Night Owl(43)

Matt's jaw should have hit the sidewalk.

Instead?

Looking sharp. That was all I got.

Meanwhile, albeit sweating and stammering, Matt looked like a male model in an elegant slate gray suit and white shirt.

I strung Christmas lights around the top edges of my room. I hung my posters, calendar, and art. I arranged the knickknacks on my desk and bedside table.

After piling the empty boxes in the garage, I threw myself onto my bed and fiddled with my phone.

Camping. I hadn't been camping in years.

Mick's idea of camping was getting rowdy at an overcrowded campsite.

Matt's idea of camping probably involved little-known uses for stakes and rope.

I smirked and sighed. Why was I pretending I had a choice? The moment Matt asked, I knew my answer. I craved his company. I couldn't wait to be alone with him.

I texted Matt around seven.

At least I kept him waiting for my answer.

Camping sounds good. No problem about lunch, you were stressed. I was pretty worried. I still am. How's the "obligation" going?

I bit my lip and waited for a reply.

Nothing.

I curled up on my quilt and fought the urge to call.

I wanted to know what Matt's "obligation" was and what he did for a living and a dozen other things he seemed hell bent on keeping from me. God, he was putting his dick in me multiple times a day. Didn't that entitle me to some illusion of closeness?

Two hours later, my phone chimed.

Birdy bird. Rough day for me. It's over now. I want to be with you. Want to tell you so many things. I'll pick you up early. 9ish.

My body warmed. I want to be with you. What did he mean by that?

And why did he keep saying he wanted to tell me things? Why couldn't he just tell me?

More questions, no answers.

God, but I loved when he called me bird.

I pictured his sad, serious green eyes—or dark with desire, lit with amusement. I fell asleep smiling.

Matt arrived at nine sharp. Right, 9ish.

He came to the door and mom answered before I could get upstairs.

As I rounded the corner, I braced myself to see Mr. Frostypants barking at my mother and shivering, and I may have breathed a too-loud sigh of relief when I saw him.

Beautiful Matt was back.

He was smiling and conversing easily with my mother.

He wore a black jersey with three-quarter sleeves and black zip-offs. I wanted to jump him. Matt looked f*cking gorgeous in black. I was beginning to grasp that Matt would look f*cking gorgeous in a paper bag, but god damn, every outfit he wore was sexier than the next.

When he saw me, his smile brightened. He came to me and hugged me; his lips brushed my cheek.

"Hannah," he whispered.

I clung to him.

"Hey. Hi." I ran my fingers through his hair and held his face.

Mom took a hint and wandered off.

"Hey." Matt stroked my cheek. He kissed my jaw, then my mouth. He let me get a good look at him, as if he knew I needed it.

He was clean shaven and freshly showered. There were no signs of the haggard Matt I'd seen yesterday, except for a little darkness beneath his eyes. I traced the shadowy smudges.

"Night owl," I murmured.

"Hannah, I'm—"

I could see the apology forming on his lips and I kissed him, hard. He squeezed my waist. Oh, that felt good.

"It's okay," I said, pulling back. "It's over now, right? We're going camping. We're going to have a blast."

"Yeah..."

Matt tugged on my pony tail. He was different today, different in the best possible way, and I found myself watching him as he loaded my stuff into his Jeep. Car number three. Geez.

"Cute." He smirked as he wedged my puffy blue sleeping bag in beside his tent.

Did the weekend always have this effect on Matt? For once, his smiles weren't edged with unease. There was no distantly troubled look on his face, and not once did I catch him frowning at me like I was the biggest mistake in his universe.


Even his body language was more relaxed. He helped me into the Jeep, then lingered at my side for a slow, maddening kiss.

The drive up to Rocky Mountain National Park was breathtaking. As we neared the mountains, the road wound alongside gushing rivers, sheer walls of rock, and towering stone formations that looked like faces.

Matt asked about my first day of work. He was smiling and curious, not gruff and paranoid. Thank god.

I had barely considered my first whirlwind workday as Pam's secretary; I'd been too worried about Matt. It was a relief to describe the work and make Matt laugh with anecdotes about Pam.

"But I love the job," I told him. "I wish I could describe the feeling that came over me as I read manuscripts. It was like... I was meant for this. Like I was finally doing a job I could see myself making into a career."

When I looked at Matt, he was glowing.

He was surprisingly chaste on the drive up to the park. Sometimes he took my hand, and once he ran his fingers from my knee to the top of my thigh.

We stopped in Estes Park, a quaint town on the front range, and waded through crowds of tourists for a lunch of the best fudge I ever tasted.

Matt made me try each flavor he bought—vanilla, maple, amaretto, chocolate cream. That I had never been to the park flabbergasted him. He dragged me into the shops and bought me a beaded bracelet, a little bird figurine, and a tiny bronze padlock on a chain.