“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.