Page 83 of The Golden Scoop

Matt seems fine with that, biting my bottom lip until give him access. My legs go weak, but he’s holding me up, moving us backwards until we’re pressed against my door.

Warmth spreads through me, quick and dizzying. I groan against his mouth. He stills. He knows that’s the line we won’t come back from tonight.

So he moves down, his lips trailing along my jaw.

“Fucking hell,” I whisper, when he presses one last kiss below my ear. “Mmm… Keep going.”

“Careful, honey,” he whispers. “I’m trying to behave.”

I let out a laugh, still a little dazed.

He pulls back, resting his forehead against mine.

“Terrible job so far,” I breathe.

Matt’s grin lingers, softer now.

“Goodnight, Mills.”

And just like that, with one last kiss on the cheek, he steps away, leaving me standing there hotter than a honeymoon hotel room, completely wrecked in the most inconvenient way possible.

NINETEEN

Matt

Zero focus.

That’s how I’ve been since I peeled myself from Emma last night. I barely slept. Her lips are still on me. Her scent, the way she sounded under my touch. I had to use every ounce of self-restraint not to lift her up and pin her against the door until the only thing left was making it inside.

If this were anyone else, this morning would’ve been wildly different. But this is Emma. My girl. She’s been hurt enough; I won’t be the reason it happens again. That means sitting in bed for hours, replaying every shared moment from this weekend… and doing absolutely nothing about it.

Keep going.

“Earth to Matt,” Ben says, snapping his fingers in front of my face.

“Sorry.” I clear my throat. “Little bit distracted.”

“I see that… does it have anything to do with Emma, by any chance?” he asks, tilting my head to the side. “You’ve got something right here.”

His finger lands on a tiny hickey at the side of my neck. Barely visible, unless you do makeup for a living. At what point did that happen?

“There goes hiding it,” I deadpan, even as an uncontrollable grin breaks across my face.

“Way to go, Matty!”

“Let’s not celebrate yet. I can still mess things up. Or she can decide I’m not enough.” My thoughts start to spiral. “Anything can happen.”

“Madre mía, tío.” Ben laughs. “You need to get laid. Maybe then you’ll finally get out of your own head.”

“Don’t we all,” I mutter.

“How about, for now, you stick to being yourself?” he suggests. “And stay still. I have work to do.”

Be myself. What would I do if I wasn’t terrified out of my mind about losing her?

I take out my phone and send her a text.

Morning, honey.