“You don’t think that’ll highlight the issue?” Matt said. “You know, put it in people’s minds that we’re worried about the public reception?”
“That’s already going to be in their minds,” Pam said. “What sort of disclaimer were you thinking, Hannah?”
“Something frank. Really to the point. Um … you know, ‘the author and publisher of this book are aware that it contradicts the factual account of events.’ And we could reiterate that it’s a fictitious reimagining of events, for entertainment only.”
Pam and Matt regarded me with thoughtful expressions.
“That’s … not such a bad idea,” he said.
Pam tapped her desk. “It would head things off at the pass, for sure.”
“And we wouldn’t need to say anything more.” I shrugged. “Our line would be right there, on every copy of the book, and people could take it or leave it.”
After the meeting, Matt stalked around my office, looking gorgeous and trapped. I kissed him and detained his attention for all of five minutes, during which he managed to finger me and lift me off the desk and leave me panting.
The doors were locked, but I broke our kiss and pressed him back.
“No more office sex,” I whispered. “That was a onetime thing.”
“Mm, I see.” He licked his finger clean.
“You!” I tugged his hair. “You’re bad.”
“The worst.”
He held me for a while—I couldn’t get enough of being in his arms—and I stroked his back and sides, though I knew I couldn’t soothe the restlessness out of him. It was in his nature.
“You impressed Pam in there,” he said. “And me.”
“Yeah?” I beamed.
“Mm. You’re constantly impressing me.”
I looked Matt up and down. “So are you.” We laughed and I finally nudged him toward the door. “Go write. I know you want to.”
“Is it obvious?”
“To me, yeah. Plus, I want to read the next chapter.” I scuffed my heel along the floor. “Um, no obligation, though. I know you probably wanna write other stuff, too.”
“Do I?” He chuckled and stepped out.
*
I swung by the condo after work to pick up the food Matt had bought for Chrissy. We ate a quick dinner together—leftover pizza—and Matt reluctantly produced the check.
“Five grand?” I gawked at it.
“That’s really not much.”
“I don’t think she has many”—I faltered at the words “baby-related”—“uh, expenses yet.” Matt had gotten weird and moody the other night when we’d almost talked about kids. Then he’d clammed up. I didn’t want to upset him again.
I had said my part, though, and he’d heard me loud and clear. I might never be ready for kids. Childbearing, childrearing, the whole business freaked me out.
“She should be eating healthy, at least. Organic food isn’t cheap. And eventually she’ll need those”—he waved a hand—“horrible-looking pants with the stretchy…” He trailed off, glaring at the pizza box.
Mmph, adorable. I kissed his cheek. “Do you want to come?”
“In a manner of speaking.” He grinned. “Nah, you know I don’t. Go on, before I change my mind about helping her.”
“You won’t change your mind.” I nuzzled him. “You’re too sweet.”
“Only for you.”
He helped me carry the grocery bags to the car and then watched me drive off. He always looked so forlorn—when I left for work, an errand, whatever. It was simultaneously heart-melting and heart-crushing.
I watched him grow smaller in the rearview mirror.
Then I turned the corner and started to miss him.
“Be cooler than this,” I muttered. From the dashboard, a plush patchwork squirrel observed me with beady eyes. A gift from Matt. Ugh, Matt, you’re turning me into a sap.
I rode to my parents’ house with the squirrel on my lap.
I’d arranged to meet Chrissy out back, avoiding Mom and Dad as much as possible, but no one answered when I tapped on the patio door. I tugged at the handle. Locked.
Fuck, everything would be easier when Chrissy told our parents.
If she decided to tell them.
I rang the bell and Dad answered. We hugged on the steps. He clung to me a little longer than usual, and a little harder, and I frowned when I drew back.
“Everything okay, Dad?”
“Just missing my girl,” he said. Guilt swamped me. I needed to visit more often.
“Is Chrissy around?”
“No.” Dad frowned at the floor. Chrissy’s choices of dress, occupation, almost everything, disappointed our father. “I thought she quit that job”—he meant stripping—“but she’s off at that place with some boy doing I probably don’t want to know what.”
Some boy?
“Dad, I gotta go. I’ll visit soon.” I gave him a quick kiss and dashed back to my Civic.
I called Chrissy on my way to Boulder.
“Han?” she answered. I heard music and voices in the background.
“Are you at Dynamite? Seriously?”
“Yyyup. Problems?”
“We were supposed to meet at home. I have—”
“Oh, no. Tonight? No, that was Thursday night.” A certain smudge around the edge of Chrissy’s voice told me she’d been drinking.
“It is Thursday night,” I hissed.
“I had to go out. Seth came by. Can you believe it?” My sister’s voice radiated awe. When it came to Seth Sky, she was a fan girl, not her usual cynical self.
My hand trembled on the wheel.
I ended the call and chucked my phone onto the passenger seat.
Matt wouldn’t like this, I knew, but I had to see my sister. I had to protect her.
I parked on the street and hurried down the alley, flashing my ID as I ducked into the Dynamite Club. The pink-red light, the throbbing music and scent of alcohol and perfume brought back the memory of being here with Matt. I paused in the crowd and closed my eyes. God, I barely knew him then … he was a captivating stranger … and at dinner and then at the club that night, he’d seemed so capable and controlled.
Only later did I get to know the rest of him. Broken Matt. Sweet Matt. Vulnerable Matt. I loved all of it, the good and the bad.
“You look like you’re having a nice dream,” someone whispered.
I kept my eyes closed and counted backward from ten.