Instead, he just responded: See attached articles.
Well, shit! What a letdown. I could literally feel my depression firing through my veins over the fact that what Matt had been telling me over and over again was true. I was really nothing more than great sex to him. He wasn’t missing me, he wasn’t pining after me, and he sure as hell didn’t have time to flirt with me.
In fact, I’m betting he was already planning to hit One Night Only this upcoming weekend.
So, you see… that is why I’m too tired and depressed to do anything but head home and crawl into bed.
When I get to my apartment, I’m somewhat relieved that Macy is gone. She had left me a note that said:
Heading to the Hamptons to torture my parents for the weekend. See you Sunday.
Macy had invited me to go with her, but there was no way I was subjecting myself to that freak show. Macy and her parents despised each other, and they literally only got together to make each other suffer. It was sick and twisted, and so far out of the realm of my understanding. I lost my dad four years ago, and my mother and I were very close. We talked every day, by either phone or email, and there was nothing I couldn’t talk to her about.
Well, except maybe Matt.
While I adore my Macy-girl, I’m glad she’s gone because I don’t feel like being around her natural effervescence tonight. She’s like sunshine on a stick, and tonight I just feel like being depressed. I want to put on my stretchy pants and let my stomach hang out while I gorge on ice cream.
Which is exactly what I do. I put on my gray sweatpants, an old Columbia t-shirt, and my fuzzy slippers. I wash all of my makeup off, braid my hair into two pigtails, and curl myself up on the couch to watch a marathon of Law and Order: SVU with my two favorite men in the world… Ben and Jerry.
When I’m well into my third episode, and my ice cream carton is looking pathetically empty, the doorbell rings. Getting up from the couch, I shuffle to the door, intent on ignoring whoever is on the other side. When I put my eye up to the peephole, my skin gets all prickly with awareness.
Matt is standing there in a rumpled suit with his briefcase in one hand and his travel suitcase in the other.
I take a moment before I open the door to do a mental checklist of how bad I look.
No makeup.
Check.
Bad hair.
Check.
Frumpy clothing with an ice cream stain on front.
Check.
Fuzzy slippers that look like something my grandma would wear.
Check.
Oh, hell… this is just sex, so let’s see how bad Matt wants it.
I pull the door open and give him a smile, making sure he can get a good gander at the hot mess that is McKayla Dawson. “What are you doing here?”
In true Matt fashion, his eyes rake down my body slowly and back up again. When he meets my eyes, there’s no mocking over how frightful I look. Instead, his eyes look fevered and his voice is husky when he says, “I’ve been fantasizing about you for two days. Why wouldn’t I be here?”
He steps up to me and leans down to nuzzle my neck, his arms going around my waist. I push back at him, but he doesn’t let me go.
“Matt… I look a mess. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“You look beautiful, and you’re going to invite me in so I can fuck you senseless.”
Yes, please… I’ll take two!
I immediately step back when his grip loosens and motion for him to come in, closing the door behind him. He sets his briefcase down and removes his jacket to lay it over the back of the love seat. Perusing the large living room, he takes in the Brazilian hardwoods, the expensive leather furniture, and the custom drapery.
“How do you afford this place? I know I certainly don’t pay you enough to live here.”