“I’m hanging up, Matt. Don’t call back.”
Again, I start to disconnect when Matt says quietly, “I lied, McKayla.”
Macy tries to grab the phone, startling me. I grab it out of her reach and mouth the word, “What?” to her.
She whispers, “Hang up… you don’t need to listen to his bullshit.”
But I can’t… because he might say words that I have been longing to hear, and although they may be drunk words, I will take whatever I can at this point.
“What did you lie about?” I ask him.
“I didn’t use One Night Only again. I just couldn’t go through with it.”
“Why not?” I whisper.
He’s silent for a moment, and all I can hear are the noises of the bar that he’s in. Then he says, “Because I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re all I want.”
I’m all he wants? My heart flutters in response and my hopes that Matt and I could truly be something start to rise.
But then Matt causes me to come crashing back down again, because he says, “It’s why I left work at two o’clock today and hit a bar to get shitfaced. So I could drown you out of my mind… even if only briefly. You’re a blessing, Mac… but you’re also my curse.”
I’m stunned speechless and, before I can even say anything back to him, he disconnects and the line goes dead.
I wish there was a magic pill I could take that would ease my heartache. And another pill that would magically ease the way my body still aches for Matt.
This fucking sucks.
All weekend I stewed over his call on Friday night. I vacillated amongst a variety of emotions, trying to decide how to handle the situation.
When I was pissed, I would work myself up and decide to put in my resignation. I even sat at my computer on Saturday and typed it up. It was simple.
Dear Matt,
I hereby tender my resignation effective immediately.
You suck, and I hate you.
Sincerely,
McKayla P. Dawson
But there were moments when I would get overwhelmed with sadness for Matt. He’s a man that is clearly struggling, and I don’t know how to help him. During those moments, I wanted to do nothing more than go into work tomorrow, crawl onto his lap, and hug the hurt out of him.
And finally, there were my moments of weakness. When I thought about what he told me on the phone, that I was all he wanted, it would cause pleasure to fire hotly through my veins. My memory would pulse and flash with images of Matt and me together… naked, writhing on the bed, and moaning in pleasure.
It was at those times that I wanted to be in Matt’s office bright and early tomorrow, lying naked across his desk when he walked in. His eyes would darken heavy with lust, and he would take me fast and hard. Just the mere thought of it caused me to shiver.
Then I’d get pissed all over again, because Matt has such a hold over my sensuality that I want to give in to him just because my body demands it.
My heart doesn’t stay quiet though, and it reminds me that it doesn’t want to get shredded in the process.
The buzzer in the kitchen goes off, and I walk in to take the cookies out of the oven. It’s a compulsion of mine… baking when I’m sad, confused, angry, or whatever. Bottom line—every emotion that Matt is making me feel right now calls for massive amounts of chocolate chip cookies.
Setting the hot pan on top of the stove, I scoop a cookie up with my spatula and then grab it with my hand. It’s hot as hell so I toss it from hand to hand, little bits of boiling chocolate sticking to my skin. I take a tiny bite—burning the hell out of my tongue and top of my mouth—and drop my cookie on the floor, but not before I am rewarded by a big dribble of chocolate down my chin and onto my t-shirt.