Page 43 of Choices

"I did text. You didn't reply."

Oh shit, I hadn't checked my phone since the blow-up with Alan. I frown at the reminder.

"I just wanted to see you. I didn't know if you'd let me in."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I didn't know if Alan was home or not."

I nod in understanding.

Matty's methods may be unorthodox, but I can't help but enjoy the attention.

As I'm unbuttoning his shirt, though, my thoughts drift to the hard muscle beneath his clinging shirt.

"Holy shit," I whisper. That was supposed to be an inside thought.

Unconsciously, I drag my finger down the ridges of his abs. I've never seen someone socut - so built - so...perfect. Except maybe that night at the club, and Santiago.

He shivers under my touch and giggles. "Oh my God, that tickles."

I can't help but laugh myself.

I swallow hard, trying not to objectify the man in front of me. He's a friend, his clothes are soaked, I'm sure he's cold, I need to get him changed.

"No offense, but I'm not wearing anything of that asshole's."

I shake my head. "That's fine, but at least let's get you dry and warm." My mind goes into problem-solving mode. I can't just throw an Armani suit in the dryer. They're dry clean only, right? But if he won't wear Alan's clothes, what will he wear? I doubt he'd wear my shirts or yoga pants. Although, part of me is suspicious he'd wear the shit out of my yoga pants. He'd probably look better than me in them.

I take off his shirt and rest it next to his suit coat.

Step one: I need to get him dry. I'll figure out the clothes situation later.

I step into the laundry room and get him a towel, but when I return to the kitchen, he's already shucked off his pants, socks, and shoes, and is standing, in front of my open fridge, in just his boxer briefs.

God, he looks good in my kitchen. I pause, just for a moment, allowing myself the fantasy. The lights from the fridge burrow into every crevice of his muscles, outlining them in a mouth-watering way. His hair is damp and disheveled, and I want to run my fingers through it.

I want to see him, naked, in an apron, cooking me pancakes in the morning. I want to see him pressing up out of a pool, the water caressing his gorgeous body. I want to see him, body pressed against mine, my fingers digging into his back.

Holy fuck where did that come from?

I shake my head to clear away the horny thoughts.

I walk into the kitchen, with a confidence I don't really possess, and run the towel over his hair like I would one of my kids.

"You're going to catch a cold."

Chapter fifteen

Matty

The woman of my fantasies steps up to me and runs a towel through my hair like I'm a dog. She's so close I can smell her lotion and the rosé she was drinking. Fuck, I'm hard just being this close to her.

I can't stand it.

She's been my obsession for more than a decade. Now that I've found her, she's more than an obsession. She's an addiction. She's the air I need to breathe.

So, I shoot my shot.

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