Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
MATT
I rub at my eyes, awareness sinking in as I slowly wake from my shitty sleep. The couch. Exhaustion. Last night.
Last night.
Shit.
I blink, sunlight stabbing straight into my skull.
Goddamn, I’m tired.
I hardly slept. I went for a walk after the situation with Jordan and ended up in the bar lobby, where I sat for over an hour staring at nothing. No drink. No phone. Just me, a bartender, a woman named Deb, and my thoughts.
I’ve never been this conflicted about my future. What to do next. What to say.
The Cole situation is out of my hands. I’ve already made my peace with that.
What I didn’t expect was to be standing in the same place I’ve always stood when it comes to Jordan, helpless, stuck, letting her decide how this ends. Again.
When I asked her to marry me, there wasn’t a single thought about what came after. All I cared about was Cole and getting custody of him.
Get married. Get custody. Get divorced. That was the plan.
So much time had passed since the last time we were together. I thought I’d gotten over her, at least enough to fake it.
I never thought I’d want her to stay.
Never thought I’d care if she left.
But I can’t deny what I feel when she’s with me.
When she looks at me the way she does. When I flirt and she laughs, and then flirts back.
When she’s close and that buzz in my veins gets so loud it makes me feel more alive than anything else…
while also making me feel like I might die if it disappears.
I stretch and sit up. The couch is not what I had in mind when I booked the chalet suite.
My gaze drifts to the bedroom, my pulse spiking.
Is she awake?
Is she mad?
I turned her down. I didn’t want to, but I turned her down, nonetheless.
I push up from the sofa, still in my suit pants, and head for the bathroom.
Fuck.
My balls hurt.
I pass the bedroom on the way. Jordan’s not there. Just an empty bed.
A flicker of panic hits, until I grab my phone from the nightstand. She sent a text ten minutes ago with a pinned location.
Jordan
Hi. I’m at this cafe down the street.
Normal.
Completely fucking normal.
I already know exactly how this morning is going to go. She’ll say she had one too many. Give a quick apology. Then she’ll act like nothing happened. Save face.
One could argue it’s nice to be with someone who doesn’t stay angry. Who never gets mad enough to fight. Who does whatever they can to keep the peace.
Sure. Sometimes that’s nice.
But if it smells like bullshit, it usually is.
I exhale and type.
Be there in fifteen.
I spot her at an outdoor table, bundled in a heavy jacket, one hand wrapped around a mug. Sunglasses on. Hiding.
The scene is painfully familiar.
I stop at the table. “Hey, babe.”
She turns, giving me a tight smile. “Hi. I ordered you an Americano. It should be here soon.”
“Thanks.”
I pull out the chair and sit across from her.
“Please don’t say anything about last night,” she says quickly. “I was drunk. I’m embarrassed, and… I’m sorry I put you in that position.”
I lean back and fold my arms, studying her through the dark lenses of my sunglasses. I’m trying to decide if I make a joke, accept the apology, or give her hell.
I choose all three.
“You should be,” I say casually. “My balls hurt, and I slept like shit.”
The corner of her mouth twitches. “You didn’t have to sleep on the couch.”
Then, like the flip of a switch, she changes gears.
Sitting up straighter, she takes a sip of her tea. “What time do we need to leave for Zurich?”
That’s it.
That’s all I get.
Like nothing ever happened.
Fuck. That.
I lock my gaze on the sunglasses she’s hiding behind. “We almost slept together last night, and you want to know what time we leave for Zurich?” My voice edges sharp. “Christ, Jordan. So, what…” I pause, letting it hang. “You don’t want to sleep with me now?”
She sets her mug down hard. “Don’t be like this. We don’t need to make this a thing.”
“Why?” I lean across the table, lowering my voice. “Because you don’t want to talk about how you got drunk so you could sleep with me? How you took your underwear off and handed them to me just to fuck with me?”
“It wasn’t to fuck with you,” she snaps quietly. “I tried to sleep with you. You’re the one who didn’t want it. You’re the one who walked away.”
“Didn’t want it?” I scoff. “Jesus Christ, I was trying to be respectful.”
“It’s not like you don’t fuck with me,” she shoots back.
“Please. Enlighten me.”
“The other night in the hot tub? Dropping your towel last night?” She shakes her head. “You’re not so innocent.”
“But my intentions have never changed,” I say, tapping the table once. “I’ve been clear from the very beginning about what I want. And it’s always the same damn thing.”
Her gaze shifts away.
I wait.
She doesn’t look back.
I say it anyway. “You, Jordan. It’s always been you.”
She turns to me then. “Do you want me,” she asks coolly, “or do you just love the idea of me?”
“What are you talking about?”
She shrugs. “Sometimes I wonder if you just like this part.” She gestures vaguely between us. “The flirting. The banter. When it’s easy. When it’s fun.”
“For Christ’s sake,” I mutter. “Are you still looking for reasons not to be with me? Because it’s getting really fucking old.
” I lean in again. “When are you going to stop listening to all the noise outside of you and me and just let yourself be happy? Take what you want for once in your damn life.”
She lifts her chin. “And what is it that I want, Matt?” she asks, hand in the air.
“To fuck you?” She continues before I can answer.
“Sure. There. You got me. Yes, I wanted to fuck you.” She lets out a humorless laugh.
“I haven’t had sex in months. I’m dying to be touched.
I need to be cuddled. I’m starved for affection. ”
Her words come fast now, tumbling out, raw and truthful.
“So, yeah. I drank whiskey so that this morning I could wake up completely satisfied from you fucking my brains out and have something to blame it on.” She looks at me, fury blazing behind her shades.
“But you had to go and grow a conscience overnight and ruin that for me.” She exhales sharply. “There. You happy?”
Christ. Finally.
There it is. The truth.
I let the silence settle before I answer.
“I wouldn’t say that makes me happy,” I say softly. “But it’s the first honest thing you’ve said all morning.”
“Well,” she says flatly, “it’s like you said last night. I had too much whiskey.”
Our server arrives, setting my coffee down between us. “Are you ready to order?” she asks.
We both hesitate. I haven’t even looked at the menu.
“I’ll just have a croissant,” Jordan says.
“I’ll have the same,” I add, mostly so the server will leave.
She walks off, and I turn my attention back to Jordan immediately.
“Can I ask you something?” I say.
She sighs. “Sure.”
“Why do you feel you need to be drunk to sleep with me?”
“Jesus,” she mutters under her breath. “Are we still talking about this?”
A quiet chuckle slips out of me. She’s a fucking firecracker today. Sensitive. Feisty.
“You know what I think?” I ask, half to push, half because I need to say it.
She lifts her mug, lips tight. “What do you think?”
I hesitate. She’s annoyed. I know that. But I can’t keep doing this. The pretending. Acting like we don’t want more than we do. “I think you got drunk because you were afraid of what you might feel after.”
She stills.
Then she bites.
“How insightful,” she says, unimpressed. “Coming from the guy who’s so good at expressing his feelings.”
Of course she goes there. I press anyway. “You don’t want to do this sober because you might wake up and realize you want to stay. That you actually like being my wife.”
“What is that even supposed to mean?”
“It means”—I tap the table again, firmer this time—“that you don’t like wanting things that don’t come with an end date. Because then you’d actually have to admit you want this. That you want me.”
She scoffs. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. That’s not true. And in case you forgot, this does have an end date. You said so yourself.”
I start to say something but she keeps going.
“God,” she huffs. “Do you even understand what you’ve asked of me?
” She swallows hard, like she’s barely keeping it together.
“For Christ’s sake, Matt. You asked me to marry and divorce you all in the same breath.
You flirt with me every day. You make jokes about fucking me like it’s inevitable.
” Her fingers tighten around her mug. “And then the one time I finally stop fighting it, you walk away.”
“Babe, I—”
“This isn’t easy for me. I can’t just turn feelings on and off. I can’t separate sex and—you.”
I let that sink in.
Shit.
I don’t think it’s ever been just sex for her.
I shove the realization down for now, focusing on what I need to say.
“You don’t have to plan your escape, Jordan,” I say, quietly. “You’re allowed to stay.”
She goes still again. Then her gaze lifts to mine. “Is that what you think?” she asks, softly. “That I don’t ever want to stay?”
Her lips tremble, and—fuck.
“Babe...” I murmur.
She swipes at her cheek, catching a tear before it falls.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I say quickly. “I just—” I pause and take a breath, steadying myself. “All I’m saying is… the exit’s optional. It always has been.”
She doesn’t respond, so I add, “I’ll be here. Just like I always have.”
A full minute passes, maybe longer. She stares down at the table, gathering herself, breathing through it.
“I know,” she finally whispers.
She reaches across the table and I take her hand, giving her fingers a squeeze. Then I stand, pull the chair beside me closer, and sit down next to her. My hand comes to her back, moving in slow, soothing circles.
“Hey,” I say, softly. “I’m right here.”
She leans into the touch just slightly, giving me a small, fragile smile. “I know,” she says again.