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For something I can’t have anyway. Stupid horny hormones.
“Nothing’s up. I just haven’t seen you in a while, and I missed you, so….”
“Missed me, right,” I say, sarcastically. “You mean, missed coming over to list all my faults and what I should do about them?”
He rolls his eyes. “Nicolette,” he says, “it’s not like that.”
“No? The last time I saw you, I think the list was something like, ditch Dane, apply for a job across town at that fancy new restaurant, take a Pilates class, and, um, what am I leaving out? I think I’m leaving a few things out because I know you didn’t stop there.”
“How is Dane?” asks Matthew. He’s got a serious expression on his face, all full of concern, you know? But I think the concern is just about whether the people in his life are doing what he wants them to do, like he thinks we’re all his puppets or some damn thing.
“Dane is fine,” I say, but I suck at lying.
“Um-hmm,” says Matthew, not buying it for one second. Then he grins again. “So hey, notice anything different about me?”
I look, startled by the question. His chest is just as meaty and delicious, and he’s wearing a tight T-shirt that shows it off perfectly. His hair is short, in a military-style brush cut that I’d love to skim my hands through.
I don’t dare let my gaze drop below the waist.
“No, I don’t see anything different. What, you start wearing girl’s underwear or something?”
Matthew laughs. “Nope, not today,” he says. “Actually, I got a promotion. Not a beat cop anymore—I made Detective.”
“So no more uniform.”
“That’s right. I’m on duty now, plainclothes.”
Well, I happen to have liked the uniform. And plus, handcuffs and all? It was hot.
Or it would have been if Matthew weren’t such a freaking good guy. I wanted more like, cop gone bad, you know what I mean?
“If you’re on duty, aren’t you supposed to be scarfing down doughnuts at the doughnut shop?”
“Very funny. You’re not happy for me? A little proud?”
“I’m not your grandmother,” I snap. Then I’m a little sorry for being so bitchy. “Yeah, sure. Congrats, big bro. It’s great to know that when I get in real trouble, I have a guy inside.”
Matthew’s face falls just a little. He quickly changes his expression but I saw it. I don’t know why I feel compelled to say mean things to him. Maybe because I just can’t stand him? Why does he come over to my place on my day off just to brag about his latest achievement? Because count how many fucks I give: approximately zero.
“So how’s work?” he asks, moving into the kitchen and pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Got any cream?”
“Just skim milk,” I say in a withering tone.
“Nic,” he says softly, turning away from the refrigerator. “Why are you so bitter towards me? Did I do something to hurt you? Honestly, just tell me!” He reaches a hand out like he’s going to touch my shoulder, but takes it back before it gets to me.
“I…”
“Come on, what did I do?”
I take a deep breath. Maybe it’s time to tell him at least part of how I feel—the less embarrassing part. “You’re always bossing me around and telling me how to change my life. You’ve got a million different plans for how I can improve myself. Well, what if I don’t think I need improving? What if I don’t want to be your fucking project? Huh?”
Matthew looks stunned, like I’ve slapped him in the face. And yeah, I was brought up to be polite and to think of other people’s feelings and I’ve never gone off on him like that before. I’m cringing inside now, worrying about what he’ll say.
He walks over to me. My nostrils flare when he gets close and I’m sucking in his pheromones like they’re the most addictive perfume on earth. I get all tingly between my legs and I’m cursing myself for it, and for opening my big mouth because now I’ll never get rid of him and his big bags of advice I never asked for.
And the worst thing of all would be for him to find out just how wet he makes me. Talk about humiliating!
“Nic,” he says again, and this time he reaches out his hand and strokes my cheek with the back of it. He steps closer, so close our chests are almost touching. I see him glance down at my breasts, and—was that a flare of desire I just saw in his eyes? The what?
No way. Couldn’t be. What would a buff dude like my stepbrother want with a marshmallow like me.
He looks deep into my eyes and it’s so intense I almost look away. I can’t believe it, and the whole thing is like in slow motion, but I think Matthew is about to kiss me!
Which is right when the buzzer goes off.
So fucking typical.
I block Matthew’s view when I open the door, thinking that I can at least give Dane a few seconds of warning that a cop is in my apartment. It’s not like he’ll be stumbling in with a needle stuck in his arm or a bale of weed under his arm—at least I hope he won’t—but still, a head’s up can’t hurt, right?
“Matthew’s here,” I whisper to him when he comes through the door to the stairwell.
He stops. He’s looking pretty ragged. I have the twin urges to run back to my place and lock the door, and to get a damp rag and wipe the funk sweat from his brow.
That’s how it always is with me, I guess: everything is love/hate, black/white, yes/no, and all at once.
