Matt
NINETEEN
Zero focus.
That’s how I’ve been since I peeled myself from Emma last night. I barely slept. Her lips are still on me. Her scent, the way she sounded under my touch. I had to use every ounce of self-restraint not to lift her up and pin her against the door until the only thing left was making it inside.
If this were anyone else, this morning would’ve been wildly different. But this is Emma. My girl. She’s been hurt enough; I won’t be the reason it happens again. That means sitting in bed for hours, replaying every shared moment from this weekend… and doing absolutely nothing about it.
Keep going.
“Earth to Matt,” Ben says, snapping his fingers in front of my face.
“Sorry.” I clear my throat. “Little bit distracted.”
“I see that… does it have anything to do with Emma, by any chance?” he asks, tilting my head to the side. “You’ve got something right here.”
His finger lands on a tiny hickey at the side of my neck. Barely visible, unless you do makeup for a living. At what point did that happen?
“There goes hiding it,” I deadpan, even as an uncontrollable grin breaks across my face.
“Way to go, Matty!”
“Let’s not celebrate yet. I can still mess things up. Or she can decide I’m not enough.” My thoughts start to spiral. “Anything can happen.”
“Madre mía, tío.” Ben laughs. “You need to get laid. Maybe then you’ll finally get out of your own head.”
“Don’t we all,” I mutter.
“How about, for now, you stick to being yourself?” he suggests. “And stay still. I have work to do.”
Be myself. What would I do if I wasn’t terrified out of my mind about losing her?
I take out my phone and send her a text.
Morning, honey.
Three dots pop up. Disappear. Then come back again. I’m staring at the screen like it’s going to decide my fate.
Mills
Hi, babe.
How’s set going?
Babe. Heat rushes straight to my face, and other places that are not helping my focus right now.
Wow.
What an upgrade from ‘Matthew.’
I’ll take it.
Mills
After yesterday…
And don’t think it doesn’t pain me to say this, but—
You deserve it.
That good, huh?
I shouldn’t push my luck. I know that. But teasing comes so easy with her, like it’s second nature. Can’t help it.
Mills
Not the best I’ve had, but good for you.
A chuckle slips out. I can read right through her.
Funny.
You weren’t saying that yesterday when you were begging me not to stop.
It’s okay though. You know I love a challenge.
Mills
I DID NOT BEG.
I grin like an idiot, thumb hovering over the keyboard, already thinking of five different ways to push her buttons and deciding, very to my dismay, not to take it too far.
“Is that Emma?” Ben asks, working product into my hair. “Tell her I say hi.”
“You don’t want to be involved in this conversation.” I laugh.
“That spicy?” He gasps. I shoot him a look. “Alright, alright.”
You keep making things more and more interesting, honey.
Mills
I might have to stay away from now on.
Not sure you can handle me being around all day.
May I remind you…
You’re the one who kissed me first.
Her comeback pings instantly.
Mills
Allegedly.
I roll my eyes. Ben’s eyebrow raises, but he doesn’t comment. I type up another message then hesitate.
I miss you.
My thumb hovers over send. It might be too much, too soon. She bolts when things get too real. I’ve seen it. The last thing I want is to give her a reason to run.
I backspace.
You’re a bad influence.
Mills
Isn’t that the best kind?
It is when you’re around.
Not the same if I have to ask Ben permission to kiss him.
Mills
We might be able to arrange something.
Does your trailer lock?
I choke on nothing, coughing into my fist as heat floods my face. Ben pauses mid-motion, watching me like I’ve just short-circuited.
You’re a tease.
Mills
You make it too easy.
Yeah, I guess I do. Probably because I’d actually lock us in my trailer without a second thought if given the chance.
Withdrawals are not for the weak. It’s been less than twenty-four hours since I last saw Emma.
She’s not offered any plans to meet. In my mind, I’ve narrowed it down to two options: either yesterday didn’t mean the same thing to her as it did to me, or she doesn’t fully believe how much I’m into her.
The first is out of my control. The second…
In a split-second decision, I grab my car keys and head to the nearest Chinese takeout spot. My gut’s always been right, and right now it’s telling me it’s time to show up.
I don’t know if she’s going to be alone. She might not even be home. Doesn’t matter. I need to see her.
My personal record is crushed by the time I’m knocking on her door, slightly out of breath and holding to overstuffed takeout bags enough to feed a family of six.
“In case you thought I wasn’t fully invested in wooing you,” I say the second she opens the door, lifting the food.
“Are you bribing me?” she asks, wiggling her eyebrows.
“Is it working?”
“Depends on what you brought,” she shoots back, but steps aside anyway.
I walk in and immediately get hit with Emma. Not just the scent but the space itself. It’s her. Everywhere.
The apartment’s small but put together in a way that feels like it’s been growing with her overtime.
A compact kitchen sits behind a half wall with two mismatched stools tucked underneath.
The living room opens up enough for a deep couch facing the TV, a low coffee table buried under snacks and notebooks, and a worn leather armchair I’m sure is inherited.
At the back, a single door that sneak peeks her bedroom.
She’s got two framed prints of surfers above the sofa: one dropping off the face of a massive wave, the other tucked clean inside a barrel.
A couple of plants cling to life in the corners, and a stack of newspapers leans precariously against the wall.
Photos are everywhere. Friends, family, adventures, and the most recent one from the wedding.
Surprisingly, I haven’t been cut off of.
Emma drops to the floor by the coffee table, leaning back against the couch. She starts stacking her open notebooks and laptops, quick and efficient, as if they held secrets I can’t be trusted with yet. I don’t take it personally.
“In my house, we don’t actually use tables,” she says, tapping the space next to her.
I kick off my shoes and slide down beside her, overjoyed she feels comfortable enough to invite me into her world like this.
It hit me then—how easy this feels. As if we skipped a few steps somewhere. Or maybe we were always destined to end up here.
“No judgment, but do you always eat on the floor?”
Emma nods. “My house my rules.” She laughs. “Except when my parents come around for a visit. Then it somehow turns into their house, their rules.”
“Well, for one, I’m happy I made the cut. I like sharing these things with you. I might even start doing it myself.”
She giggles, and I lean in to bump her shoulder with mine.
“It’s a very exclusive club. You should feel honored.”
“How exclusive are we talking about here?” I tease. “Private club exclusive, or like… FBI most-wanted list exclusive?”
Her posture shifts beside me. Subtle, but there. Something tightens. I get the sense this could turn into something heavier for her, so I leave it alone.
She answers anyway.
“The Harrisons, Olivia… now you,” she says quietly.
Then she takes a deep breath. “The guys I’ve seen the last couple of years never made it far enough to even come over.
Week one is getting to know each other. Week two, I let them into my routine.
By the time week three starts, they’re somehow too busy for anything serious. ”
“Sounds like a them problem,” I say, keeping it light even though the idea of anyone getting a chance to date Emma and walking away from her is objectively insane.
“It is what it is. I learned not to take it personally,” she says. “I like getting to know someone before inviting them into my home. Let alone my bed.”
“Can’t say it’s been the same for me,” I admit.
Emma turns, eyebrows raised.
“Don’t worry. I haven’t been with anyone in almost two years,” I add, watching her reaction and hoping she doesn’t connect the dots. “I don’t like sharing either.”
“Why do I find that extremely hard to believe even after getting to the know the real Matt Hunt?” she teases.
“Probably because, no matter how many books I read, I’m still a man with… needs,” I say. “I mean, you’ve gotten to know my schedule pretty well. When I’m in the middle of a project, I barely have time to sleep. And when I do, I prefer to do just that.”
She scoffs. “What I know is how long a hookup takes, and if you really wanted to, you’d spare those ten minutes. Who knows, might only take you two.”
The rice box nearly slips out of my hands. I gasp, loud and dramatic.
“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response. Low blow,” I say with a laugh. “You’re not wrong. If I wanted to, I could. You want honesty? Here it is: I don’t want to.”
“Something happened almost two years ago that scarred you enough to go celibate… interesting,” she presses. “Pregnancy scare maybe?”
She’s so far off it almost makes me laugh.
“Is winning an Oscar not enough motivation?”
“I’ll figure it out.” She shrugs. “How’s that going by the way? Any news on the mystery role Jennifer was grilling you about that first day?”
“No news on that front yet.” I sigh. “What about you? Golden treating you right? Let me know if I have to get anyone fired.”
“Easy there, tiger,” Emma says with a chuckle. “Same routine, long hours, but I enjoy it.”
“I’m guessing, from having read your blog, you’ve always wanted to write. What took you so long?”
Emma stiffens. This time, her answer doesn’t come as easily.
“My blog’s always been a hobby.”
“The entries are excellent, Mills.”
“Yeah, well… regular people don’t always get to choose what they want to do. We find something that pays the bills and roll with it until we can move onto other things.”
“You know, Jennifer has tons of contacts in the journalism world here. I’m sure she could connect you if Golden’s dumb enough not to bring you on as a full-time writer.”
She shrugs again. “Thanks. I’m sure it’ll work out.”
The shift is still there. It’s nothing she says out loud, but I’ve been around her enough to know when something is eating away at her.
I don’t call her out.
If I want her to keep letting me in, I can’t force the door open.
With every switch of the boxes, we inch closer. By the time we reach the churros con chocolate Ben suggested, our legs are pressed together. I turn to face her as she finishes the last bite.
“This was delicious, but if you keep feeding me this much, we’re going to have to actually take up hiking,” she groans. “How do you feel about roller skating?”
“I think either we’ll be great at it, or someone’s going to end up with scraped knees and a broken tooth.” I laugh. “But hey, I’m in. I’ll wear a mouth guard.”
“That would be a sight.”
“Don’t move. You’ve got something… here.”
My thumb grazes the corner of her mouth, catching a small drop of chocolate. I wipe it away—then pause a beat too long before licking it off my finger.
The air shifts. It’s not sudden or loud. Heavier. Everything has narrowed down to the exact space between us. Tension sizzles.
“Careful there, Matthew. You’re showing your cards a little too much,” she whispers.
“Honey, I fold,” I answer, voice low, steady. “I’ve been dying to kiss you again.”
She leans in, her breath brushing mine, stopping just short.
“Then why don’t you?”
That’s all the confirmation I need.
I close the distance, and she’s ready. It starts out slow, tugging, biting, moaning into each other’s mouth. I can still taste the chocolate on her tongue. My hand comes up to brace her cheek, tilting her head backward to get better access.
Emma shifts. She growls at the awkward position, before swinging a leg to straddle me, settling into my space like she’s claiming it.
And just like that, I’m in trouble.
Her shorts leave very little to the imagination, and it takes everything in me not to let my hands wonder. Instead, I grip her waist, grounding myself. I’m holding on but not taking.
I try to slow it down, but Emma is full steam ahead, making it clear I’m now hers. Lips trail down my neck. Her hands find them hem of my shirt until they disappear inside—they don’t roam, but the contact’s there.
“Are you good with this?” I breathe, forcing the words out before I lose the chance to ask.
Her answer is a playful bite. She’s teasing, reckless, and almost convincing.
There’s nothing I want more than to take her into that bedroom and not come out until morning. But we’re going too fast. I don’t want her to regret anything later.
So, I pull back enough to see her. Really see her. The hunger in her eyes. The lack of hesitation. That part of her that doesn’t slow down until it’s over.
“I should go,” I murmur, even as my hands linger at her waist a second longer than they should.
“What?” Emma blinks, thrown. “You don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do.”
Not because I don’t want her. I do.
Because I want her to choose this clearly tomorrow, not to fall into it tonight. Familiarity won’t be enough to make her feel safe.
“You let me know how you feel in the morning,” I tell her. “We’ll go from there. No rush.”
“Frustrated, probably,” she mutters.
“Dig deeper.”
Emma groans but eventually nods.
We clean up together, brushing past each other quietly. She’s probably hating me for stopping us. Meanwhile, I’m in awe at how easy even something as domestic as this feels. Too easy for something this new.
Once everything’s back to its original organized chaos, I pull her in for one last kiss. Slower this time, fully controlled.
Then I leave.
Hoping like hell I’m not making us both suffer for nothing.