“She asked you?” Ouch. That took me down a notch.
“Told, asked. I don’t know.” Matt turned and gave me a dour look—one I was starting to recognize. The I’m about to tell you a hard truth look. “Baby bird, when it comes to the agency, you need to think of me as a majority shareholder, okay? Yes, I’m your boyfriend.” A smile tugged at his lips. “But I’m also M. Pierce. Please remember how you got this job.”
I glared at him. “You got me this job. What has that got to do with anything?”
“Pam and I just want to make sure everything is aboveboard, okay? Things get a little complicated when you have an author dating his agent’s assistant, the assistant becoming an agent and working with new authors.” Matt gestured vaguely. “We want everything to work.”
“I don’t see the problem.” I clutched my new pen.
“That’s because there is no problem. Darling…” He returned to me, taking my face between his hands. This time, I pulled away.
“I wish you’d told me, that’s all. I feel stupid.”
“I wanted it to be a surprise for you.” He gave me an anguished look. “And it’s great news. We should—” He stepped toward me, I stepped back, and his voice faded.
“I have a ton of work to do.” I walk-jogged to the bedroom, my pride stinging. Matt sure was good at making me feel dumb lately—first with the fake TV engagement, now with my job. The job he got me, to be exact. Just when I was starting to feel confident …
I curled up on our bed and opened my MacBook. Maybe I’d catch up on The Vampire Diaries. Yeah, I had a ton of work to do.
My breath hitched when I heard Matt moving down the hall. I half-hoped he would come in, but the shadow of his feet passed.
*
“Bird?”
A strong hand moved my shoulder.
“Nngh.”
“Love, you fell asleep.”
The hand slid down my side, over my hip, onto my thigh. I sighed happily. A familiar form settled behind me. I nestled into that shape where I fit, shoulder to shoulder, back to chest, my rump finding an expected hardness and nuzzling it.
“Mm, fuck. Hannah…”
My eyes opened a crack. A button on my blouse—the shirt I’d worn to work—dug into my side. The room was dark.
“Hm?” I mumbled.
“I’ve missed you. God damn.” Matt climbed over me, his narrow waist parting my thighs. My skirt slid up until he pressed against my panties. His breath tickled at my ear. “I’ve missed your tight little *.”
In that groggy space between dreams and wakefulness, I forgot my hurt and savored his touch. The firm shape of him ground between my legs. He kissed my throat and my body arched to meet his. Home.
My eyes opened fully.
Matt, his expression dazed with desire, hovered over me. I actually pitied him for a moment. It would have been easy to give him what he wanted, because his longing was simple. My longing was difficult, extensive, and unsatisfied.
“Stop,” I said with a sigh. I wriggled away. He let me go, dropping onto his back and scrubbing his face.
“Jesus, Hannah.”
“S—” I clenched my teeth. No, I didn’t owe him an apology for not wanting sex.
We lay side by side, staring at the ceiling. Matt radiated frustration. I wondered if he felt my sadness. After a while, I sat up and smoothed my skirt over my thighs.
“Is this how it’s going to be?” he said.
“I don’t know.” I hugged my knees to my chest. Another long silence stretched between us. “Did you really think I wasn’t serious when I said marry me?”
“We’ve been over this.”
“But couldn’t you see how happy I was on the show? How much I believed it?”
“No.” He sat up. “I couldn’t see anything except an audience that wanted to crucify me. I was scared, okay?” He shook his head. “I was freaking out, I was alone, and then you appeared and said marry me and you were my only friend in the building. And once I said that to the audience, everything changed. Hannah, you threw me a lifesaver. Of course I used it.”
“But you used me, too.”
“I thought you would understand. That was a talk show. This is reality. Marriage, even engagement, is a big fucking deal. And you don’t—”
“Know you?” I pressed my fist into the bedspread. “I have seen you drunk, depressed, paranoid, um, jealous, crazy. I mean, what are you so worried about?”
“I don’t know. God. Things we might not even”—he touched my shoulder—“know about ourselves. We haven’t given ourselves time…” He turned me toward him and leaned in. Our lips met. Easy, this kiss. And I missed his mouth, his body, which I had pushed away for days.
I yielded briefly, curling my fingers in his hair. He moaned against my lips. The sound vibrated down my spine and desire hummed through me.
“God, you—” I pressed him back.
“Oh, fucking fine,” he hissed. “Let’s do it.”
“What?”
“You want to get engaged so badly? Is that what you need to believe I love you? Fine. Marry me.” His eyes burned into mine.
“No,” I snapped.
“The hell?”
“Are you serious? Jeez, that was such a heartfelt proposal. Really, it’s like your dick just proposed to me.” I flicked a meaningful glance at the swell in his boxers.
“No, I fucking proposed on behalf of my dick, which apparently gets nothing until I agree to marry you. Do you see how messed up that is?” He grabbed his pillow and stalked out of the room. The door slammed. My comeback died on my lips.
I crumpled, scooting over to the warm spot left by his body.
No tears. No tears. I squeezed my eyelids together, but I couldn’t silence my thoughts. Was Matt right? Was I giving him an ultimatum, marriage or nothing? We were fine—well, fine in a really dysfunctional way—until my stupid off-the-cuff proposal.