Night Owl(21)

Guiltily, I picked at the work mom had emailed. She needed every bit of this. She worked part time as a nurse, part time from home doing transcription, and she was still paying off loans for her nursing degree.

Maybe when she tried to pay me I would refuse the money.

I wondered how long I could gas my car and pay for food with the seven hundred dollars in my checking account. And what was I going to do about insurance?

It took me two hours to complete the simple tasks mom had given me.

Too much daydreaming.

I opened my email and cracked my knuckles, grinning like an idiot. Now I could write the next installment of my collaborative story with Matt. God, I missed this.

Lana and Cal were making camp by a river in the middle of nowhere. Maybe it was wishful thinking on my part, but I thought I could feel the sexual tension building between our characters. Would it weird Matt out if this turned into smut?

Well, if it did, he was tactful enough to segue to the fluttering curtains—or the fluttering field grass, in this case.

Mmm, the field. I spaced for a moment as I remembered the way Matt stared at me when I sprawled on his blanket and bared myself to him. With looks like his, he couldn't possibly be sex starved—but he'd looked starved. Starved for me.

Suddenly the office felt hot. Damn.

I began to write.

I moved Lana and Cal summarily through a campsite routine—hitching the horses, building a fire, spreading the bedrolls—and then I focused on Lana. She was sore from riding and grimy with the dust of the road. The river looked cool and dark, swirling gently in a deep pool. She unpacked a lump of soap and began to undress as discreetly as possible.

After she slipped into the river and cast a glance back at Cal, I sent the paragraphs to Matt. An email from Matt appeared almost simultaneously. I couldn't help but smile as I noticed he'd used a different email account. His main account, by the look of it.

Subject: Frostypants

Sender: Matthew R. Sky Jr.

Date: Monday, July 1, 2013

Time: 5:32 PM

Hi Hannah,

We'll do dinner at 8ish. I'll pick you up at 7. I need to be inside of you.

Matt

* * *

I wilted in the office chair. Fuck. There is was again, that crazy sexy candor.

Get on your hands and knees. I'm going to take you from behind.

Not to mention the bossiness. It should have annoyed me—this wasn't a gentlemanly invitation, it was an order—and yet I felt giddy. I could see Matt again. I could make sure he was real and that this was actually happening to me.

And maybe this time I could act like the smart, confident woman I was, not the blushing brainless mush of last night.

I spent the next hour and a half prepping. I unpacked a few boxes of clothes, showered and shaved, borrowed some of my sister's perfume and makeup, and dressed in a short strapless blue dress. Underneath, I wore a strapless gray pushup with creamy trim and a matching thong. At the last minute I threw on dangly earrings and a silver bracelet.

Matt arrived promptly at seven. I peeked at him from a front window. He stood leaning against his car, looking bored.

Holy. Fuck.

He wore pale gray slacks and a crisp white dress shirt. His wild hair was wet and pushed back. As I studied him, he glanced at his watch, then smirked toward the house.

Fuck, he looked right at me! I lurched away from the blinds. So uncool right now.

When I went out to meet him, I thought I saw his cocky smirk falter. Success! Maybe. It was hard to tell. Matt's smirks came in flavors—two parts kindness, one part wicked amusement, a little lust in the mix. Oh, and one hundred percent smug bastard.

Matt moved to meet me and I thought he might grab me and start groping my ass again. I wanted him to, even if Chrissy was watching from her window. Matt looked edible in dress clothes.

Instead, he hugged me gently and kissed my cheek. The air went out of my lungs. Oh lord, the way that shirt tucked into his slacks, showing off his trim hips. I caught a whiff of cologne.

When he opened the door for me, I nearly fell into his car. Déjà vu.

"There's a place in Boulder I like," Matt said as he drove. He stared ahead, serious and unsmiling. Totally unlike the man who'd driven me for hours through the nighttime prairie. "The Number Nine. Great food. I hate formal stuff, but what the hell."

I frowned at him.

"So what, you're just doing this for me?"

"Sure." He glanced at his iPhone. "I figured you'd like a meal."

"Well that's kind of shitty Matt," I snapped.

"Excuse me?" He was scrolling through his Pandora stations and driving too fast, with an unnerving amount of inattention. He didn't even look at me.

"I'm not some idiot girl you have to wine and dine before f*cking. God, I'm sorry you feel the need to endure a nice dinner with me."

Matt chuckled. What a prick!

"Hannah, I enjoy eating." He'd settled on music. I recognized The Lumineers. Of course this jackass had great taste in music. "And I'll enjoy eating with you. I only meant that formal things... make me uneasy, okay? Don't worry, we'll do something I really enjoy afterward."

He reached for my hand. I held it stiff on my lap for all of three seconds.

"I love when you're feisty," Matt murmured. He pulled my hand onto his lap and pressed it against his thigh. Oh god, oh god, not again. I felt my ability to articulate myself gliding away. "You look amazing, Hannah. I know you want to get f*cked, wearing a dress like that. I'll deliver, don't worry. I held back last night, but not this time. You're bad to wear that. I love it."