Mom made one of her know-it-ally mhmm sounds.
I emerged with a bag of cheese puffs and found them nodding at one another.
"Yup, they had a fight," Chrissy said as if I weren't standing right there. "Which works out for me. Can you drive me to work Hannah?"
"Drive your own ass to work."
I slammed the pantry door and stormed down to the basement.
I couldn't think straight. Was my fairytale romance crumbling? Was Matt wonderful up until the parental introductions, after which he turned into a snarly strung-out ogre?
He seriously looked like he was on drugs today, and he acted like it too. I followed that unsettling line of thought.
He said he quit drinking five years ago. What about drugs?
He had the crazy mood swings. He had the appetite of a bird. Today he was late (he was never late) and sweating and shivering in 90-degree heat. Oh, and then there was the suspicious apartment deep clean before having me over. Fuck.
I unpacked like a hurricane to distract myself.
For the first time since I met Matt, I was starting to feel like he might be too good to be true. Too perfect, too right for me, too interested in me. There had to be a catch.
I was sweating by the time I finished emptying all the boxes in my room. The physical labor felt good. My arms burned and my knees ached.
Never mind the fact that I checked my phone every ten minutes.
I put all my books on the shelves and my one stuffed animal on the bed. I remembered Matt sitting on my bed, smiling at me.
He wanted to go camping tomorrow. Overnight, I assumed. I hadn't given him an answer yet. Yes, I wanted to go camping with the guy who came over on the Fourth of July. No, I didn't want to go camping with the guy I met for lunch today.
Beautiful Matt. Scary Matt.
But in spite of scary Matt's pasty skin and irrational rage, I felt this weird urge to protect him. Maybe he was on drugs. Or maybe he was telling the truth. He had money; he could have the high-stress job to go with it.
Whatever Matt's problem was, I wanted to wrap my arms around him and snarl at the world until everything left him alone.
Everything but me.
I put my clothes on hangers and organized the closet. A wardrobe update was in order as soon as I got paid. I needed more work clothes. I needed more thongs. I also needed more clothes that made me feel like I belonged next to Matt.
I frowned as I hung up the blouse and skirt I wore to work.
I wanted to watch Matt trip over himself when he saw me in that skirt. Before I met him for lunch, I undid the top three buttons of my blouse. My platform pumps accentuated my shapely calves. I was even wearing makeup.
Matt's jaw should have hit the sidewalk.
Instead?
Looking sharp. That was all I got.
Meanwhile, albeit sweating and stammering, Matt looked like a male model in an elegant slate gray suit and white shirt.
I strung Christmas lights around the top edges of my room. I hung my posters, calendar, and art. I arranged the knickknacks on my desk and bedside table.
After piling the empty boxes in the garage, I threw myself onto my bed and fiddled with my phone.
Camping. I hadn't been camping in years.
Mick's idea of camping was getting rowdy at an overcrowded campsite.
Matt's idea of camping probably involved little-known uses for stakes and rope.
I smirked and sighed. Why was I pretending I had a choice? The moment Matt asked, I knew my answer. I craved his company. I couldn't wait to be alone with him.
I texted Matt around seven.
At least I kept him waiting for my answer.
Camping sounds good. No problem about lunch, you were stressed. I was pretty worried. I still am. How's the "obligation" going?
I bit my lip and waited for a reply.
Nothing.
I curled up on my quilt and fought the urge to call.
I wanted to know what Matt's "obligation" was and what he did for a living and a dozen other things he seemed hell bent on keeping from me. God, he was putting his dick in me multiple times a day. Didn't that entitle me to some illusion of closeness?
Two hours later, my phone chimed.