9. Emma
NINE
Emma
I almost kissed Matt Hunt. There’s no denying that.
And even worse, I’m certain if Tom hadn’t interrupted us we would’ve.
It’s a mystery, how my hate for him is dissipating the longer I’m around him.
I thought after this project I would never want to see him again, but now that’s so far from the truth.
It’s happening slowly, in ways I can’t keep track of. One minute I’m waiting for him to slip up, and the next I’m noticing the way he looks at me with wonder in his eyes. Like he’s trying to see the real me too. And that’s dangerous.
Because if this is all an act, I’m the idiot falling for it. And if it’s not… I don’t know what to do with that version of him.
Maybe it’s not a bad idea to go out with Tom.
I’ve never wanted to date someone I work with, but how much damage can something casual do?
It’s been a while since I’ve been involved with anyone and my mind clearly knows this.
Why else would I be letting my guard down with Matt?
Nothing more than physical attraction. That’s all it is. It has to be.
Normally, I’m pretty good at ignoring my urges, but something about the actor has me on edge, to the point where I haven’t been able to write anything I’ve been happy with.
The way he went from hot to cold yesterday has me questioning what I missed for that to happen.
I mean, he did okay for his first time. It can’t be that, unless his ego is that fragile. Which… possible.
I’m munching on my sandwich, with my laptop screen split in half, one with my thoughts, one with my draft, and there’s only one theory that’s making sense. The same I refuse to believe.
My phone rings with a text message from ‘My man.’ I haven’t spoken to him since we got back yesterday.
My man
Sports clothes. Wear sneakers.
I’ll pick you up in fifteen.
He’s so to the point I can’t tell if he’s still in a mood. Lucky for me, I’m not afraid to push back.
After your grumpy showdown? No, thanks.
I didn’t agree to another day of this.
A few seconds later he’s calling me, and for the first time, I’m nervous to hear his voice. Ridiculous, I know. It’s Matthew. I don’t get this way around him.
“You said we would alternate,” he says, voice soft and pleading. “It’s my turn. I dealt with surfing. This is easier.”
My willpower lasts for a whole thirty seconds, then I end up strapped into the passenger seat of his SUV as we head toward Mount Lee.
“I don’t understand the obsession hot people have with hiking mountains,” I grumble.
“Oops, watch out there,” he teases. “Can’t let your true feelings show.”
That’s what he does every day. Keeps himself behind a mask, I think.
“It is what it is. I live by the truth.”
“Well, I’m glad you came. Compliments and all.”
“Only because you bribed me with coffee,” I answer, taking a sip.
It’s in a travel mug, and I’m almost certain it’s homemade. Annoying because somehow, it’s better than ever. But that’s too big of a compliment say out loud. By the way he’s looking at me, I’m pretty sure he knows anyway.
“Feels like a scam. Walk all the way up just to do the same thing on the way down. I could cry,” I complain.
“You can cry if you need to, Mills.”
“You won’t be saying that when you have to carry me up to wherever you’re taking me,” I say with a groan. “And don’t call me Mills.”
“You love it.”
I absolutely do not love it. I tolerate it.
Barely.
I forgot how much I hated this. We’ve been walking for forty-five minutes. I’m already panting, ready to turn back around and sit in the AC for the rest of the day. It’s so hot I can feel my skin tanning, and that’s with the five layers of sunscreen I slathered on.
I should’ve worn a shirt but ended up going with my matching sports bra and leggings combo. And every second under these rays feels like a personal attack for daring to try to look cute.
Matt’s wearing a white tank top and some black gym shorts. He’s already glistening with a thin layer of sweat, but he’s annoyingly happy.
“Did you put sunscreen on?” I ask, reapplying it on my face.
“I put on a normal amount,” he teases. “But I’ll let you rub some more on me if that’s what you really want to know.”
“I will not be doing any rubbing.”
“We’ll see…”
I’m so frustrated at the gravel path under my feet I don’t have the strength to bicker. Give me sports all day long. Surfing, basketball—surprisingly good given my height disadvantage—even football. But walking? I absolutely cannot. I’m being punished for crimes I don’t know I committed.
“Can we go back now?”
“I promise it’s worth it.”
I groan loudly, as if he’d just told me we’re going up Everest.
“Is this where you bring all the girls you’re trying to swoon?” I bicker. “You tire them out, then go back to theirs knowing they’ll be so exhausted you can sneak out without being noticed. Efficient, honestly.”
He laughs and raises an eyebrow.
“I could unpack that statement in so many ways,” he replies. “But not all. Only the ones with a chronic obsession with overalls who hate fresh air.”
“Says the book nerd,” I bite back. “Did you already forget about what we did yesterday?”
“Please, it barely counts as fresh air.”
“That’s because you couldn’t keep yourself above water long enough to breathe.”
He gives me an amused look, almost as if he was surprised my comeback was so fast. I would be if it were anyone else, but with him, it’s like I’m always locked and loaded. My brains skips the part where I’m supposed to think before speaking.
A few feet away, I spot a rock big enough to plop myself down on.
“I need a water break before I pass away and leave you carrying my lifeless body all the way down.”
Matt keeps pacing while I take the water out of my backpack and chug half of it.
He comes to a stop at the edge of the trail; shoulders relaxed with the view in front of us.
The higher we get, the better he looks. I wonder if it has something to do with the way the air feels cleaner, and the rustle of the trees.
“Would you like some?” I reluctantly ask, seeing as the only thing he’s carrying is himself. I don’t even know why I’m offering. He’s not Olivia. I don’t have to take care of him.
But Matt turns and nods. He must trust me more than I do him, because he takes it from my hands without questioning if I’ve poisoned it.
I’m not sure what I thought was going to happen when I asked, but it definitely wasn’t him bringing it to his lips. Where mine were and will be again. Great. Fantastic. Can’t he pour it from a distance like every other man?
I don’t comment on it. I put it away and start walking, leaving him behind, determined to get to the top so we can finish as quickly as possible. Preferably before I have another intrusive thought about his mouth.
“Before the paps caught wind of this, I used to go out hiking every week. It was a way to unplug and get some exercise aside from what I can do at home,” he says, catching up.
“No one would bother me. People would nod and say hi, but they’d never take time to study who I am.
I could be the real Matt hidden behind a cap. ”
The real Matt. Exactly what I thought. I wonder if he’ll fully admit to it or if this is as close as it gets.
“Isn’t that who you always are?” I ask carefully, dying to know the answer. “Who’s the real Matt?”
“He’s the quiet one. The one who’d rather watch a movie at home than go out to party.
The one who wants something stable, someone to love.
” He sounds honest, and I’m tempted to believe him.
But I have plenty experience with men lying.
“Most people only see the Matt Hunt who fits the action star brand.”
I take a moment to process what he’s saying. I’ve lived firsthand what it’s like to hide behind a name. In my case it’s simply The Scoop Anonymous. Except my version doesn’t come with fans, just consequences.
I’m too busy overthinking to watch my step. The pebbles under me shift, and before I can catch myself, I’m slipping, heading straight to the ground. Matt’s reflexes are better than mine, because he’s already in front of me pulling me up before my knees get scratched.
My heart starts pounding from the scare. Or from the memory of his firm, bare chest under my hands. Even now, he still smells ridiculously good. I still refuse to unpack why I keep noticing.
“You good there?” he says, letting go of my arms.
“I didn’t need you to save me,” I mumble, putting some space between us. We’ve been too close, too many times.
My pulse refuses to settle, so I go around him and focus on the hike before my brain can catch up with whatever that was. I need to get my bearings straight.
“I’d save you every time if you’d let me,” he says behind me.
That’s exactly how bad decisions starts and I can’t afford one.
Twenty excruciating minutes later, we finally get to a bench that overlooks the entirety of downtown, the Hollywood sign sitting a little way under us. There’s something about seeing the hectic L.A. life but hearing none of it that gives me goosebumps. It’s like watching chaos on mute.
Everything’s bathed in the golden light of midday, making the world look softer than it actually is.
“Fine,” I concede. “This doesn’t suck.”
Matt chuckles and sits next to me, bumping his knee against mine like it’s accidental (it’s not).
We sit in silence for a couple of minutes. Me, because I’m still trying to cool down. Him, deep in his thoughts. I’ve learned with my years of experience that the more space you give someone to open up, the more likely they are to do so. People hate silence almost as much as I hate hiking.
And that’s exactly what happens.
“I used to come here with my mom when she came to visit,” Matt says, almost to himself. “Apparently my dad loved hiking. Took my mom on crazy camping adventures. This was our way to stay close to him after he passed.”