After Dark (The Night Owl Trilogy #3)(34)

“I don’t give a f*ck if she comes around.” Fresh anger darkened his face. “She can come around all she wants. She’s not getting shit from me. I bought her food. I wrote her a check. I was ready to set up a line of credit if she—”

“What the hell? Why didn’t you tell me about any of this?”

Matt blinked and tilted his head, as if communication were an alien concept.

“Hello?” I waved my hand in his face. “See this ring? It means we’re getting married. It means we have to talk about things. Be a unified front.”

“Hannah…” He looked appalled. “It’s my money. I thought—”

Hot tears sprang to my eyes. His money? What happened to our money? I’d just dropped seven hundred bucks on a whip that I was prepared to give to this unpredictable man because I wanted to know everything he wanted, even if it frightened me.

I bolted out of the room.

This week … this f*cking week.

I needed a good, long, loud cry. And tea. And cuddles. But not with Matt. And not with one of the zillions of plush animals he’d given me. God, I missed Daisy.

I whimpered and clapped a hand over my mouth.

As I headed down the hallway, I realized I had nowhere private to go. The office basically belonged to Matt. The bedroom and bathroom were ours. The kitchen and TV room were too open, and he was there. Should I hide in the laundry room?

I remembered his defense when I caught him mansion-shopping.

This place is tiny. You have no real room of your own.

Ugh, he was right.

I locked myself in the bedroom and let my tears fall.





Chapter 16





MATT


Sleeping on the couch is a bitch.

My back ached even after my morning run, even after a round of sit-ups and stretches—and a long, hot, lonely shower.

As I padded past the bedroom, a towel around my waist, I tried the knob once more.

Still locked.

I pressed my ear to the door and frowned.

Hannah had been bunkered in our bedroom all night and most of this morning. It was nearly noon. The AC ticked on and I sighed, roaming back to the kitchen.

“I am definitely in the doghouse,” I muttered to Laurence.

A notepad on the counter contained my list for the day.





FIX SHIT


— Talk about things w/Hannah (money, therapy, Chrissy)

— Date (picnic or dinner)

I peeled off the note and wrote another.

Hannah baby, please come out. You can’t stay in there forever. I’m sorry. I love you. I need clothes. XO

I knocked gently on the bedroom door before slipping the note beneath it. Then I retreated to the TV room.

Several minutes later, I heard the door squeak open and clap shut.

I returned to find it locked, a pair of my socks folded on the floor beside a note.

Here you go.

Grinning, I turned over her note and wrote another.

Where am I supposed to wear these? Or am I supposed to use them for something else? Take pity on a half-naked man. It’s getting chilly out here.

I flicked my reply under the door, then sat on the floor and waited. Soon I heard Hannah rustling in the bedroom. The door opened a crack and a T-shirt flew out.

She slammed it shut quickly.

Click went the lock.

“Goddamn it, Hannah.”

I pulled on the T-shirt and shot another note under the door.

Is this your way of saying you want to see my dick? So coy …

A moment later, the door opened and a pair of sweatpants hit me in the face.

Slam!—click.

“Hannah!” I lunged against the door. “Baby bird?”

No reply.

God, women are f*cking mysterious.

I stalked back to the kitchen and prepared for our picnic, jamming things into a daypack. Goober peanut butter and jelly. A sack of the whole grain bread I’d bought for ungrateful Chrissy. A few pears, a banana. Hannah called bananas “the portable fruit.” And her safe word, which she had never used, not even during our roughest play, was “peaches.” Jesus, did she have to be so cute?

“What’s got you in a huff?”

I jumped and turned. Hannah stood a few feet away, her curvy hip propped against the counter, nothing on but an oversized T-shirt.

“Packing,” I mumbled. “For our picnic.”

She arched a brow.

“We’re going on a picnic?”

“I’d like to.” I cleared my throat and gazed into the bag. I plucked out the banana. “I got the … portable fruit.”

I half-smiled and glanced at her. She frowned, her expression softening.

“Stop being cute,” she said.

“Can’t help it. Hey, thanks for picking this hot outfit…” I regarded my sweats.

“You’re infuriating.”

“So I hear.” I stepped toward Hannah. Makeup sex? She took a step back.

“I’m going to shower. Then we can … go on your picnic, I guess.”

She flitted away and I stared after her. God, if her shirt would just ride up a little higher.…

*

We drove out to Betasso Preserve, where I knew we’d have some privacy. I took the Jeep. In spite of Hannah’s aloof mood, I found myself smiling as we hit the trail.