***
After that one last Slippery Nipple, Matt convinces me it’s time to head home. When we walk into the apartment, Matt says goodnight to Macy and drags me back into my bedroom. I wave at Macy, and she shoots me a smile that says, I’m really happy for you, Mac.
At least I hope that’s what the smile means. Or it could mean, I hope you don’t puke on your shoes but if you do, it’s Matt’s problem.
As soon as my bedroom door is closed, I spin toward Matt and reach out for his belt buckle. My fingers fumble for a second but then his hands close over mine, quieting my movement. “No way, baby. You’re too drunk.”
I make a pffft sound, which, in hindsight, really makes me sound drunk. “But honey… I want it.”
I’m going for seductive and sexy, but I think I may be coming off as drunkenly whorish. To my relief, Matt gives me a soft smile and pulls me into a hug. He kisses the top of my head, and I can’t help but sigh in contentment to be wrapped up in him.
“You can have it,” he assures me. “Tomorrow…when you’re sober. So for now, go brush your teeth and takes some aspirin.”
I huff and puff but, honestly, the room is sort of spinning, so I totter off to do what he says. After brushing my teeth and popping two Tylenol, I quickly remove all of my clothes, leaving them lying on my bathroom floor. I probably am too drunk to have sex, and seriously, I don’t want to have sex with Matt and not remember it. That would be a freakin’ travesty.
When I come out of the bathroom, Matt is lying in my bed. His chest is bare, and the covers are pulled up to his waist. I know him well enough to know that he’s completely naked underneath. He loves to sleep in the buff.
Although I’m drunk, I still have enough of my wits to enjoy the hotness of Matt Fucking Connover in my bed. He looks like perfection lying there.
I crawl over him to reach my side, wrestling my way under the covers and collapse beside him in a fit of giggles. Scooting closer to him, I put my head on his chest while his arm comes around to hold me close. Reaching out to the lamp beside the bed, he turns it off and plunges us into total darkness.
And as always happens when you’ve had too much alcohol and the inhibitions are completely obliterated, I lay it all out on the line.
“Hey, Matt?” I whisper loudly. Really, really loudly.
“Yeah.”
“I think I love you.”
I’m met with silence, but he squeezes me in response. I wait for something else, but he remains quiet.
“I’ll probably regret saying that tomorrow, but I just had to say it.”
“You won’t remember it tomorrow, Mac.”
“Yes, I will,” I assure him with confidence. “I may not remember telling you, but I will remember I love you. That’s just not something I can forget.”
He leans over and glides his lips over my forehead. “You’re something else, Mac.”
His words are soft and genuine. He is not displeased by my proclamation. I may not get the words back in return, but I know that our relationship just got a little deeper.
There have been many times over the last several weeks that I’ve been nervous in my relationship with Matt. The first time we met and I stripped in front of him, my first day of work when I realized he was my boss, and my drunken proclamation that I loved him.
Yes, those were all moments of extreme apprehension.
And yet, none of them compared to the way I feel right this moment before I knock on his apartment door.
Matt has Gabe this weekend. It wasn’t his regularly scheduled visitation, but his ex-wife called him late last night and asked if he could take him. She apparently wanted to take an impromptu weekend trip with her new boy toy.