One Last Shot (Pub Fiction #3) Page 8

  After taking our purses up to my old room, I make my way into the kitchen, which turns out to be a big mistake. Everyone’s already made their way into the dining room. Except for Matt. He’s making his way around the buffet-style spread, juggling two plates and loading them up with most of my favourite things. Oh, hell, no. Do not tell me he brought a date…shit, was this a plus one thing? My stomach dips at the thought.

  “I know I’m sexy there, gorgeous, but if you don’t come take your plate it might fall, and I’m pretty sure I got you the last piece of that meat pie shit you like.” Matty looks in my direction, a knowing grin gracing his handsome face as he drinks me in from head to toe. My knees wobble under his slow perusal, my halter dress suddenly feeling like sandpaper against my skin, and I want nothing more than to rip it off, toss behind me, all the while begging Matt to touch me. What the fuck?

  After a few beats too long of staring back in silence, frozen in the trap of his gaze, I make my way to Matt. Did he say he made my plate?

  “Sorry, did you say my plate?” I can’t help the stunned sound from coming out, because I am stunned. “You were getting me food? This is for me?” I reach out for the plate, the small tremble in my hand clear.

  He laughs. “Yeah, Captain Obvious, I know how fast these animals destroy meals. I figured I’d make sure you were taken care of. I know what you like, so I grabbed it,” he shrugs, handing me the plate like I’m not the completely ruthless bitch who dismissed him three days earlier.

  “Thanks,” I say, still shocked that he’s done this. Not that I should be surprised, Matt Bishop has always been a true gentleman. “And thank you for the flowers. And the notes,” I add sheepishly, again trying to avoid eye contact.

  “Look at me, Sugarshack.”

  He moves closer to me, taking the plate he’d just given me out of my hand, setting it on the table in front of us. “Hey.” He takes hold of my chin, lifting it slightly so our eyes meet. “You look beautiful. It’s nice to have you back home. Those were my little ways to make you smile. I hope it worked, because I love the way you smile, baby. And I like being the one to make you smile even more.” He rubs his knuckles lovingly along my cheek.

  “You have been,” I begin, placing my hands over his arms as he moves in to hold me. “I’m sorry, Matty, I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you sinc—”

  “Shh,” he cuts me off. “I’m gonna tell you my favourite thing about having you back home. I like knowing there’s a chance that I might actually get to see you. I like knowing the chance that we might run into each other has more probability then it did two weeks ago. I like it a fuck of a lot, actually. Welcome home, baby. I missed you, even if you still want to try and avoid me. I’ve always liked the challenge that is you. You, Claire Knox, are my biggest challenge and I fully accept it,” he says, knowing that he’s getting to me once again. Where the hell are my so-called bodyguards? “And believe me, we will be seeing each other as much as I can possibly make happen.” Then he kisses my nose before walking with a swagger toward the dining room to join everyone else. “Game on, Claire. Now come eat before Kat plans our wedding ’cause we’re MIA together,” the jerk calls over his shoulder, and once again I’m left falling in love with Matt Bishop that little bit more.

  If only I could talk the bridge troll into lowering the drawbridge again.

  Chapter 15

  Matt

  “Glad to see you calmed down, man,” Justin says, tossing his card in the kitty, folding on his turn.

  “Yeah, I know, but that fucker pissed me right off. Who does Jude think he is anyway, trying to move in on what’s mine?” I ask, thinking back on this morning’s brunch and how, after thinking I’d finally made some headway in the kitchen with Claire, I’d come outside to find that asswipe sitting up close to my girl, making her smile and shit. Unable to keep my cool, I’d forgone coffee and dessert as soon as I saw Jude lean in to whisper in Claire’s ear. It was around that time I decided I would be a nice boy, and quickly offered to help Mary clean up. Hey, it wasn’t my fault that I happened to trip as I made my way toward Jude and Claire, causing a few plates sporting half-eaten pieces of cake to land on Jude and his preppy get-up. Endplay, dickhead.

  “She’s gonna cut your tiny balls off and feed them to you for breakfast if you keep messing with her, you know that?” Ryker says, pulling a shit ton of poker chips toward himself after winning the hand. A bunch of us guys are playing poker at Pub Fiction, a G-rated version of bachelor party for Ryker. Poor baby didn’t want to do much else, says he’s over the club scene. I don’t blame him, but it’s funny, Ryker Eddison settling down, doing the whole marriage thing. Never thought I’d see the day. Truthfully, I’m glad he’s found Kat. I’ve known him a long time, and I’ve never seen him this happy. Now I just gotta get my happy.

  “If it gets her talking to me, or better yet makes her come see me, then I’m willing to sacrifice ’em,” I nod, taking a pull of my beer.

  “I thought she was gonna rip you a new asshole, bud. She knew you did it on purpose. You’re just lucky it’s Claire and she has a killer sense of humour. I’m amazed that she actually laughed along with the rest of us. Poor cousin Jude, he didn’t even know what was coming,” Justin laughs, dealing our next hand.

  “You’re such a pussy, man,” Ryk jabs. “But if you keep that shit up, you shouldn’t miss your balls too much, since they’re so tiny to begin with. Lucky for you, I hear some chicks out there take pity on deformed bastards, so at least you might still get laid.”

  “I’m a pussy? Pot, er…have you met the kettle?” I jab back, a round of laughing erupting from the table.

  “Yeah, but at least my mangina is still intact and I got the girl,” Ryk winks like the dick he is.

  “I got the girl, don’t you worry your pretty little head that I don’t. I got her, she just needs a little push is all, ya winking bastard.”

  “Yeah, just a push. Or maybe you need more of my expert behind-the-scenes help; my planning, plotting, and expert moves,” Ryker says, and hi-fives Luke who’s sitting beside him, nodding in agreement. Assholes.

  “Right on. We need to figure out the rest of the plan,” Luke says, offering his two cents, “’cause I’m already in pain watching you two drool over each other while waiting for—I have no fucking clue. I say it’s time to caveman her. I’m talkin’ pick her ass up, take her to your room, and lock her there ’til you work this shit out. That’s what I’d do, anyway.” Luke shrugs like he’s got all kinds of game, and it’s that simple.

  I laugh out loud, shaking my head. “Oh, like you did with Kyrie?” I scoff, knowing full well the fucker will now keep his opinions to himself. That girl had him so twisted; I’d never seen him so fucked up.

  “Again, that was me at work behind the scenes. I really should start wearing a bow and arrow.” Ryker shoots an imaginary crossbow into the air. “Call me Cupid.”

  “I’d rather call you Stupid.” Levi comes back, beers in hand. “What the hell did I miss?” he asks, passing around the bottles. We deal another hand, filling him in on all my chick issues.

  “And, of course, the usual happens: your brother thinks he’s Cupid incarnate.” Justin adds, and we all laugh.

  “Naw, it’s just ’cause Ryk’s completely in tune with his inner child, so he can relate. He puts on his big ass diaper and shits the bed whenever he tries to help,” Levi says, causing us to laugh even harder at Ryker’s expense.

  “Fine, fuckers. I won’t share the genius plan that I thought up to get Claire over to your house, and willingly.”

  I’ll never admit it, but I bet Ryker would look good wearing that bow and arrow, ’cause after hearing his idea, the kid’s got some serious game.

  Fucker.

  Chapter 16

  Claire

  How the hell did I get manipulated into this? Dammit.

  I grab the suits from the back seat before locking my car, and sigh. I guess this is what I get for holding out on Kat, with her knowing that’s e
xactly what I’ve been doing. I can only imagine what Matt’s told Ryker, and what Ryker’s blabbed to Kat despite it going against Bro Code.

  I walk up the steps leading to Matt’s house, the garment bag hangers gripped so tightly that my hands have barely any feeling by the time I reach the door. I bet any money this little errand with me dropping the tuxes off to Matt’s house was an act of pure treachery on behalf of my oh-so-sweet bestie and her sneaky honey-of-a-sidekick, Ryker. This whole thing screams Ryker. I know I should have told Kat what went down between Matt and I, along with how relentless he’s being in making sure I know he exists, but no. So now I’m paying the consequences. See what I get for trying to save my drama for after the wedding? Torture. Passive aggressive torture.

  “Shit. Shit. I can’t do this.” I’m standing on his porch muttering to myself like some crazy bag lady. I can’t face him after what happened in the kitchen. God, he was so sweet; he’s slowly killing me, I swear. Then there’s the whole Cakegate thing. I can’t help but laugh a bit, remembering how he acted with Jude. Little shit, he might as well have lifted his leg and peed on me! I still can’t believe he thinks any of us bought his tripping routine. Poor Jude, he had just built up the nerve to ask me for my number when Matt came barreling down onto his lap, smearing cake all over Jude’s face and clothes. What a jerk. Is it bad that my stomach dips when I think that he wants me so bad that he’d do something so ridiculous? I’m sick and twisted. Kat’s right. Maybe I need to visit a good ol’ head doctor.

  Piss it. I’ll just leave the tuxedos hanging from the hooks on Matty’s mailbox, I decide, rummaging in my purse for a pen and paper to leave a note with them. But then the door swings open revealing the sexy man-mountain himself. The wind rushes out of my sails at the sight of him.

  “Hey, Sugarshack. I was just coming to see if the paper was here yet. I thought Kat said you were coming by in an hour or so. You’re early.” He looks me over, my green tank top feeling indecent with the way his eyes light up. All I see is him in all his beautifulness, couldn’t even tell you what he’s wearing. Oh, wait: no shirt and track pants. No wonder I’m drooling. “Wanna come in, or you in a rush? I just made some coffee.”

  I can’t meet his eyes. I think he spoke. Did he say something? I’m too drawn into his sculpted chest, smooth pecs and that glorious moneymaker of a V-line. The one that calls to me, I swear it actually talks to me—“Good morning, don’t I look scrumptious? Want a lick?”

  “Hell, yes!” Oh, my God. I cover my mouth not sure how loudly I answered the sweet-talking V. I let out a low moan, thinking about how badly I wanted to run my tongue along every square inch of this exquisite body the other night. It’s too bad I didn’t get the chance. Stupid overeager beaver.

  “You are clearly starved for caffeine,” Matty says, and I swear he’s laughing at me. Finally able to look up, I clue in that the muttering I thought I heard was actually words. Matt was talking to me, watching while I legit just had an imaginary conversation with his V. Bloody hell, I really do need to call the doctor. I nod, catching his knowing smirk.

  “Hey,” I smile sheepishly. “Hi. Yeah. You’re so hot. I mean it’s so hot out. Dammit. What did you say again?” Kill me now.

  He gives a full-out laugh and it’s beautiful, even if it is at my expense. “Coffee, Sugarshack. I want us to have coffee,” he smiles, moving aside so I can come in.

  “Right. Yes. Let’s coffee,” I say and brush past him, not missing the breath he takes as our bodies brush when I pass through the door.

  “God, you’re perfect,” I think I hear him say before he closes the door behind us.

  Making my way up the stairs, I’m overwhelmed by all things Matty. His woodsy scent mingles with wafts of fresh laundry, and I’m immediately assaulted with memories of that smell engulfing me on Sundays past when we’d snuggle all day with Netflix marathons, and how, despite living with a bunch of guys, his room always exuded that clean linen smell I love so much.

  Coming to the landing, my eyes dart around the huge open concept living space. It’s masculine, with deep mahogany hardwood floors meeting the sleekness of an accent wall of rich warm grey colour that is surrounded by three lighter cream ones which compliment the richness of the room. It’s beautiful, both modern and comfy, and I love the look of the deep black overstuffed leather couch with matching chair and ottoman offset, of course, by a huge plasma TV mounted on the wall. I stand for a few moments taking in all the little touches, and I can’t help wondering if a woman is responsible for adding the candles, coasters and pile of throws. I shake my head free of the upsetting thoughts, it’s not like it matters. Matt is a single hot-as-fuck man, who isn’t mine. It shouldn’t matter, but I know deep down it does, the idea of another woman decorating with him, staying here with him, affecting me more than I care to acknowledge.

  “This place is awesome. I love the manly feel, but the subtle feminine hints are a nice balance. It’s perfect, Matty.”

  Turning to look for Matt, I end up smacking right into his solid chest. I force myself to step back immediately before I do something stupid, like start licking him like a lollipop. Silly girl, friends don’t lick each other.

  “Thanks,” he says, his warm breath a whisper away from my face, “I had help. I can’t take all the credit. It’s all from the wonder that is Joy.” He looks around the space before meeting my eyes again, this time I know my disappointment at his words is evident on my face. I can tell because he pauses, as if gauging whether or not he should continue. “Yeah, I love it. She knows me so well; we had a lot of fun doing it, too. I never thought decorating could be fun. But with the right person, it really is. She nailed it, and me. It’s home you know?”

  Joy? Who is this Joy? There’s a sudden pit in my stomach and I instantly hate this place. No. I hate the “joy” that seems to come from Matt while talking about Joy. Fuck you, Joy, he’s mine. Wait…no. No, he’s not.

  “Well, that’s great. I’m happy for you. It’s beautiful.” I look at my phone, trying to scheme a way to get out of coffee. To get out of here before I lose it. Without having any right to. I mean, I was the one who left. And this isn’t what I want, is it?

  “I…er, I better go. I didn’t realize the time. I need to go get my…uh, my wax. Yeah. I need to get my stuff waxed.” I move aside without meeting his face.

  “What’s wrong, Sugarshack?” he asks, moving closer to me again. I feel the familiar pull in my groin.

  I can’t believe you slept with me and all along you’ve had a Joy! I want to scream, but I can’t. I’ve lost the ability to think. Why the hell am I so upset? I need to get away from him. Matty Bishop fucks me up.

  “Nothing. Nothing at all.” I know he knows I’m lying. The tremble in my voice is my stupid tell, it’s always been my tell.

  “You jealous of Joy?” he scrutinizes.

  Yes. “No.” It comes out more deflatedly than I want it to.

  “She’s just my decorator, baby. My mom’s friend. It was my mom’s ‘welcome to home ownership and life-long debt’ gift. Joy.” He moves in, engulfing me in his hold, and I let out an audible exhalation at his admission. “The happily married Joy,” he says, his fingers playing with a lock of my hair.

  “You’re an asshole, Matty.” I bat his hand from my hair; he wipes a tear that’s pooled in the corner of my right eye. “Glad to know you’re not a complete asshole who’s been seeing someone while fucking around with me, though. Good,” I say, flinching at my own accusing words, seeing the hurt cross his handsome face. I know I’m a dick for voicing it, but I guess this is just my way to put back some much-needed space between us. “I mean, not that it would matter. We can only be friends anyway,” I smile. It’s a pathetic attempt, but I’m sinking into the quicksand that is Matt and my defences are dwindling. Where are my trolls and their flaming torches? They must still be sleeping this early in the day. I knew I shouldn’t have come here.

  “Never anything serious, Claire.” He grips my hips, pulling me flu
sh to his body, his hardness making itself known. “How could I? Fuck, even after two years of not hearing a peep from you, like the pussy-whipped asshole I am I still only ever think of you. Sure, I’ve fucked chicks,” I blanch at that comment, hating the rush of jealousy I have no right to feel even as it consumes me. “But never here, and they’ve never been close to filling the void that you left when you ran from me. They’ve never been you.” He dips his nose to my neck, breathes me in deep. “You’re still my only goddamned thought when it comes to wanting a relationship. It’s only ever been you, baby—always only you.” He leans down and runs his tongue softly across my lips, eliciting a moan. “Can’t you feel how much I want you, Sugarshack?” He digs into my hips, grinding his cock against me.

  “Matty. We can’t.”

  It’s a weak protest, we both know it. I try to pull away, but he shifts us, backing me up until my legs hit the armchair. With a fluid motion he twists us at the last minute so I land in his lap, meeting in an intense gaze, face-to-face. The exact position we were in at Pub Fiction. Heat floods my body at the memory, and instinctively I grind down on Matt’s lap, seeking the friction I know we both crave.

  “You’re so pretty when you lie about not wanting me, ‘friend’,” he taunts, lowering his face to kiss my cheek, running his lightly-scruffed chin over my neck. My nipples harden immediately at his touch. Pulling up my shirt, he moves his hands there, taking them between his fingers and rolling them, while I move up and down over his jogging pants.

  “What are you doing to me, Matty?” I ask with a breathy moan, his teeth scraping from one nipple to the next as I arch my back, a silent signal to keep going.

  “I’m being a good friend, Sugarshack,” he says, pulling away and then moving us to a standing position. I’m so hot and bothered I can’t find the right words to tell him where he and his friendship can go.