I laugh easily at the idea that Kennedy and Lorelei would sneak into my house and leave a note like that for me, the heaviness of my thoughts from a moment ago disappearing quickly. “Okay, I think it’s safe to say Lorelei would have never done something like that. She would have used bigger words to drive her point home, and she would have been more polite. Like, ‘Please discontinue your inquisitive ways or we shall be obliged to damage your appendages,’” I tell him in my best Lorelei voice.
“I would have to agree even though I’ve only talked to her for a few minutes. But what about Kennedy? She carries a gun and she sounds scary,” Matt says with a dramatic shiver. The smile on his face proves that he believed me when I said they wouldn’t do something like this, and he’s trying to distract me by making light of the situation.
“Well, it’s close to something Kennedy would have said, but hers would have had more cursing. ‘Get your fucking head out of your ass before I punch you in the goddamn face.’”
Matt and I laugh together as I describe my friend’s personalities to him with just a few sentences.
“I’m glad you called me,” he says softly as he pulls into a driveway of a gorgeous Cape Cod home and puts his truck in park.
He doesn’t give me a chance to reply as he jumps out of the truck and comes around to my side, opening the door for me and taking my hand to help me down. Hand in hand we walk up the steps of his front porch, and I stand to the side, admiring his profile as he unlocks the front door.
As soon as we walk inside, Matt hits a switch and bathes the living room in light. I have to say, I’m a little shocked at what I see. I assumed his place would look similar to Andy’s apartment: mismatched furniture, no pictures on the wall, still-unpacked boxes littering the floors, and takeout containers in the kitchen. Matt’s home is tastefully decorated and spotless. There aren’t any signs that a woman used to live here, but it also doesn’t look like a bachelor pad. It’s gray and black and full of leather, and I love it. I notice a framed picture on an end table next to the couch, and I walk right up to it and lift it up for a better look. In the picture, Matt has his arm around the shoulders of an older man; it almost looks like a before-and-after picture. I can tell right away that this is Matt’s father and also how nicely Matt is going to age. His father is a handsome man with the same bright blue eyes and dark hair as his son, except he has a few gray hairs at his temples and wrinkles around his eyes.
“This is a great picture. I’m assuming this is your dad?”
Matt comes up behind me and looks over my shoulder. “Yep. That’s Eric Russo. Obviously, he gets his good looks from me.”
I laugh, setting the picture back down and turning around to face him.
“Can you show me where the bathroom is? I want to wash up a little. And if you have anything I can use as pajamas, that would be good too. I didn’t think to grab anything when I went racing out of my house like a chicken.”
Matt places his hands on my shoulders, sliding them up my neck until he cups my cheeks. “I’m sure I can find something for you to wear. And you aren’t a chicken. I would have gone screaming into the night if someone left a note like that for me too.”
My heart skips a beat as he places a kiss on the tip of my nose before grabbing my hand and pulling me down the hallway.
I can’t keep the smile off of my face as I stare at myself in the mirror. I washed off the day’s makeup and ran a comb through my hair. I’m wearing an old T-shirt of Matt’s and a pair of his boxer shorts and I’ve never felt more comfortable. As I head for the door, I pull the neck of the shirt up to my nose and take a deep breath, loving how it smells exactly like Matt.
I step out of the bathroom and into the hall, walking over to Matt’s room to thank him and say good-night. Instead of letting things turn awkward when it came time to discuss sleeping arrangements, as soon as he handed me the T-shirt and boxers, I told him I was fine sleeping on the couch. He tried to argue with me and give me his bed, but I wouldn’t have it. He’s done enough for me tonight; I’m not about to make him give up his bed. Or beg him to let me sleep in it with him.
I poke my head into his bedroom and lose my breath when I see him resting on top of his covers. He’s shirtless and has on a pair of gray sweatpants, and his hands are resting under his head with his feet crossed at the ankles. His eyes slowly open as I hover in the doorway.
He takes me in from head to toe and I feel a little self-conscious when I remember I’m not wearing a stitch of makeup.
“You are so beautiful,” Matt says in awe.
I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve heard this back in my modeling days. But hearing it come out of a man’s mouth when I’m fresh faced and wearing one of his shirts and a pair of his boxers, it warms every single spot inside of me.
“Why are you still standing all the way over there? Come here.”
He slides over and pats the bed next to him. I should turn and run down the stairs—I really should.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I hedge as I stare at the happy trail disappearing into the waistband of his pajama pants.