Page 118 of His Secret

Twenty minutes later, I meet him at his car.

“So, where are we going?” I ask.

“At first, I was thinking about this place called Ginny’s, but it’s about thirty minutes from where we live, and if we’re gonna drink, then we’ll only be able to drink one before we have to sober up to drive home.”

I smirk. “Nice to know you’re still abiding by those rules.”

“Laws,” he amends with a grin. “Yes. I’m still against drunk driving, as I’d wish everyone would be, but anyway.” He sighs. “This is where you being my neighbor is a problem. I was going to invite you to my house. For a drink or two,” he says with a glint in his eye.

“For a drink.”

“Right, but, well, you live next door, and I suppose your car being home and you not being there would be an issue.”

“Hmm.” After a couple minutes, I shrug. “Let’s go. It’ll be fine.”

He raises his brows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I say with a nod. “I’ll see you in a little bit.”

“Okay.”

He climbs into his car and takes off, and I follow behind just a couple minutes later.

The only good thing about being in the closet, is that there’s no way she’d suspect anything weird if I say I’m going to my boss’s house. Or even if I just said I’d be at the neighbor’s.

When I pull into the driveway, I lock the car and walk through my front door. I hang the keys on the hook nearby before jogging upstairs.

Charlotte isn’t home. Considering I had the car all day, that’s interesting.

However, it works out for me now. I head back downstairs and walk outside and across the yard.

I ring Matías’s doorbell and he opens it just a few seconds later.

“All good?” he asks as he takes a step back.

“She’s not home.”

He inclines his head slightly, but doesn’t say anything else.

We both remove our shoes and suit jackets, while Matías removes the button-up shirt as well.

“I have a little bar over here,” he says, walking into his living room.

I follow behind, noting the warm tones in his furniture and decor. Brown curtains that are just a shade darker than the couch. Brown and beige pillows are placed along the cushions and beige, wooden tables hold candles and small decor items. There’s a row of three pictures behind his couch that look like landscape photos taken in the fall.

“Nice place,” I tell him as he opens a cabinet at a wooden bar against the wall.

“Thank you.”

I dig my toes into the soft, white rug under my feet. “So, whatcha got over here?”

I make my way to his side, and he pulls two glasses from the bottom shelf, handing one to me. In a little shelf on the door, he points to a few bottles of liquor—gin, whiskey, and vodka.

“I also have wine.”

I shake my head. “Whiskey is fine.”

He pours mine first, handing it to me. “I know you’re not gonna drink it straight. Give me a sec and I’ll grab something.”

---