“Yeah, man,” I nodded. “Of course.”
I thought of telling him about us. About Chloe and me. But then I realized that I had no idea where I even stood with her. Was there even an us at all? It wasn’t like we were in a relationship or anything. We spend one night together, that’s it. One night does not equal an us.
That’s what I kept telling myself anyway. But I couldn’t deny the fact that we had some pretty outstanding chemistry. Or that anytime my mind tried to focus on the offer I got from Dalton, I thought of her instead and how she’ll react when I tell her about possibly moving to Vegas for who knows how long. Will she be happy that I’ve got an opportunity to live a dream of restoring the most prestigious classic cars in the country? Will she want me to stay? Will she even care at all?
“If I tell you something, will you keep it between us?” I asked.
“You know I will, buddy.”
“Did Craig tell you that Dalton Davis came into the shop yesterday?”
His eyes lit up, “Yeah, I heard. And if I wouldn’t have been with Liv, I’d be kicking myself for not being here to meet him.”
I shook my head and grinned, “You are so whipped, bro.”
He laughed. “Yeah, maybe I am. I’d rather spend my time with her than with some old man. Even if the old man is Dalton Davis. What about it?”
“He made me an offer.”
His brows raised in curiosity. “What kind of offer?”
I gave him a run-down of the weekend, including how I ran the security detail for Dalton’s event at Rain, my run-in with the ass-wipe that is his son, why he came to the shop, and what we talked about after Craig had gone back to his office—that he asked me to join the cast of American Muscle. I told him about everything…except Chloe. After I explained it all, he sat down in the swivel chair by his station, brows pulled together in thought.
“Fuck,” he said simply.
“I know,” I tossed my wrench into my tool chest and closed the drawer. “I like working here, Logan, and I like my job at Rain, and—”
“Are you kidding, Matt? You have to do it.” He stood back up and looked me in the eye. “You will never get this opportunity again. Yeah, I’d miss the fuck out of you, and we’d hate to lose you here in the shop, but if you pass this up because you feel obligated to your job or some shit, I swear I will kick your ass.”
We both knew he wouldn’t kick my ass.
“And when I fail at that, you ripped mother fucker,” he joked, “I’ll fire you.”
I chuckled, “I’ll keep that in mind, Boss.”
“Seriously, dude, why aren’t you jumping at this?”
Because how can I leave before I even define what’s happening between Chloe and me? Because I’m drawn to her just as much, if not more, than I’m drawn to this opportunity.
Aw, hell, who’s whipped now? And how could I tell him without revealing too much?
“Remember Maya?” I asked.
“I know of her. Just from what you’ve told me,” he replied, squinting like he was trying to figure out why I brought her up.
Logan and I had known each other for ten years. Our dads were old high school buddies, and we’d see each other at family parties and get-togethers through the years. Even though he was a few years younger than me, we considered each other friends from an early age. We had drifted a bit during my late high school years, but when I returned home from overseas and got the job at Tanner Automotive, we became close again. Close enough for me to confide in him about Maya one drunken night.
His eyes lit up in awareness. “Is this about a girl? It is, isn’t it?! This is about a girl. Who is it?”
Fuck. Why did I open my mouth? “Simmer down, sunshine. There is no girl.” I scowled at his grin, which only widened it.
“Yeah right. There’s a girl,” he insisted.
“Fuck it. There might be a girl, but it’s so early on that I don’t even know if it’s anything real.” I let out a groan, “All I know is that it’s different with her.”
He nodded, absorbing my words. “Just tell her, dude. Do what you didn’t do with Maya and tell her about the offer. See how she reacts. Then decide what you want to do from there.”
He was right. One step at a time. I still had the rest of the week to decide. My first step would be to tell her.
Chapter Three
~Chloe~
Present (Christmas Day)
“I just want you to know I’m not entirely comfortable with this!” I called out from the bathroom as I sprayed my half-ponytail, making a mental note that I had to touch-up the fading pink ends. Maybe I’d try a different color next time…
“Clock’s ticking, Pink! Time to go!” Matt called from the living room, completely avoiding my comment.
“Go right ahead,” I rebutted as I walked down the hall toward him. “My Christmas movies are calling me. They want me to stay home with them.”
“Nice try, but—” He paused as I entered the living room, losing the thought, giving me a once-over instead. “—damn, girl, you are fucking hot like that.”
I looked down at my grey ‘New York’ sweatshirt with white under-tank, matching grey Uggs, and mildly distressed jeans. He must be joking. “What do you mean? This outfit says ‘friend,’ right? I don’t want to give any false impressions here.”
“I’ve never heard an outfit speak before, Pink. All I know is that I’m really diggin’ the way that sweatshirt almost falls off your shoulder like that.”
He took a step closer, reaching his hand out like he was about to take me behind the neck and pull me in. God, I wanted him to do it too. So badly that I impulsively leaned in, awaiting his touch, bracing myself for it, knowing how it would send shivers up my spine and a fever to my skin the way no one else’s touch ever had.
It wasn’t just the physical contact that attracted me to him either. I had missed him terribly in the two days we had been apart. Simply being around him gave me a certain kind of peace. A sort of confidence that I almost forgot existed underneath the layers of unfavorable events and questionable choices I’ve made that have kept it buried over the last few years.
Because when he looks at me, not only does he see someone better than the person I really am, but he makes me believe that maybe, if I tried hard enough, I could actually be a good friend to someone. That maybe, it would be okay to love and be loved in return. Even if it meant being hurt in the end.
What the hell am I thinking?
I instantly tensed at the critical realization that those kinds of thoughts would do nothing more than set me up for inevitable disaster.
I swatted him away, “Stop! Dammit! You can’t act like that today!”
I heard him groan as I stormed to my room to change into a different shirt and compose my thoughts. As I filed through the clothes in my closet, embarrassed by my outburst and infuriated with myself for being so weak, he knocked on my door.
“What?” I called out.
He hesitated, “Let me in, Chlo.”
“Door’s open.” The hangers screeched against the rod as I continued to frantically comb through shirts, not even absorbing what I was looking at.
My back faced the door as I heard the latch click open. Heard him sigh. Felt him behind me. I couldn’t help but notice the defeat in his voice when he said, “Stop for a second and look at me.”
I did as he said, the empathy behind his eyes calming me. Just as he was about to speak, I beat him to the punch.
“I’m sorry, okay?” I confessed, “I don’t know how to do this. I’m not comfortable meeting your family. Or maybe I’m totally fine with meeting them, but I’m not exactly sure what you think it all means, and I’m just worried that—”
“What?” He raised a brow. “That I’m going to get ‘googly-eyed’ with you?”
He remembered what I had said at Ricci’s that night.
“Look,” he continued, “I’m not gonna lie. I can’t stop thinking about the other night, and I’ll probably have a rea
l hard time not touching you today. But I’m not going to make you or anyone else feel like I want you to be my girlfriend. Because I don’t. I like that we’re friends. I refuse to ruin that, and the last thing I need right now is a relationship. So as of now, just—” He held back a grin, and I wondered why he was smiling when I was about to actually die from his words which had just essentially squeezed my chest so tight that I couldn’t breathe “—keep your hands to yourself, woman, because you can’t have me.”
When that final sentence registered in my mind, I laughed out the anxiety I had held in and became surprisingly relieved by the way he made light of it all. With that one silly comment, he had taken all the pressure off, not only making me believe that meeting his family today would be no big deal, but also that the unique connection we had with each other was completely okay just the way it was.
It then struck me that I didn’t have to worry about the future with him because with us, there was only now. No yesterday. No tomorrow. Just this moment. I took comfort in that thought.
He looked beyond me, to my closet, and pulled out a shirt. “Here," he said, handing the hanger to me. "Wear this.”
“A hoodie?”
“Yeah. It’s simple. Comfortable. It says, ‘there’s nothin’ to see here, people. I’m just kickin’ it with my comrade, Matt, whom, mind-you, I am not fucking.’”
I laughed, “It says all that, huh?”
He nodded, “And it’s red. For Christmas.”
I took the raspberry-colored Hollister sweatshirt and held it out in front of me. The red hue had a deep pink tint that wasn’t exactly a Christmas red, but would go well with my hair. It would be perfect, actually.
“Christmas red?” I teased.
He smirked, “More or less.”
Maybe it was his telling me I couldn’t have him, or maybe it was the fact that he had just made me feel completely at ease, but at the moment, I wanted nothing more than to be wrapped in his arms.
Damn him and his reverse psychology.
He turned to leave the room to let me change in peace when my voice stopped him. “Why are you so nice to me?”
There were a million and one reasons for him to run as far away from me as possible and never look back. He knew I was damaged goods. He knew I was capable of breaking up at least one relationship. He knew my reputation.
I expected him to throw pity at me. Part of me even thought he’d simply say the sex was good. Instead, he cocked his head and looked at me like I was crazy, “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Then he walked out of my room, closing the door gently behind him.
That was the moment it occurred to me that I wanted to be the version of myself that he saw when he looked at me. It was the first time I pondered the idea that maybe I was capable of more. It was the point where I decided to try.
He smiled when I came out a minute later wearing the shirt he picked out, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t look me up and down this time either. In fact, the sexual tension between us no longer charged the air.
There was something else in the air, though. Something deeper…more comfortable. And when I walked over to him, cupped his cheeks in my hands, and touched my lips to his, I didn’t do it because I needed it to fill some void. It wasn’t the kind of kiss that leads to sex.
This kiss brought forth a different kind of intimacy. An unfamiliar kind that created a level of peace in my heart which I had never fully experienced before. It made me feel like I was floating. And when I moved my face away from his and saw the harmonious look in his eyes, I smiled. Because I knew that he felt it too.
A comfortable silence rested upon us as I put on my coat and grabbed my handbag. I appreciated that he didn’t call me out on being a hypocrite, the way I kissed him after telling him he couldn’t “be that way” with me today.
He held the door open for me, and as we walked down the apartment building’s corridor, I stopped in my tracks, grabbing his arm.
“Wait!” I blurted as I realized that I had forgotten to bring the only thing that he had requested. “I forgot my liquor.”
Knowing we were already late, I ran back to the apartment and quickly poured the whiskey-spiked cider that had brewed in the slow-cooker all morning into four large thermoses, while Matt waited patiently by the door with a weird grin on his face.
“What?” I asked. “You wanted this, right?”
He nodded, “Yeah. But…please tell me you said those specific words on purpose.”
It took me a moment to figure out what he was talking about. But when I did, I laughed.
Forgot my liquor. FML.
I had just used three consecutive words that created the same acronym I had written into my steamed-up bathroom mirror the day I hit rock bottom, after the dreadful morning at Logan’s place. Matt had changed that hopeless moment into something good by being there for me at a time when I needed a friend. And the next time I looked into that mirror, I didn’t feel quite so lost. Because not only did he brighten my day, he changed the grim meaning of that acronym from Fuck My Life, to something simple and sweet. Facebook Me Later.
I kept smiling at the reminder of his amity as we walked down my apartment building’s hallway. When we stepped outside, as the brisk air struck my cheeks, another—more erotic—memory hit me. FML was also the same acronym he used when I came clean about my promiscuous reputation. When he accepted me for who I was the exquisite night we spent seductively lost in each other. I took in a deep breath as the memory hit me, reigniting the passion from that night, my body tingling in reaction to the reminder.
“I’m not gonna worry about what will happen tomorrow, and neither should you.” He slowly moved his fingers back and forth against my panties, applying just the right amount of pressure, the combination of his compassionate words and seductive-as-fuck actions causing an unexpected whimper to sound from my throat, “Follow my lead, Chloe.” A realization hit him, and he chuckled the sexiest damn chuckle I’d ever heard, “FML, remember? Follow your instincts, and my lead.”
Chapter Four
~Chloe~
Present (Christmas Day)
Matt’s parents' home reminded me of the one I grew up in. A modest two-story with a front porch and detached garage. Colorful Christmas lights outlined the gutters and windows. Their Christmas tree glowed from the front window.
We walked up the candy cane-lined cement walkway and up the stairs to the front door with Matt carrying my box of cider thermoses. He had briefed me on the details of his family members on the ride over. His older brother, Dylan, a general contractor, would be there with his wife, Karlie, a special-ed teacher. Trey, his younger brother, still lived at home and had just started his first year of college. His six-year-old sister, Adalyn, had taken the family by surprise with his mom being forty-two when she was born, but the baby girl had quickly and easily captured the hearts of her older brothers. There was nothing they wouldn’t do to protect her.
I followed Matt into the home, the smell of home-cooked food wafting through the air and the sound of laughter and Christmas music resonating all around, the music volume a little louder than I’d expect it to be. We entered the living room first. A Christmas Story played on the TV with the sound muted, and an old man with suspenders and a cane resting next to him had fallen asleep on the couch, head tilted back and mouth wide open, producing a crackly snore.
“That’s Grandpa Jack,” Matt informed me. “He only wakes up when he gets hungry.”
Trey was on the opposite end of the navy blue couch, staring at his phone. I could tell it was him because he looked exactly like Matt, only a bit younger, thinner, and no tattoos. Unlike Matt, however, he had a full head of thick, messed-up hair. I wondered if Matt’s hair would look like that if he grew it out.
“Hey, Punk,” Matt called out, trying to be tough but sounding genuinely happy to see him.
Trey looked up from his phone and simply said, “Hey.” He looked beyond Matt, to me, and added, “Nice hair,” before
staring back at his phone. I wasn’t sure if the comment was a compliment or jab.
“Is that Matthew?” a woman’s voice called out from another room.
“Matty!” a child yelled just before her little feet pattered toward us, her dark brown ponytail bouncing with each step. Once she reached him, she grabbed hold of his leg for dear life.
“Whoa, Adalyn, careful! I don’t want to drop this on you,” he said, laughing as he lifted the cider further into the air.
“Here,” I said, “I’ll take it.”
I took the box from him, and he picked up his little sister.
“Holy cow, Addie, you’ve gotten stronger since I last saw you,” he said as she squeezed him with all her might. I’m not sure if I was smiling because he had just said holy cow, a phrase I hadn’t heard in years, or simply because the sight of him being so affectionate with this little girl was so endearing.
His mother walked to us with a dishtowel in hand, slinging it over her shoulder when she reached us. The color of her chocolate, wavy bob matched her daughter’s hair color perfectly, except for a few greys scattered here and there. As Matt put Adalyn down, he greeted his mom with a hug.
She turned to me with a genuine smile. “You must be Chloe. I’m Rebecca. It’s very nice to meet you,” she said, extending a welcoming hand.
“You too,” I replied, accepting the handshake. Even through her tired eyes, she was beautiful.
“Keith!” She called to her husband, “Come help Chloe with her things!”
I could see where Matt got his height from when Keith, a brawny man with a greying beard, walked toward us and said warmly, “Hi, there.”
“Hi,” I replied as he took the heavy box of beverages from my hands and walked away with it. “Thank you.”
“Don’t be shy,” his mother said, leading us into the house “Come on in. We’re very informal here, Chloe.” She turned to Matt, directing, “Your coats can go on our bed.”
I handed Matt my coat and watched as he headed up the stairs to put them in his parents’ room, Adalyn following after him.
The Fragile Line: Part Two (The Fine Line #3) Page 2