Emma
TWENTY-ONE
No self-sabotaging, I repeat out loud like a mantra while the coffee drips into my mug.
Turns out all I needed was my best friend back to give me a little push.
From all the information I’ve gathered, and taking Julia’s opinion with a grain of salt, Matt’s been honest, and he’s more interested than he’s letting on.
Yesterday’s surprise healed a big chunk of me. People sometimes say you come across one single instant that puts everything into perspective and that was it. Now I have to think of a gesture of my own.
Are you free later today?
He’s on set, so I don’t expect him to answer any time soon.
I grab my coffee, slide my laptop under my arm and walk over to the couch. My phone rings before I’ve taken my first sip.
“I’m always available for you, honey.”
His voice is low, but there’s a contempt edge to it.
“I thought you were filming today.”
“I am.” He chuckles. “I called for a five-minute break when I saw your message.”
“You called for a break?” I admonish. “Matthew…”
“Are you trying to convince me, or yourself, that you don’t love it?”
The bickering could continue for hours. I’d enjoy every minute and rejoice in my victory later. I think back to how speechless I was when this all started. Matt being blunt about what he was thinking, always having the upper hand. So, I take a page out of his book.
“Actually, yeah. I do love it.”
The line goes silent for a minute. I fist bump the air.
“Matt?”
“I’m here. Sorry.” He clears his throat. I bet his cheeks are flushed in that nerdy, but hot, way they tend to do when I catch him unprepared. “Do you have another outing planned?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Okay?”
“I have a date planned.”
The cringe I expected from using that word never shows up. And yet, I’m about to correct myself as it leaves my mouth. Luckily, Matt shoots back right away.
“Finally,” he teases. “I’ve been waiting for almost two years.”
When Matt shows up at my door, I toss him my car keys and hop onto the passenger seat without complaining. He tries to hide the grin pulling at the corners of his mouth, but his eyes betray him. Pure satisfaction.
I type up the address of the spot I booked this morning into the GPS, making sure the actual name doesn’t pop up. He follows the directions without asking a single question.
For all he knows, I could be taking him to a naturist cult colony.
Good for him. I’d have prepared a whole game of twenty questions before the car even left the curb.
“Turn in here,” I say when the warehouse finally comes into view.
“Batting cages?” he asks. Surprise tints his voice.
My thought process was simple: something competitive and physical where I actually stand a chance at winning.
Matt played varsity football in high school.
I played varsity tennis. If anyone here has a better chance at hitting a ball with a stick, it’s going to be me.
After all, years of reflex drills and aggressive net play have to count for something.
“Thought it’d be fun to get some exercise in,” I say, innocently. “It’s not outside, but it beats going to the gym.”
Matt opens the door for me, and I strut toward HomeRun Factory radiating confidence. It’s been cooking all morning, mentally preparing to humble this six-foot quarterback down to planet earth.
My feet stop dead at the entrance. Head swings back. I watch him stroll leisurely, hands in his pockets, smile on his face. He’s too relaxed.
Where’s the competitive spark? The ego? The masculine urge to dominate recreational activity? Especially when they include me.
I narrow my eyes, annoyed.
“Have you ever done this before?”
“A couple of times,” he says casually, stepping in behind me.
“Good. This might be quick then,” I shoot back.
My confidence survives exactly one round.
As soon as Matt steps up to the plate, I know I’ve made a catastrophic error.
His stance is a clear giveaway he knows exactly what he’s doing. He adjusts the helmet, taps the bat on the floor a couple of times, then squares up like a pro.
The ball shoots toward him at an indecent speed. Legally questionable, if you ask me. I’m halfway ducked behind the net when Matt swings.
Clean hit, straight to the back.
He didn’t even flinch. Barely any effort. There’s no way he has that much beginner’s luck.
“…okay, what was that?” I demand.
“What?”
“That was not ‘a couple times.’”
“I never specified how many,” he says, maddeningly calm. “You also didn’t ask.”
Oh, he’s cocky now.
Fine.
I march in determined to prove I can do better. I can restore my dignity. Sure, that machine launches the baseballs like military missiles, but I’ve volleyed worse. This is all about timing and concentration. That’s the key.
The bat settles over my shoulder like I’m setting up for a slightly elevated backhand. I step on the ‘go’ button in front of me and wait.
The pitch echoes. My eyes track it. I swing.
Miss.
“Fuck, too slow,” I mutter under my breath. “Again.”
Matt raises his hands, wisely deciding not to get between me and my stubbornness. Smart man.
I go again.
And again.
Four more times.
By the sixth swing, I don’t even know if I’m going early, late, high or low anymore.
“Mills,” Matt says carefully after another spectacular miss. “I thought you were right-handed.”
“I am,” I grumble.
“You’re batting lefty.” He pushes off the fence and stands. “Want to call it?”
“Yeah. No way.”
“It’s getting a little painful to watch.”
I shoot him a glare sharp enough to be considered assault. He doesn’t shy away.
“I played tennis.”
“This isn’t tennis.”
I switch hands with exaggerated determination and adjust my stance without any solid knowledge. He steps out of the cage and I try again.
The pitch flies toward me.
Miss.
“Okay—wait.”
Matt walks back over, reaching for the bat gently instead of teasing me.
“Which hand do you have more control with?” he asks.
I lift my right hand.
“You want that one on top.” He adjusts my grip. “It helps guide the swing. The bottom one gives you power.”
He curls my fingers around the handle, warms hands covering mine. Then he taps the inside of my shoes with his own until they’re spread about a shoulder’s length. One hand fixes my elbow, correcting the angle, while the other steadies me.
Every point of contact sends sparks straight through me.
Matt starts explaining something about speed, but my brain has already given up. I hear him, not process it. All I can focus on is the heat of his body behind mine and the steady rise and fall of his chest every time he breathes.
When his hands cup my face, I finally break through. Our gazes lock.
If he kissed me right now, I’d be out the door without another thought about baseball.
He doesn’t.
“Don’t swing early. Watch it come all the way in.”
“You’re being so bossy,” I mutter, eyebrow raised. “Are you trying to turn me on?”
His mouth twitches.
“Save that for later, honey,” he whispers. “You’ve got no idea how bossy I can be.”
“Big talk.”
Matt steps out the cage with a quiet laugh.
The next pitch comes and I swing just like he said.
The ball makes contact, messy and low, but still travels a couple of feet before bouncing the rest of the way.
“That’s it,” he cheers, grinning like a little league coach.
I keep going. Every hit gets a little bit cleaner, stronger. The soreness in my arms grows exponentially until it’s hard to keep the bat up.
“Okay,” I groan, pulling off the helmet. “I need a break.”
Two big steps and Matt’s in front of me, filling my personal space completely.
This time, I don’t mind it at all.
My arms wrap around his waist, and I melt against him, face hiding in the comfort of his chest.
“You did great,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
I tilt my chin up to look at him.
“You said a couple of times…”
His grin turns sheepish. “Played in high school too. Nothing major, though.”
I gasp dramatically. There goes my advantage.
“So this entire date was set up.”
“You brought me here.”
Potayto, potahto.
“Only because I was sure I was going to beat you.”
“We can keep practicing,” he encourages. “Swing’s getting better each time.”
“Can we come back every weekend until I win?”
I don’t register what I’ve said until I watch his expression shift into slight shock. His eyebrow raises. Matt goes still, caught off guard in the softest way. I can tell he’s trying not to react too hard to what I’ve accidentally implied.
“What if that takes ten years?” he asks quietly.
The question settles between us heavier than it should.
A future.
That’s what he’s asking. I don’t know what happens tomorrow, let alone a decade from now.
Relationships in my life have never lasted long enough for me to question this.
But standing here with Matt wrapped around me so naturally, I know one thing with certainty: I want more time. However much that may be.
“With your ego?” I tease. “Probably longer. You’ll sabotage me once I’m close.”
His laugh comes out breathless.
“Emma.”
I pull back slightly. Really look at him.
“Then so be it,” I answer.
Something vulnerable flashes across his face. I don’t have time to pinpoint it before he’s leaning down to kiss me.
His hand cups the side of my neck while mine bunch up the front of his shirt, neither of us pulling away when we probably should. Matt swallows a groan. I clear my throat weakly.
“Alright,” I mumble against his mouth. “Go back out there before we get told off for public indecency.”
“You sure you want me to practice?”
“Ideally, no. But I need a five-minute break.”
“That’s it?” Matt grins and leans close enough for his lips to brush my ear. “I hope your stamina’s this impressive in bed too.”
My jaw drops.
“Matthew!”
He backs away laughing. I stand there overheated, and unfortunately, very interested in finding out exactly what he means by that.
We end up staying for another hour. Matt notices I’m getting hangry and stops at a small café on the way back to get us some sandwiches. I devour mine in the car, sneaking glances at him when he’s busy with traffic.
The radio fills the silence, although it doesn’t need to. Not with us.
When we pull up to his place, Matt pulls over to the side of the road but doesn’t turn the car off.
“You’ve been quiet,” I mention.
“I’ve been thinking…”
“Oh, no. That sounds—”
“Would you like to come inside?” Matt blurts.
His voice shakes slightly and I can’t help but smirk.
“It depends,” I answer. “Are you going to kick me out if things get too intense for you?”
The car goes back into drive. His gate opens, and before I know it, we’re parked in front of his door. Well, there’s my answer.
“I didn’t leave your house the other night for lack of wanting.”
My stomach flips. Not nerves, more anticipation. I can’t tell which is worse.
“Oh, I know. That much was obvious,” I tell him.
Matt turns to me with a mischievous smile, and yet, by the way he leans away, I can tell there’s still something holding him back.
“Talk to me,” I say, placing my hand over his.
“I don’t want to mess this up. You waking up tomorrow and regretting it would kill me.” He doesn’t meet my eyes. “You’ve been let down by men too much. I’ve watched it happen. My wants have been on the back burner with you for so long a couple of days were not going to change anything.”
I roll my eyes. This is so on point with the new version of Matt hunt I’ve discovered. Selfless even when it comes to sex. It only makes me want him more.
“I asked you to stay,” I repeat. “I meant it.”
He turns to me. “I needed you to be sure.”
There’s no armor that could be strong enough to protect my feelings when he’s saying things like those. Words that sneak under my skin like they’ve found their new home.
“I am sure.” I lean up and kiss him on the cheek. “And listen, if you’re too shy, I’ll be happy to take control. Just because you talked big game back there doesn’t mean we have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”
I’m teasing, bruising his ego, and Matt knows it. He scoffs, takes the keys out of the ignition and circles the front until he’s hovering over my side.
“Now, there’s the man I was looking for.”
“Enough.” He unbuckles my seatbelt. “Out of the car, honey.”
The walk inside is calm, neither of us wanting to be the first to break. But as soon as the door clicks shut behind me, Matt kisses me, restraints finally snapping.
His mouth is everywhere. On mine, nibbling my earlobe, dragging heat down my throat. Before I can catch a full breath, Matt’s body presses into mine, pinning me against the door. Air’s overrated anyway. Especially when Matt Hunt’s literally eating you alive.
My heart’s beating so fast I can feel my pulse stutter every single place he touches. I never let a man take control this easily, but my brain fully clocks out. There’s nothing more than I want than to be claimed, fully and wholeheartedly, by him.
I run my nails down his chest, all the way down to the edge of his pants, but before I can go any lower, he grabs my wrists and pulls my arms above my head.
He holds them there with one hand, while the other roams freely over my waist, my hips, my thigh.
It lands on my ass, and he gives me a playful squeeze.
It’s almost like he’s been dreaming about this for weeks, if not longer. Mapping out every curve of my body to cherish forever. I don’t complain. I don’t even need him to ask permission.
“Matt,” I groan, when his hand starts moving back up. His name alone seems to undo something in him.
He lets go of my wrists only to grab my hips and lift me like I weigh nothing. I wrap my legs around his waist and bring my mouth back to his. I bite down on his lower lip, and Matt answers with a low sound in the back of his throat before kissing me deeper.
For the rest of my life, I think. I need him to never stop doing this.
When I start to chase him, he pulls back enough to make me want to scream.
“You’re trouble,” he mutters against my mouth.
“Now you’re catching on?”
His laugh is brief, rough. I barely realize he’s moving us until the hallway disappears completely, and another door shuts behind me.
Matt sets me down slowly, as if his bedroom reset his pace. I take immediate advantage of the momentary freedom by grabbing the hem of his shirt and tugging it over his head. He doesn’t offer any resistance, but he steps back right after.
His eyes drag over me inch by inch. Appreciative in a way that makes heat crawl all the way up my neck.
“Is this what you want?” he asks, voice husky.
I nod, unable to form any sentences under his stare.
“I need to hear you say it, honey.”
“Yes,” I manage. “I want you.”
Matt’s mouth turns into a smirk.
“Good girl.” One small step closer. “Undress.”