Matt
TWENTY-THREE
Can a house change overnight?
Everything feels different since Emma stayed here two days ago. From the coffee mug still sitting in the sink to the towels hanging over the bathroom door. My bed somehow feels too big now that I know what it’s like to wake up with her pressed sleepily against my chest.
My entire house smells like her—at least to me—and it’s messing with my sanity.
A day and a half. Barely. That’s all it’s been since I saw her.
Filming wrapped late yesterday, and by the time I finally called, she was already in bed, half asleep.
We’ve been texting nonstop all day, but after yesterday’s flashy disaster, I need her back in my arms. It’s my job to make her feel safe.
Every minute apart is another I’m wondering if her overthinking will take charge.
I miss her.
I miss her in this quiet, aching way I don’t quite know how to manage.
Since getting home, I’ve distracted myself with setting up for game night.
My fridge is fully stocked with everyone’s drink of choice.
Emma’s favorite cookies. Julia’s salty crackers.
Harrison’s artificially flavored nacho cheese chips.
All spread out over the coffee table. Four pillows sit on the floor around it exactly how Emma likes it.
The charcuterie boards I bought sit off to one side, while our ancient Trivial Pursuit game already set up takes the other. I light candles, tidy the living room for the third time, then head into my bedroom to stress over what I’m wearing before realizing how ridiculous that is.
No one dresses up for game night.
Honestly, I’d be shocked if Emma showed up in anything other than leggings and one of those tiny crop-tops that make my mouth dry and mind spiral indecently.
The gate buzzer cuts through my thoughts. I check the time. Early.
Shit.
I thought I still had another thirty minutes to mentally prepare for seeing her again after… after having her in my bed.
I swap into a white cotton T-shirt and stick to the washed-out jeans I already had on.
Then the nerves hit. Hard. It’s absurd. I’ve done press tours in front of millions of people. Somehow Emma Miller can get under my skin without even being here.
I check the security camera and recognize Harrison’s car waiting outside. I buzz him in from my phone and head for the front door.
He’s alone, carrying a case of beer, and my brain immediately short-circuits.
“I’m in love with Emma.”
Harrison snorts and walks past me, not remotely alarmed.
“Yeah. Tell me something I don’t already know.”
“What?” I follow him into the kitchen. He cracks open a beer and hands it to me. Half of it is gone in one swallow.
“Matt,” he says, opening one for himself. “You’re acting like that was some huge secret. It’s been all over you face for, like… a year.”
“No, it hasn’t,” I argue automatically. I panic. “Shit. Do you think she knows? Why wouldn’t you tell me?! I thought we were best friends.”
“Mate, I’ve made a thousand comments about your crush,” he says with a smug grin. “You ignored all of them.”
“Yeah, because I thought you guys were teasing me.”
“Clearly, we weren’t,” he insists. “But don’t worry. Emma doesn’t know how deep it goes.”
“Are you sure?” I press. My freak-out makes zero sense and I know. But everything about this feels fragile right now. Complicated. We’re still working together. “After yesterday—”
“I thought she looked different today,” Harrison says, lifting his index finger like he’s solved a murder mystery.
“Different?”
“Yeah.” He chuckles. “Very strong ‘I’ve had sex with the man I want to marry’ glow.”
My beer nearly exits through my nose.
“Don’t feed my delusion, Harrison.” I drag a hand down my face. “Fear’s taking over. I can’t stop thinking about the article—how it could affect her career and mine. Public opinion turns ugly quick. Paparazzi were all over us yesterday. I know Hollywood and so do you. It’s brutal.”
“Yet I’m still married to someone entirely foreign from the industry.”
My head tilts. It’s true, but Julia also learnt to stay away from the internet from early on. Emma works for a magazine. Good lord, it barely gets more invested than that.
“She can smell bullshit from a mile away,” Harrison adds.
“Comforting.”
“It should be. If she’s with you, it’s because she sees something genuine,” he says. The ache in my chest loosens a little. “Emma doesn’t scare easy.”
“And what about the article?
“Don’t give her a lie to write about,” Harrison says, as the gate rings again.
We wait for the girls out by the porch. They climb out of Emma’s jeep laughing and shrieking about something before their eyes land on us.
Then I take her in.
Overalls.
Emma in overalls looking like every fantasy I’ve accidentally built over the last two years.
Jesus Christ.
Julia leans over and whispers something in Emma’s ear, making her blush the sweetest shade of pink.
I was worried she’d push me away like she did with the paparazzi. Instead, she’s a girl on a mission. She stomps straight to me and melts right into my chest, not a single care in the world.
“Matt and Emma sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” Harrison sings.
We both turn to him, and Emma’s glare is sharp enough that he raises his hands in surrender.
“Well,” I tell her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before cupping her cheeks, “if the song says it…”
Our lips meet halfway.
It’s unhurried, familiar… and dangerous.
Because the second she kisses me back, every single civilized thought leaves my body. The kind of kiss that makes me want to cancel the entire night and lock the door.
Apparently, she has more self-control than I do because Julia cheering us on while Harrison drags her inside is enough for Emma to pull back before things get too explicit.
Her fingers hook into the front pocket of my jeans for one final kiss, enough to completely ruin me for the rest of the night.
Trivial has always been women vs. men. That was before clear, solid couple lines were drawn in the sand. Tonight, it’s us against the Harrisons. Slightly terrifying, considering Emma turns into a different species when winning is on the table.
The game quickly settles into chaos. You wouldn’t be able to tell the girls are best friends from the trash talk coming out of their mouths.
Emma plops down on the floor next to me and I have to physically stop myself from staring at her too long. According to Harrison, I have hearts in my eyes. He doesn’t say it out loud, but I can read his expression as if it’s my own.
Instead, I focus on the board. Between her impressive knowledge of sports, entertainment, and science, and my random bursts of geography, history, and literature facts, we manage to collect the colored pie pieces in record time.
I roll a four and make it to the center for our final question. Julia picks history.
“Which Spanish explorer is famously credited with leading the first expedition to sail around the globe?” she asks. “Juan Sebastián Elcano, Ferdinand Magellan, Christoper Columbus, or Hernán Cortés.”
Emma turns to me—fast. We are now in a life-or-death situation.
“Okay, Matthew,” she says. “We can obviously rule out Columbus and Cortés. I think the other two were involved, but the question specifically asks for the first.”
My memory is hazy. I read a book about Spanish history last year, but I didn’t think it’d come in this handy.
“One of them started, the other finished it,” I say.
“I think it was Magellan.”
“Wasn’t he Portuguese?” I argue.
“Funded by the Spanish, though.”
The smartest choice is to let her pick. Save myself from being in the line of fire if it goes wrong. History, though, it’s my thing. I haven’t missed a question yet. She wants to win.
“Make a decision,” Harrison urges.
“Juan Sebastián sounds more Spanish to me…” I tell her.
She narrows her eyes. “Fine. We’ll go with him,” she agrees, after a beat.
Julia jumps up from the floor and does a little dance.
Fuck.
“Wrong! It was Magellan!” she confirms. “He started the expedition, Elcano finished it.”
Emma leans back smugly, and I let out a painful groan.
“Should’ve trusted I’m never wrong. Haven’t missed one the entire game. Let me make it clear that I’m not counting this toward my streak.”
Yeah. The way she’s been spitting out bizarrely specific facts no sane person knows about is unreasonably hot.
“You’re right, honey,” I say without thinking.
The room goes silent in that ‘I-can’t-believe-he-just-said-that’ way.
I don’t even realize the nickname slipped out until I meet Emma’s gaze. She’s flushed, biting her bottom lip.
No one acknowledges it further. Julia’s holding back a grin, Harrison’s too busy acting like the cards need urgent reorganizing. Should make it worse, awkward.
But damn. This is my girl.
I hold up my chin and own it.
Within two rounds, we’ve won. Emma swings her arms around my neck and pulls me in for a loud kiss on my cheek.
“Alright, lovebirds,” Julia says. “No more teams. I need a chance to actually win something tonight.”
“How about Rummikub?” Emma suggests.
“You’re always first one out,” she complains.
“Only ninety-eight percent of the time.”
Julia’s right. Beating Emma at Rummikub is tough. I can do it—I just never have. I wonder how long it’d take her to realize I’ve been letting her win for months. The enjoyment comes from watching her face light up when she places that last tile, less from doing so myself.
“I’m into some numbers,” I agree, holding back a grin.
“It’s settled,” Harrison says. “I’ll help you out, love.”
The game starts slow, but once everyone’s in, my brain goes into overdrive. Numbers interconnect with sequences, and colors like they always do. A thousand different combinations spill out like projections over my eyes.
I can see Emma’s head turning the same way until we both have one tile left. It’s her turn, but she can’t play. Instead, she draws. I could’ve won two rounds ago, but I follow her move. When she places one down, I do the same. She draws again, and so do I.
Then I notice it. The exact moment she realizes what I’m doing.
“Matthew…”
“Oh no,” Julia groans.
“… have you been letting me win this whole time?”
Julia gasps, as if the dots are connecting for her too.
“I plead the fifth.”
She studies me from across the table with such an intensity it makes my skin buzz with every ounce of desire I’ve been bottling up.
“I can’t believe this,” she whispers, before grabbing her two tiles and slamming the rack flat on the table. “I win again. No surprise now.”
“Quit your fussing,” I say. “You’re happy you won.”
“I am,” she mumbles, frustrated.
“Alright then,” I tell her. “That’s all that matters.”
The night winds down slowly after that. We play some lazy UNO until Julia starts to crash.
Everyone begins cleaning up even though I keep insisting they can leave everything as is.
No one listens. Emma stays beside me, drying glasses and dishes while the other two bicker about one of the trivia questions.
I catch myself watching her constantly. The way her hair falls over her face when she looks down, how the strap of her overall drops every so often, those perfectly manicured nails—and how they’re going to feel being dragged across my skin.
She’s stealing bites of food, pretending she isn’t hungry, moving around the kitchen while mumbling the lyrics to ‘Summer of 89’ like she belongs here.
Probably because she does.
At least, I want her here all the time.
“Alright friends, I should take this one home before she falls asleep standing up,” Harrison announces a few minutes later.
They head to the living room to grab their things. In a split-second decision, I reach for Emma’s wrist.
“You can stay… If you want,” I whisper.
“I thought you’d never ask,” she answers, giving me a chaste kiss. I didn’t realize how stressed I was about her rejecting me until the tension in my shoulders lifts off me.
“Em, you coming?” Julia asks.
“Um, I’m actually not.” She tries to play it cool but the blush creeping up her neck betrays her.
Julia comes over and gives us both a hug. Then smirks.
“Don’t forget to use protection,” she says.
“Oh my god, Jay.” Emma gasps. “Are you drunk? That’s so out of character for you!”
“Just looking out for you,” she adds, with a wink. “I’ve been watching this simmer for a long time… bound to get heated.”
“Jesus,” I mutter under my breath. “Are you trying to ruin the mood?”
Harrison chuckles, grabs her hands and heads to the door.
“Put the blinds down!” she yells.
Emma’s head drops onto the kitchen counter with a groan.
“Out. Now.” I physically push them out.
When I turn back, Emma’s hopped onto one of the stools, her eyes following my every move. She bites her bottom lip, and I have to take a deep breath to steady my pulse.
She raises her pointer finger and curls it a couple of times. I gasp and bring a hand up to my chest, spinning around, acting as if I’m checking to make sure she’s talking to me.
Her head throws back, and her giggles fills the space.
A sheepish smile tugs at my lips as I dance my way to her with the most ridiculous disco-level moves I can come up with.
The Cure’s “Friday I’m In Love” plays in the background.
When I finally reach her, she’s on the verge of tears from laughing so hard.
Her arms wrap around my neck, singing along dramatically.
It’s indeed Friday. And I’m absolutely, completely in love.