Page 31 of One Day Like This (Excess All Areas 1)

When he was like this, just Matt, she could imagine a future between them. It was the rock star that scared her.

When the stars aligned to show us what’s in our hearts, how could we ignore it?

She hoped Matt would listen to them.

* * *

“He’s a dick. I know I’m marrying his brother in the morning, but I’m not looking forward to having a dick for a brother-in-law.”

Matt watched with amusement as Gemma held her glass and pointed a finger vaguely in Izabel’s direction.

Izabel, while not quite as inebriated as Gemma, nodded. “He is a dick. But Sophia is so gorgeous. Have you seen the length of her legs? No wonder Harry couldn’t keep his hands off her.”

Matt considered Sophia for a second before struggling to come to the same conclusion. Ifhehad Izabel waiting at home for him, he wouldn’t look twice at Sophia, long legs or not.

“Her legs were made for wrapping around a pole,” Gemma mumbled.

Izabel laughed. “I want to rise above here, say something about how women shouldn’t put other women down.”

“She fucked your boyfriend, in your apartment, on your new sofa, with pictures of you and Harry all over the walls. When a woman does that to another woman, they lose all access to the moral high ground.”

Izabel drank the rest of her pint. “Yeah. With those long legs wrapped around his back. Even left her heels on. I didn’t even know Harry liked screwing someone in heels.”

Matt shook his head. Yup. It was time to get Izabel to bed before she drowned her sorrows in another pint.

“I’m gonna go talk to him about it.” Gemma slid off her stool and Matt reached for her to steady her.

“No, Gemma. Wait. I really think you should go to bed,” Izabel told her friend.

Matt agreed. The woman was starting to slur her words. While he really didn’t give a rat’s arse if the bride-to-be wanted to get totally shit-faced and go for a midnight swim in Lake Windermere the night before her wedding, he strongly believed she’d wake up on her wedding day regretting her life choices if she didn’t stop downing rum and cokes like they were water after a month in the desert.

“I’m getting married tomorrow,” Gemma said defiantly. “I can do what I want.”

Matt glanced at his phone. Seven minutes to midnight. “Isn’t it tradition that a bride and groom shouldn’t see each other on the day of the wedding?”

Gemma glanced over Izabel’s shoulder at Matt. “Yeah. Definitely.”

Matt held his phone in her direction. “Then you better hustle.”

Gemma looked at the time and squealed. “Shit. Where’s Mum gone?”

As Gemma and Izabel tried to find Gemma’s mum, he thought about the cumulative scars left on a woman’s heart by the men they dated. They were like paper cuts. Small and innocuous but hurt like a motherfucker. Careless actions. Unspoken or cruel words. They healed but left scars, leaving the heart tougher. Making it harder to fall apart, but less open to love.

Lather, rinse, repeat each time, and then a new man came on the scene.

He looked at Iz, who stifled a yawn behind her hand. Harry. Jase. Luke. All of them had left scars on Iz’s heart, and he hated them for it.

Harry had ruined her trust. Luke had taken away her choices. Jase had made it so the two of them could never be together. Just thinking of Iz and Jase together made his throat constrict.

Circumstance weighed so unfairly against him.

He grabbed his phone. Papercut Hearts. It would be a good title. He typed a few more thoughts before sliding the phone back into his pocket.

Gemma hurried to Ollie and gave him a sloppy, drunken kiss that made Ollie laugh and hug her more tightly. He whispered something into Gemma’s ear that sent her all swoony. It should be ridiculous, but all Matt felt was envy.

Because despite the fact his mum bailed, his nan was widowed, and he had no idea who his dad was, he wanted to get married. To be with someone who totally accepted him for who he was.

He looked over at introverted Ollie who had sat with the same three people all night, and social butterfly Gemma who had flitted from table to table, laughing and dancing.

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