And even after his birthday, when I finally coaxed Matt out of his funk, he lived like a hermit. The condo was his cell. From its windows he watched the city he loved, where he used to move freely, an unknown observer. But that city had turned on Matt with its insatiable twenty-first-century curiosity, and the more Matt hid, the hungrier people got. He was “Denver’s author,” and they were proud and proprietary. His good looks, his wealth, his damaged past, and wild youth became the stuff of tabloids, literally.
M. Pierce sightings were tweeted.
Young writers haunted the agency’s steps.
Pam received a never-ending deluge of mail for Matt. Clothing, food, books, love letters.
“Wait it out,” I used to tell him. “You’re a fad. This craziness won’t last.”
But he couldn’t wait.
“My life will never be the same,” he said. “I’ll never be free.”
I ran the shower too hot and hissed when the water hit my skin. Unwelcome thoughts kept cropping up—Shapiro, Snow—but I tried to focus on Matt. Shave, he said. I lathered pear-scented gel over my legs and began to work a razor around my ankles.
I shaved before the memorial and my legs were smooth, but Matt liked me velvety. He liked one particular area bare.
My thoughts clouded as I shaved over my knees and up my thighs to my sex. Lord, Matt even made shaving sexy.
Shave. It was an order. I loved taking orders from Matt.
I imagined him lying along the couch by the fire, nothing but a throw draped across his hips … and I dragged my razor over my pubic bone, shearing away the short, stiff hair.
I felt light-headed by the time I stepped out of the shower. I patted my skin dry and rubbed in my DollyMoo lilac body oil. Another thing Matt liked: rubbing oil into my skin.
I pulled on Matt’s bathrobe, which reached my feet and smelled of his body wash, and a black lace thong. I fetched my box of toys from the closet.
The box held two LELOs, toy cleaner, three kinds of lube, the collar with clamps that we first used at Matt’s apartment, a blindfold, silk ties, a gag, and a roll of black tape. Matt sometimes joked about adding a leash or riding crop to the box.
Or maybe he wasn’t joking …
I lit the candles on the bedside table and sprawled across our comforter. I dialed Matt’s number. He answered immediately.
“You,” he said.
“Me.” I smiled. “And you.”
“Did you have a nice shower?”
“Very.” I caught the first whiff of my candles—sandalwood and jasmine. Their light pulsed on the ceiling. “It was only missing you. I think this place misses you.”
“Soon we’ll be together. And before long, we can live together again. When things die down … we’ll get a place. Now you’ll have my money, or some of it. That’s one less worry.”
“Yeah…” I shoved away the thought of the money. Truth be told, Matt and I had no idea what our future held. We didn’t plan that far ahead. Sometimes he talked like this, idly and optimistically, and I agreed because the alternative was painful.
“What are you wearing?” he said.
“Your bathrobe and a black lace thong.”
Matt chuckled. My smile expanded at the sound.
“Very nice. Let the robe hang open. Déjà vu, little bird. Do you remember—”
“Of course.” I reclined against a stack of decorative pillows. Matt’s robe slipped open, exposing my breasts. My nipples stiffened instantly and my skin prickled with anticipation. “The first time, online? You must have thought I was crazy.”
“No crazier than I was. Granted, I thought I was pretty fucking crazy.”
“What if I had been someone else?” I slid my fingers over the slope of my breast.
“You weren’t. This is our reality, Hannah. I don’t have time for what-ifs. You shaved?”
“Yes.” I smiled again. I loved the way Matt dismissed things out of hand—always with ice in his voice. I don’t have time for what-ifs.
“Where? What did you shave?”
“My legs.”
“What else?”
“My—” My cheeks warmed. “My *.”
“Mm.” Matt sighed roughly. “Touch it for me. I miss it.”
I slipped my hand into my thong, over the soft bare hill of skin. Matt missed this. I remembered his mouth between my legs and circled my fingers around the wet folds.
“Tell me what you’re doing,” I whispered, “and where you are. I want to know.”