Page 16 of A Love That Broke Us
Jensen looks to me. “We’re dating. Haven’t really talked about anything more, but… I’m not seeing anyone else.”
My face warms as Jensen’s gaze locks with mine, sending a rush of heat through my body. “I’m not seeing anyone else, either.” My grin spreads as I say it, happiness filling me as the truth of our feelings settles in the small elevator.
Jordan laughs, light and genuine. “Okay. You two are so cute.”
The doors slide open, and she steps into the penthouse first. “I’m gonna find Matty,” she says, turning back to me briefly. “It was so good to meet you, Alley.” With that, she beelines to the right, leaving me to scrape my jaw off the floor as my eyes take in the space.
“Oh my God,” I say, spinning to take it all in. “This is where Matt lives?”
Jensen scoffs. “Yeah. And this is only the first floor.”
The penthouse is spacious, with an open floor plan that’s oozing with luxury. Glass lines every exterior wall from floor to ceiling, offering breathtaking views of the city. The design is modern with a distinctly masculine edge—flawless decor, sleek surfaces—a true bachelor’s pad, and big enough to house a family of eight. The sliding glass doors to the terrace are open, heat lamps glowing in every corner, inside and out.
Jensen grabs my hand, guiding me through the throng of impeccably dressed guests to find Matt. We step onto the terrace, and my mind continues to reel at the level of extravagance. There’s a hot tub, multiple fire pits, plush furniture, a fully stocked wet bar, and even a large plunge pool. Who lives like this?
We approach a small group: a strikingly good-looking guy, who I assume is Matt, along with Jordan and another couple.
“Jensen!” the guy calls out, his grin lighting up his face.
“Hey, brother!” Jensen replies as they embrace in a brief, back-patting hug.
As soon as they pull apart, Matt turns his attention to me, his smile warm. “You must be Alley,” he says, stepping forward and pulling me into a hug. “I’m Matt. I’ve heard so much about you.”
Feel-goods spread through me as Matt’s words sink in, a smile tugging at my lips. I hug him back, pleasantly surprised thathe’s heardso muchabout me. As I step back, Matt waves over a cocktail waitress. Yes, there are actual cocktail waitresses.
A woman strides toward us, dressed in a sexy number—black bra, high-waisted cheeky bottoms, thigh-high socks, a garter belt, and heels. She’s beautiful, and Matt doesn’t hold back. His arm slides around her waist, flashing a flirtatious grin. “Hey, gorgeous, mind grabbing drinks for my friends here?”
It’s… a lot—cringe-worthy, even. I’m not sure if it’s jealousy, discomfort, or just the surrealness of being at a party this over the top, but something makes me shift on my heels. Maybe it’s knowing Matt is acting exactly like the player Jensen said he is. Or maybe it’s the way I feel so out of place—like a small-town girl who’s accidentally wandered into the dazzling, chaotic world of Manhattan high society.
“What are you two drinking?” Matt asks, his eyes flicking between Jensen and me.
“I’ll have a scotch, neat,” Jensen says easily, glancing at me. “What about you?”
I’m not a big drinker. I only indulge socially, and even then, I have strict rules: a two-drink max and never hard liquor. I’d actually be fine to never drink at all, but I hate the peer pressure that comes with it. People get weird when you say you don’t drink, and it doesn’t get better with age. So, to avoid the awkwardness, I play along. The truth? I don’t even like drinking. Deep down, I’m terrified of turning into my dad. It’s a fear that keeps me in check, steering clear whenever I can.
“What beers do you have?” I ask, praying he has a dark beer.
Matt rattles off a list of craft beers, IPAs, and stouts—names I don’t recognize but nod along to anyway.
“Any stout will be fine,” I tell the waitress. “Surprise me.”
“Ah, a dark beer girl. You don’t come by that very often,” Matt says.
Jensen had the same reaction when I ordered a Guinness on our first date. Stouts are the only alcoholic drink I actually enjoy.
As soon as the waitress turns away, Matt’s arm wraps around Jordan, pulling her into him. She responds in kind, sliding her arm around his waist, the other drifting up to rest on his chest.
I try to act natural, like I’m not completely thrown off.What is this? Some kind of modern-day Playboy mansion, with Matt as a young, real-life Hugh Hefner? One thing’s for sure—this is definitely shaping up to be a night I won’t forget.
“So, Alley, are you from here?” Matt asks, his focus now on me.
“No, I grew up in Chicago.”
“Chicago? What brought you to New York?”
I shrug lightly. “I just wanted a change, honestly. New York appealed to me, and I always dreamed of living here when I was a kid.”
“Well, good for you. Following your dreams,” he says with an easy grin. “I love Chicago. I’ve got a few friends and business connections out there.”
