haven’t even done half the things on it.
Dr. Sawai makes a few more notes before saying goodbye, leaving me alone with my thoughts and slowly dulling pulse while I finish getting dressed. I slip my heels back on, my gaze wandering to the magazine on the chair beside me. I pick it up, eyes landing on Matt… again.
I lower it slowly, then stand.
And slide the magazine into my purse.
I swing open the front door to my apartment and drift into the kitchen in a daze.
What a fucking day.
After my doctor’s appointment, I went to my hot Pilates class, where I completely zoned out. Honestly, might’ve been the easiest class I’ve ever done. I was so wrapped up replaying the last few hours that the burn in my ass and thighs didn’t even register.
Kicking off my shoes, I drop everything on the counter and make my way to the couch, grabbing the remote before flopping down.
I scroll to HBO and put on old reruns of Sex and the City.
I feel like Carrie—mid-thirties, living in a studio, good career, good friends, but always circling back to Big.
Matt, in my case. Except we’re not together. God, at least Carrie was having sex.
I have a fantastic closet, but I’m broke, and all I have to show for my life is a shit ton of credit card debt and an apartment too small for two.
I curl up in a ball and sink into the couch under a blanket, blinking back the tears I’ve been holding in for hours, but it’s no use.
They slip down my cheeks as I stare blankly at the TV.
God, I’ve never felt so alone. I’ve never wanted a pet more than I do right now—something to snuggle up with, something soft and warm to fill the void in my chest.
I’m a few episodes in before my eyes start to flutter, so I move to my bed just behind the couch, leaving the TV on low.
I start to nod off, doing everything I can not to think about all the shit.
My visit with Pappoús. The credit card debt.
That damn magazine article. The scare I gave myself at the doctor’s office. This hollow feeling I can’t shake.
And Matt.
Always fucking Matt.
And I wish so badly I wasn’t this person, needing to prove something, but wanting approval.
Needing to be independent, but wanting a partner in life.
Stubborn as hell and needing to be right, but wanting someone to tell me what to do at the same time.
Needing to stay friends with Matt... but deep down, wanting to be the one who got away.
The one he never really stopped wanting.
A vibration jolts me awake, scaring the living hell out of me. My pulse races as I reach for my phone, smacking at it before my brain catches up.
Blinking, I force my vision into focus. Matt.
I scowl, confused and half-asleep, and answer.
“Hey,” I croak, my voice barely audible.
Nothing. Just uneven breathing. Did he… pocket dial me?
“Matt?”
Then I hear it—a sharp sniff, a shaky exhale, then a choked cry. “Babe…” His voice cracks.
Oh my God. I shoot upright. “Matt? Are you okay?”
Another beat of silence. Then another cry, more broken this time. “Nate… he’s gone.”