A Hot Winter (New Adult Romance) (The Attraction Series Book 2) (7 page)

Later that night, Pellican and Bardo were at Matt’s apartment watching football.  During half-time, Matt jumped on his computer to pay some bills, while Bardo read aloud from
Men’s Life IQ
magazine.  He’d just finished reading from the “Ask Zack” column.  “Lame problems this month,” Bardo commented.  “‘My girlfriend doesn’t like my sideburns’?  What am I supposed to do with that?”  Giving the magazine one more flip-through, he said, “This is ready for recycling.”

“Just leave it; I’ll toss it later,” Matt said.

“Wait!  I didn’t see this article,” Bardo said, straightening up his slouch on the sofa and folding the magazine to the inside back cover.  Then he read the title aloud: “‘Dud to Stud--The Sex Moves You
Need
to Learn
Now
.’”  Efficiently, Bardo tore the page from the magazine and held it out.  “Here, Pellican.”

Matt barked out a laugh, while Pellican jerked his head back, glaring at the article like it was a dirty tissue.  “What do you mean, ‘Here, Pellican’?  I don’t need that!”

Innocently, Bardo shrugged.  “Well, I just thought you’d want it.  Since you met that girl at your cousin’s wedding.”

“What girl?” Matt asked.

From his spot on the couch, Pellican called over, “Oh, this chick, Janine.  We were at the same table.”

“That’s cool,” Matt said.

“Yeah.  And trust me, Bardo, I don’t need any help in that department,” Pellican went on, still refusing to take the article that was in Bardo’s outstretched hand. 

“Okay, if you’re sure.”

Matt spoke up then.  “Here, let me see it.”  Bardo hopped up and brought it to his desk.  Pellican just eyed Matt, probably wanting desperately to know what the article said, but having too much pride to ask.  Fortunately, Matt was a secure enough guy to know what he was doing in the bedroom--and also to know that, when it came to pleasing a woman, there was no harm in learning more.

As Bardo dropped the page on his desk, he said, “Oh!  Matt, I can’t believe I forgot to tell you something.”

“What?”

“You remember that girl Neeta Shah I used to like?  At my old job?”

“That really short chick?” Pellican called out.

“If by ‘chick’ you mean goddess--yes.  So I randomly got a message from her the other day.  Just saying hi, blah, blah, but she mentioned that Keri was asking about you.”

“Really?” Matt said, surprised.  He hadn’t talked to Keri in over a year.  Not since she’d chosen her rich boss over him.  Neeta had been Keri’s roommate at the time, and Matt had met them both out at happy hour one night.

“Yeah, Neeta just threw it in.  You know, that Keri wanted to know about you.”

“What about me?” Matt couldn’t help asking. 

Bardo threw up his hands.  “That was the cryptic part.  She just slipped it in at the end.  Something like: ‘How’s Matt? Keri asks about him a lot.’  You know how girls are,” Bardo went on.  “I bet she just tossed that in there to get me to tell you.  To manipulate me, like a puppet on a string.”

Matt didn’t bother pointing out that if that had been Neeta’s plan--mission accomplished. 

“I agree,” Pellican interjected, picking up the remote and aiming it at the TV.  “She knew what she was doing planting the seed about Keri.  Game’s back.” 

“Huh,” was all Matt said, not sure if his friends were reading too much into it.  Probably.  Then again…was it possible Keri wasn’t as happy with her rich forty-year-old boss as she’d thought she would be?  He was 100% over Keri.  Still, pride made him wonder: after all this time, did she now think she’d made a mistake?

“Don’t mind me,” Emma said the next morning as she entered the kitchen. 

“Why would I mind you?” Matt said as he worked.  

When he looked over at her, she gave him an almost sheepish smile, then set her coffee mug on the high table by the bay window and climbed up onto a chair.  “I know I’m usually hidden in my office--”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that,” he remarked.

“--but that’s because you’ve never been here early enough to witness my morning de-stressing ritual,” she told him.

With a chuckle, Matt said, “Okay, what’s that?  Does it involve stretching?  Because I can move the drop cloth,” he offered.

“Ha.  No.” 

“Sketching?” Matt asked, noticing her pen.  “Let me know so I can flex a lot.”

“Actually, smartie, it involves me sitting here, watching the snow fall, drinking my coffee, and most importantly…”  She pulled a thin section out of the newspaper and held it up.  “Doing the crossword puzzle.”

“Ah.  Hey, do your thing. I won’t bother you,” he said.

Today Emma had her dark hair tumbling down past her shoulders, and she wore jeans and a sweater.  She was always so covered up, yet why did it seem like the clothes she wore were designed to make a man lust after her?

“I won’t bother you, either,” Emma promised, her voice light and airy.

“I never thought you would.  Just act like I’m not here,” Matt said.  “In fact, you could traipse around in your ratty bathrobe and fuzzy slippers, with your hair all up in rollers, and I wouldn’t even think anything of it.”

Emma slanted him a wry look.  “Really?  You wouldn’t think anything of that?”

“Nope.”

“Not even that maybe you’d slipped through a portal to another dimension and ended up in 1957?”

“What do you mean?”

“The image of fuzzy slippers and hair curlers is a little archaic,” she explained, smiling at him with mock pity.

“So you
don’t
deny you have a ratty bathrobe somewhere around here?  That’s basically what you’re saying.”

“I’m saying nothing,” she insisted, appearing to suppress a grin.  “By the way, help yourself to coffee,” she said suddenly, motioning toward the counter behind her.

After about ten minutes, Emma began tapping her pen on the table and said, “There are always a few I can’t get.”  She chewed her lip thoughtfully for another minute, before turning to Matt.  “Hey--here’s one you might know.”

“Okay, let’s hear it.”

“‘Common woodworker’s tool.’  Two words.”

“Try drill press,” Matt said.

“Hey, that fits!”  She smiled at him.  “Thank you,” she said, scribbling in the answer.  “You have no idea what this means to me,” she added, which made him laugh.

“Uh-huh.  So what else?”

“Um, let’s see…oh, you’d probably know this one.  ‘Another name for internal combustion engine,’” Emma said.

“And why would I know that?  You think because I’m a guy I automatically know about cars?”

“No…I just…”

“I’m kidding,” he said.  “It’s diesel.”

Looking down at the newspaper, Emma smiled.  “Nice!”

As she wrote it in, Matt said, “C’mon, is that all?  No questions about beer?  Sports?  Electric razors?”

“So sensitive…” Emma teased.  “Fine, I’ll ask you this one.  ‘
Nabucco
composer.’”

“Uh…pass.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she said with a laugh.  “Final one: ‘PS4 game or a criminal profession,’” she read.

“
Thief
,” Matt guessed.  “Does that fit?”

“Yes, that’s it,” Emma said gleefully, filling in the blocks.  “You’re great at this!”

Matt smiled at her.  “It doesn’t take much to make you happy, does it?”

“Honestly no,” she admitted, then set down the paper and picked up her mug.  “Thanks for helping me finish.”

“Sure,” Matt told her.  “I’m happy to complete you.” Emma just laughed and slid off her chair to get a refill. 

Matt inhaled a breath, focused back on the walls.  He’d almost replied, “I’m happy to help you finish,” but stopped himself in time, because it was way too sexual.  He couldn’t afford to get
that
comfortable with Emma; it would probably scare her off.  That would be bad, because whether they hooked up or not, he genuinely liked her.

“Listen, I have to go to another job when I finish this wall,” Matt informed her.  “But I’ll be back later this afternoon to paint the trim.  Is that cool?”

“Sure, that works.”

Just then Emma’s cell phone rang.  She pulled it out of her pocket and twisted her lips when she saw the number.  “It’s my boss.  De-stressing time is officially over.”  She gave Matt one more smile as she took the call and left the room.

~

Several hours later, Emma returned to her house just as Matt was finishing up the trim and getting ready to go.  She’d put the spaghetti-casserole--Jake’s favorite dinner--in the oven and left Matt about thirty minutes earlier to go pick up her sons from their respective schools.  If it were anyone else in her house, she would have been way too nervous to leave them unattended, but Matt was different.  Strangely, she trusted him.  And she supposed the fact that he was best friends with Tragan gave him some inherent credibility as a good person.

Now, as Jake and Ben bounded through the door like hyper puppies let out of a cage, Emma’s cell rang.  “Don’t forget, take your boots off!” she called after them as she picked up the call. 

“Hi, Derek.”

“Emma, I just got off the phone with Marta Vincent.  She was pretty upset.”

“About what?” Emma said, feeling nerves coil in her belly.  Did Marta think the editorial notes were
too
critical?  It seemed hard to fathom, but what else would make her mad?

“Apparently she felt you kicked her out of your house yesterday.  She said you all but sent her to certain death--”

“
What?
”

“--because a blizzard was coming and you were ushering her out.”

“Derek, come on,” Emma said, stopping short of pleading with him to be reasonable.  Even though he was her boss, it helped that Derek had known Connor back in Ithaca.  Emma doubted he would have hired her to work at his magazine three years ago had it not been for that personal connection.  Still, Marta was
Alien Notion
’s headliner at the moment.  If Emma couldn’t successfully handle “the talent,” her promotion would be in serious jeopardy.  “First of all, there was no blizzard yesterday.”

“I know, but I’m just telling you what she told me,” he said blandly.  “She said she was practically in tears on the drive home.”

What a nut-job! Emma thought, feeling furious instead of sympathetic. 

“She said you seemed to hate the Army of Mutant Lemurs she came up with, and she couldn’t understand why.”

Rubbing her temple, Emma made a conscious decision not to argue--not to try to persuade Derek to see her side and not to cast Marta Vincent as the self-important drama queen she was.  Instead, Emma listened to Derek’s calm warning about keeping “the talent” happy, and gave her some pointers about diplomacy.  When he was done, Emma apologized for the misunderstanding and concealed her frustration as they ended the call.

Only after she tossed her cell phone on the couch did she realize that she’d lost track of her sons.  But she followed the sound of laughter and little voices that came from the kitchen.

When she stepped into the kitchen, Ben turned and beamed a smile at her.  “Mommy, look!  I drew a sunshine.”  He pointed proudly to the circle with spikes that he’d painted on Matt’s navy blue drop cloth. 

“Matt, what should I paint?” Jake said, holding up a thin paintbrush, soaked in paint.

“Whatever you want, buddy.”

When Emma looked questioningly at him, Matt shrugged.  “They were telling me about Color Club after school today, and I said they could paint something if they want.  It’s only a drop cloth.”

“Mommy, did you see my sunshine?” Ben persisted.

She looked down and smiled widely for him.  “Yes, I see it--I love it!”  She wrapped him in a hug.  “It’s beautiful, I love everything about it.” 

Matt smiled at her.

“I’m going to paint a dog,” Jake announced and got started. 

Emma glanced up and said, “Thanks for letting them paint.”

Once Jake was done and Emma had praised his art, too, she said, “Okay, now wash your hands and sit down for dinner.”

As Matt packed up everything and walked to the archway, Ben said, “Matt, you sit here.”

He stopped short, looked over. 

Emma realized that Ben was under the misconception that it was dinner time for everyone, including Matt. 

“No, sweetie, Matt’s going home now,” she explained gently.

“But it’s dinner time,” Jake interjected, apparently also under the same impression.  “Matt can sit here,” he reiterated, pointing to the same chair that Ben had--the one across from Emma’s, the one that was always empty.

“Um…”

“Guys, I’d love to,” Matt jumped in.  “But…”

“Did you want to stay for dinner?” Emma said, surprising herself by blurting out the question.  “You’re totally welcome to--but please don’t feel obligated,” she amended quickly.

“Really, I’d love to,” Matt told her, his eyes looking directly into hers.  “But I have plans already.”

“Of course,” she said quickly, now feeling stupid that she’d allowed her sons--who were all of seven and four-years-old--to guide her.  She also felt a little embarrassed and sort of rejected.  “Sure, we understand.  Well, thanks for everything.  Looks great,” she threw in, motioning toward the walls.

“Why can’t Matt stay for dinner?” Ben asked, still not getting it.

“It’s spaghetti-casserole night,” Jake added as if that should speak for itself.

“Um, next time, guys,” Matt said casually.  “By the way, Emma--I noticed there were two loose floor tiles in the bathroom.  I’ll fix those tomorrow.  I don’t have the right tools with me to do it today.”

“Oh, okay.  Um, just add it to your bill,” she said.  Matt said nothing to that.

When she walked him to the door, she felt inexplicably self-conscious.  Maybe because she suspected he had a date tonight.  Those were probably his “other plans.”  The thought made her unfairly jealous.  Maybe she was afraid he could sense it, see it all over her face.

“‘Night, Emma,” he said, his deep, masculine voice rolling over her name in a way she would probably never get tired of, and then he was gone.