Night Owl (14 page)

In the margin he'd scribbled "epi?"

I frowned.

Epi? Epigraph? This was, I knew, the epigraph to
The Silver Cord
by M. Pierce.

My frown shifted to a smirk. Was Matt a secret M. Pierce fan? That might explain why he kept hassling me for liking the author—because he was a fan boy and too much of a literary snob to admit it.

I scanned the fiction, my eyes zipping toward the P section. Walker Percy, Sylvia Plath, Thomas Pynchon, Puzo, Proust—huh, no Pierce...

"Hannah."

I jumped.

Matt stood in the doorway. His face was pale and his hair was crazy. A pair of black lounge pants clung to his hips.

"Matt, hey." I gave a shaky laugh. "You scared me..."

Fuck, his eyes were so deadly serious. Girl in a tiger cage. Girl about to be devoured. He looked between the shelf and the book in my hands.

"Your, um—" I cleared my throat. "Your hair is awesome right now."

Matt eyed me a moment longer, then reached to touch his hair. A few pieces stuck straight up. The rest was matted.

"This is the new style," he murmured.

A cautious smile spread on his lips. I laughed too readily. Geez, what was
that
all about? Mr. Frostypants in the morning? Or did he think I was snooping?

I glanced guiltily at the book in my hand. Okay, maybe I was snooping.

Matt slipped the book from my hand and returned it to the shelf.

"Mm, Willa Cather. A brilliant author. And this is her best, hands down. It's the one she was meant to write."

Matt smiled as he studied the shelf. I stared at his handsome profile. Now he was warm and enthusiastic; a moment ago he'd looked ill and nearly violent. I had to admit, his changeable moods excited me, but they worried me too.

"Do you know what I mean?" he said. "An author writes book after book, throwing darts at the board. Many stick, but one hits the bull's-eye. The one they were meant to write. Nice shirt." He squeezed my ass as his eyes travelled the shelves. "I read to find the bull's-eye.
The Sound and the Fury, Never Cry Wolf, Franny and Zooey, Four Quartets
—"

"
The Silver Cord
," I blurted.

Matt snorted.

"Oh please, not again with the M. Pierce fan girl routine."

"Okay, if I'm such a fan girl, then why do you—" My voice quavered. I was staring at Matt's copy of
My Ántonia
and debating the wisdom of calling him out. Calling him out for what, though? He obviously despised M. Pierce. My evidence to the contrary was convoluted and conspiratorial, and it made me look Matt-obsessed more than anything, like I memorized and picked over his every word.

"Why do I
what
?" Matt demanded.

"Why do you... know... about the Granite Wing rumor?" I cringed. Lame.

Matt's eyes were hard as emeralds.

"As you can see," he said, gesturing to his books, "I'm decently well read. I like to stay abreast of literary trends. That means I may read shitty online zines like
Fit to Print
once in a blue moon, and I can't really be blamed for their chronic hard-on for that second-rate author. I happened to glimpse their article with all the alleged Pierce facts, including that Granite Wing gossip.
Fit to Print
indeed." Matt scoffed. "In a tabloid."

I flattened my hands against Matt's chest. His expression softened.

"It's like you have an ax to grind with that poor author," I said. I nuzzled my face into his skin and he folded his arms around me.

"I doubt she's poor. And I don't have an ax to grind, alright? I just don't think she's any Cather. Not even close."

"Well I do." I kissed his nipple and he twitched. God, I loved that. "And I studied literature, so that's that Mr. Businessman."

Matt gave me a swift smack on the ass.

We showered together and had a morning quickie, which involved Matt rubbing my clit with a soapy finger until it stung. Maybe he was depraved after all. And damn, did I enjoy it.

We took our time getting dressed. Matt watched everything I did with those smoldering green eyes of his, and when I caught him staring he didn't look away. God, he looked delicious with a towel around his hips.

I didn't think I could ever get tired of his body.

When he pulled off my towel in the living room, I bent and gripped the arm of his couch. I smiled over my shoulder at him. The hunger in his eyes thrilled and frightened me, and I yelped as he entered me all at once. His powerful thrusts slapped our bodies together. I felt his balls hitting my sex.

Like I said, we took our time getting dressed.

Finally, around noon, we got into our clothes and kept them on. Unhappiness settled over me as we stood together in the kitchen. Matt would drive me home soon, and I hadn't gotten enough of him.

I picked at his shirt. It was a soft white t-shirt that he'd paired with loose brown linen shorts. I was in my wrinkled sundress.

I had an internal debate going over whether Matt looked better in formal dress or casual dress. I also had an internal debate going over whether Matt was real. He didn't add up. Sexy well-read guy with a god's body, the cutest pet ever, ridiculous influence, lots of spare change, and an interest in me? No way.

"Happy Fourth," he said quietly, breaking into my thoughts.

"Oh, yeah. I totally forgot." I frowned and tousled my wet curls. Right, it was a Thursday and Matt wasn't working. He was here fucking me all over his apartment. Thank you America. "Yeah, happy Fourth Matt."

I smiled up at him. He grinned back at me.

"Can't imagine why you might have forgotten."

"Pfft. It's not a big deal holiday anyway. You've been weirdly aware of it, though." I squinted at him. "Maybe you're like, special ops. Or a CIA agent."

Matt smirked.

"Do I strike you as a patriot?"

"You don't strike me as anything yet."

He leaned down and his husky voice tickled my ear.

"Oh, but I do strike you Hannah."

I shivered. He pulled back. Good on him, because I was about to provoke him into bending me over the counter again.

"No, but seriously," he said, "if I seem very aware of the holiday, it's only because it'll take you away from me."

My heart fluttered. Okay, add obscenely charming to his assets.

I remembered Matt asking me if I had any plans for the Fourth. Was he worrying about this yesterday?

"Hey," I said, "crazy idea, but you mentioned you didn't have plans. Why don't you come over? My family won't care at all, and I promise they're not as crazy as my sis—"

"Yes, fine."

Matt stared at a wall.

Again, I felt that unexpected, fierce pity.

Matt had been waiting for me to ask, I realized, but he would never have imposed.

I remembered him admitting that he didn't have many friends. If I hadn't invited him, what would he do?

I pictured Matt sitting alone on his balcony.

"Matt, god." I hugged him. He lifted me off my feet and I squeaked. "You should have asked. I don't want to be apart from you, believe me."

"Hannah... there are so many things I want to tell you." He crushed me to his chest. He kissed my temple. I would have given anything for a look at his expression—why did he sound so distraught?—but my feet were dangling and my face was pressed into his neck.

We got lunch in the city. Matt stopped at a florist and bought two lily bouquets. He shoved one at me.

"Flowers," he muttered.

"I see that." I gave him a peck on the cheek. "You're so adorable. So sweet and strange. Thank you, Matt."

"Mm. Do you think I should bring anything? Food? Potato salad? Buns?" I recognized the restless look in his eyes. It was the same look I'd seen when he drove me to dinner in Boulder, the same look I'd seen when I was inspecting his apartment. Matt in anxious mode.

I was starting to learn some things about Matt, even if I didn't understand them. For one, he was most comfortable in his car. Given any remotely social setting, his confidence did a carriage-to-pumpkin level transformation and he became this: endearingly awkward no-eye-contact guy staring at his phone and jangling the keys in his pocket.

I hauled him back to his car.

"No, no buying food, relax. This isn't a formal thing Matt. We'll just chill."

"Chill," he repeated.

"Yeah, chill. If you're uncomfortable, we can hide in my room."

A little smile played on his lips.

"Hide," I repeated, emphasizing the word, "not bang and potentially embarrass me in front of my family."

"I can be quiet."

I tried not to think about the litany of dirty talk that poured out of Matt every time we fooled around.

You're a slut for me, aren't you Hannah?

I love the color of your cunt.

Faster, Hannah.

I'm hard for you.

Fuck. I was not going to arrive home with my thong soaked.

"I'm not so sure about that," I said.

"Then I view today as an opportunity to prove it." Safe in the fortress of his car, Matt was all smirks. "Anyway, I'm capable of exchanging pleasantries. I won't be bunkering in your room. I
am
relaxed. This is me relaxed."

Relaxed my ass. Matt became increasingly agitated as we neared the house. He sneered and adjusted the rearview mirror. He drummed his long fingers on the wheel.

And he sped past my house.

"My... house is back there," I said, peering at him.

"Mm."

Matt drove like a bat out of hell to the nearest King Soopers and proceeded to buy an embarrassing amount of potato salad and chips.

"Stop buying things!" I wailed as he dragged me down the aisles.

"It makes me feel better," he snapped.

In the end, all I could do was laugh as Matt glared at the various brands of chips and muttered to himself, the pile in his arms growing.

My mother was speechless when we finally arrived. I couldn't blame her. Daisy was barking and making a puddle in her excitement and I had four tubs of potato salad in my arms and a tall handsome stranger at my side with three bags of chips, two jars of salsa, and a bouquet of lilies, which he had the good grace not to thrust into my mom's chest.

I'd never brought home a guy who gave my mom flowers.

Matt just about charmed her pants off. As she thanked him profusely for the flowers and food, she kept shooting these intense, meaningful looks at me.

Ugh, I knew exactly what she was getting at. Mom harangued me and my sister on a regular basis about "not making the same mistakes she made" and being sure to "marry a rich man." Matt reeked of wealth, even in casual clothes. His shorts? Boss Black. I'd snuck a peek during one of our abortive efforts to dress.

Chrissy came bounding into the kitchen. Matt was petting Daisy, who had her head on his knee and was whining and swishing her tail a mile a minute. It was surreal to watch Matt's magnetism work on my family, even the damn dog. At least it wasn't just me.

"Hey kids!" Chrissy grinned at us.

"Hey." I gave her a flat look. "Thanks for texting to check up on me."

"I... didn't text."

"Exactly."

"Aw, come on." She bumped my hip. "I didn't want to interrupt your afternoon delight."

Matt made a choking sound that might have been a laugh.

Mom's eyes lit up.

I dragged Chrissy into the backyard, my face on fire.

"How about let's not make sexual innuendos in front of mom?" I rolled my eyes. "And for the record, that's nighttime delight, morning delight,
and
afternoon delight."

Chrissy's jaw dropped.

Worth it.

Watching Matt with my family that day was pure pleasure, and I'm not exactly sure why. He shook hands with my dad and they quickly fell into conversation about the stock market. Even I couldn't get Matt's attention at that point. Dad offered him a beer and he politely declined, though later Matt brought a bottle to me.

"I should have brought a six pack," he whispered. He wrinkled his nose as he handed me the Coors. Our fingers brushed and a jolt went through me. Our eyes met. Had he felt that?

"Sorry my family's beer doesn't meet with your approval."

"Mm, no help for it. At least I'm not drinking it."

"
Ooo
, the snob emerges."

"No help for that, either."

I laughed and shoved him. I could feel mom, dad, and Chrissy staring at us. When I looked up, they all jumped back to their tasks, mom setting the table and dad grilling, Chrissy messing with an extension cord so she could get her CD player outside.

Mom had to forcefully extract my brother from the basement. Jay came sulking out with a Frisbee. Matt grinned when he saw it.

"Oh, a Frisbee," he said, sidling up to my brother. I could tell he was trying to sound nonchalant. So fucking cute. "Nice..."

Matt plucked the Frisbee from my brother's hand, kicked off his flip-flops, and jogged across the lawn. Jay looked forever grateful for the absence of introductions.

The table was set and dad was grilling and Chrissy was dancing scandalously on the lawn. Mom went in and out, lighting citronella candles. I leaned against the deck railing and watched Matt and my brother throw the Frisbee.

It seriously wasn't right, especially when Matt decided to follow Jay's lead and shuck off his t-shirt. Holy Adonis in motion. He moved with effortless grace, his long limbs flexing as he tore after the Frisbee, and every time he leapt to catch it I would swear his shorts slipped lower on his hips. Was he doing this on purpose?

I couldn't wring a glance out of him—even when I tried. I tossed my hair and cocked out my hip. I leaned forward, making my cleavage swell. I tried a little wave. Nothing.

The boy was as bad as Daisy, speeding single-mindedly after the Frisbee.

Hmph. Two could play at this game.

I went inside and changed into a pair of tiny torn up jean shorts and a blue bikini top.

Back outside, I leaned into the rail again and pretended to be enjoying the sun.

Nothing.

Matt laughed as Jay and Daisy collided.