"Nah." He chuckled. "I actually have one. You'll laugh, though. I'm not telling."
"What? No way, I won't laugh." Except I did laugh, and I heard my satisfaction and happiness in the sound. This felt like pillow talk. This felt like the kind of thing Mick and I used to enjoy when we first hooked up. Too bad nothing lasts. "It's probably something ridiculous, like... hot pink. Am I right?"
"Not telling. Hey, it's late."
"Pretty sure this classifies as early, Matt."
He laughed.
"Touché little bird. You looking forward to being home?"
"Yes and no. I miss my family. I miss Colorado; it's where I grew up. I'm pretty sure I'll be lonely, though."
"Lonely? You'll have your family."
"Not that kind of lonely."
"Ah." I could hear the smile in Matt's voice. "But there's no such thing as loneliness. There is only the idea of loneliness."
I blinked and sat up.
There is no such thing as loneliness. There is only the idea of loneliness.
"Matt, did you seriously just quote from Ten Thousand Nights?" I laughed. "Are you a Pierce fan?"
I heard a click, then silence.
"Matt?"
I frowned at my phone. He was gone. And it was close to 4:00 a.m. for me, 5:00 a.m. for him. I sent him a text.
Think our call got dropped. Or you awkwarded out and hung up. It's late anyway. I mean early. ;) Goodnight. Good morning. And thanks.
The motel mattress was like a slab of concrete, but I dropped into sleep within seconds. My sleep was full of dreams. My dreams were full of laughing green eyes, whispered demands, and hushed moans.
CHAPTER 3
Matt
_____
HANNAH SAID MY name for the first time in a motel bathroom somewhere between Washington and Colorado.
God, Matt... I can feel it, how wet I am.
It did something to me. It turned a feeling like a key inside me.
Then she asked if I was a fan of my own books.
That did something to me, too. It made me hang up.
I stalked through the apartment at 5:00 a.m., considering my rash of stupid decisions.
Stupid decision number one: giving Hannah my phone number.
Stupid decision number two: quoting from my own book. What are the odds Hannah would have read my books? I groaned and buried my face in my hands. Pretty fucking high, considering I'm a national bestseller four times over.
Stupid decision number three: phone sex with Hannah. I didn't even know the girl. I had a picture (one that was rapidly fading from my memory), a name and age, a few other minor details, and a growing fixation. And a girlfriend.
What kind of girl was Hannah, anyway? What kind of girl has phone sex with a stranger she met on the internet?
I had no room to judge. After all, what kind of guy has phone sex with a stranger he met on the internet? At least Hannah was single. Maybe I could consider the bathrobe incident an accident, but the phone sex was clear-cut cheating.
I was heading into scumbag territory, fast.
I grabbed my emergency Dunhills and lit one on the balcony.
I "quit" smoking five years ago, along with drinking and drugs, but I always kept a pack of smokes handy for situations like this.
At 7:00 a.m. I was still smoking and staring into the city. The morning was cool and clear; I could tell the day would be a scorcher. Denver came alive around me. Joggers crisscrossed the street, dogs barked, and car horns sounded.
I had calmed considerably by then, and I had pretty much reasoned away my stupidity.
Quoting from my own book: so what? No way would Hannah make the logical leap to me being M. Pierce. In the light of day, my minor freak out seemed ridiculous.
Giving Hannah my phone number (plus phone sex): I was taking my psychiatrist's professional medical advice, "opening myself to new experiences," "letting myself need people," and "eschewing the confines of social norms." Good enough.
My phone chimed. There was a short message from Bethany. She was in Gramado.