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Just then a squad car pulls up and two uniformed cops jump out. Matthew talks to them for a moment, they put the dude in the car—pushing his head down as he gets in, just like on TV—and then it’s just me and Matthew standing on the sidewalk.
“Well,” I say slowly, “okay. Thank you. That was…that was going to be bad.”
“Hell yeah,” he says. “I don’t want you out here at night, Nicolette. You know it’s not safe! And you—”
“I can’t believe you’re blaming me. It’s my fault that douche attacked me?”
He starts to say something, then looks a little sheepish. “Come on, make me a cup of coffee, willya?” he says, and he takes my hand and tugs me down the sidewalk in the direction of my place.
“Okay,” I say, because what, I’m gonna deny him coffee after he just saved my life? I haven’t forgotten for one second that he got Dane arrested. Not for one second. But at least he deserves some thanks for being in the right place when I needed him, and being willing to step up. Even if it is his job.
What a fucking day.
“Go ta
ke a shower,” Matthew says, the minute we’re inside. “I know how this stuff goes, Nicolette. That guy was all over you and you’re gonna want to wash him off. I’ll make the coffee.” And he starts bustling around the kitchen like he’s Betty fucking Crocker or some shit.
But it’s true, I want a shower more than anything in the entire world. So I just nod and disappear. I blast the water as hot as it will go—and that’s one thing this shitty apartment has going for it, super hot water. I let it pour over my face and I just stand there, letting all the crap of the day wash over me. I soap myself, giving extra attention to anyplace where that dude touched my skin. I try to let all of the worry, the fear, the anger just wash down the drain.
But it’s not that easy.
I’ve broken up with my boyfriend. I’ve been attacked. Betrayed by my stepbrother and then saved by my stepbrother. And oh yeah—holding on to my job by a frayed hangnail. All the emotions swirling around that heap of trouble—it’s gonna take more than a shower to set things right.
But still, I almost enjoy shampooing, and then conditioning, and then taking the time to shave my legs and pits and bush. When I get out, I’m feeling extra-clean and smooth as a dolphin. I’m feeling calmer. I put on a ton of coconut moisturizer so I can pretend I’m on a tropical island, and when I smell the coffee, I’m thinking that hot liquid is going to taste so freaking good.
I wrap up in a towel and—
“Matthew!”
He’s standing in the hallway, with that sheepish look again. His gaze seems to be dancing along the top edge of my towel.
“Nic,” he says. I can see his dragon tattoo peeking out from under the sleeve of his T-shirt. His chest is massive as ever and my eyes can’t help lingering on it.
He steps closer. “Nic,” he says, and once again he does that thing with the back of his hand, stroking my cheek.
I know he means it in a friendly way, but it makes me wet.
“Matthew,” I say. “Thanks again. I was really lucky you came along when you did.”
“It was nothing,” says Matthew. “I’d take a bullet for you, you know that.” And then I see something in his eyes I’ve never noticed before. Some mixture of pain and regret, with a hint of…desire? mixed in.
No way. I must be hallucinating. The idea that Matthew is a little bit aroused makes a spurt of juice come out of me and drip down my inner thighs. I would die of embarrassment if he found out about that! So I suck in a breath and slide past him, saying “’Scuse me, just let me get dressed and I’ll be right out.” I can’t look him in the eye. Once I’m in my bedroom with the door closed, I hear him walking back down the short hallway.
I’m remembering how I used to hang around in the hallway back when our families first started living together. How curious I was about what was under his towel. And now damn if he wasn’t doing the same thing!
“Oh come on, Nicolette,” I say, actually out loud. There’s no. way. Matthew was trying to get a look. He was just checking on me, like he does. Probably thinks I don’t even know how to take a shower right.
I toss on a pair of jeans and a sweater. I’m thinking I’ll put off talking to Matthew about Dane for another day—all I want to do is drink that cup of joe, settle in on the sofa and watch some junk TV. Not think about anything, you know? Maybe splurge and order in Chinese.
But then it hits me. Out of nowhere, it’s like the guy is attacking me all over again—I can feel the way his fingers dug into my neck, and I can smell his breath in my face. I stop in my tracks, putting my hands on the wall for support.
“Nic?” calls Matthew, and then he comes running. “Come on, come to the sofa,” he says, putting one arm around me and walking me to the living room. “You’re having a delayed reaction to the attack. Very common. It’s okay,” he says, sitting next to me and smoothing the hair away from my face. “You’re going to be okay, beautiful,” he says, looking into my eyes and giving me a crooked smile.
I raise my head and look into his ridiculous blue eyes. “What did you say?”
“I said you’re going to be okay.”
“No, no. After that. The part after that.”
