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“I’m sorry if I over-stepped.” He takes my hand and runs his thumb over mine. Yum. “But your family is easy to love.”
I trip on nothing, and he steadies me. Did he just use the L-word?
“I’ll be more careful in the future.”
I nod. “So, where are we going tonight?”
He looks off to the side, biting his lip. Making me want to kiss it better.
“I’m sorry, Nat. I had an entire night planned, but then Jordan called and I’ve been booked to go on the Night Show tonight. You know? To talk about the game last night.”
“OK,” I reply, drawing out the two syllables. “So, do you want to re-schedule?”
Given we’re in the car being driven somewhere, this seems unlikely, but I’m happy to give him an out if he needs. Not to mention a breather for myself. Some time to resurrect my anti-Matthew shield, if you please.
“No! I want you to come with me. I can do the interview and then maybe we can get dinner afterwards?”
He gives me a pleading look—one I remember clearly from our days studying together—and I don’t have a single protest in me. When he looks at me like that; I’d give him the world if he asked.
“Sure, but be warned. I’m a terrible hungry person. Think incredible Hulk…that’s me one minute after hunger sets in.”
His eyes crinkle as he grins at me. “Noted. I’ll make sure to feed you on time. Just give me a warning signal when the Hulk is about to make his appearance.”
“Done.” I sit back against the buttery leather seat, a content feeling washing over me. Despite the media storm surrounding us, the need to dress up for the cameras and the uncertainty of fake dating someone I have very real feelings for, in this moment—this quiet, just the two of us moment—I am happy.
It only takes five seconds outside of the car for this happiness to disappear. The waiting fans and media swarm us with such intensity that it takes three security guards and Matthew’s giant frame to shield me and get me from the SUV to the waiting door of the TV studios. The atmosphere is frenetic, and I don’t know how Matthew lives like this.
“It’s not usually like this,” he mutters into my ear as he envelops me with his body, his chest pressed firmly into my back, the intimacy of our positions evoking memories of our late-night kisses.
“Hmm?” I look over my shoulder and directly into his eyes. His yummy, yummy eyes.
“Are you OK?” He’s filled with concern, like I’m a fragile creature that needs protecting, and I don’t hate it. My inner feminist self is wagging her finger at me and I’m happily ignoring her. This damsel in distress gets to be in Matthew’s arms, so she wins every time.
“I’m good.”
“You two!” Our heads snap up in unison to see Jordan glaring at us. Does this guy ever look happy? “Come through this way.”
Matthew shrugs and, with a hand on my lower back, he guides us to follow his manager to a dressing room with Matthew’s name on the door.
“Oh, fancy!” I tease him, causing a blush to bloom on his cheeks.
“It isn’t always like this,” he tells me, his voice earnest. “It’s just because of last night’s game.”
“Well, you deserve the star treatment. You won us the game and we’re off to the World Cup. According to Wikipedia, that’s a big deal.”
His deep chuckle has my head spinning, and I want to make him laugh again. And constantly. That laugh is addictive.
“Mr Barkly?” We turn to see a small, fierce-looking woman staring up at us. Finally, someone smaller than me. “We need to get you into hair and make-up. You’ll be on stage in less than ten minutes.”
He agrees without a fuss, taking a seat in a fancy chair, his eyes locked on me in the mirror.
“Will you be OK to wait out here for a bit?”
Before I can answer, Jordan butts in. “She’ll be fine.” His tone is annoyed and dismissive. Matthew frowns. “She can watch the show from in here.” Jordan points to a large flatscreen TV on the wall, where the first segment of tonight’s program is showing.
“Sounds great.” My smile is forced and I hope I won’t be left alone with Jordan for too long. The guy is a major grump. “I’ll be fine back here.”
Matthew doesn’t have time to respond before he is whisked away with only one final apologetic glance. I sink into the couch and watch his entourage follow him out. Letting out a deep breath, I turn up the volume, happy to be alone to watch his TV appearance in peace.
