Phoebe Berman's Gonna Lose It(85)

The kiss is soft and minty and everything I’ve always wanted. Matthew lifts his hand to my cheek, and I can feel his thumb swiping back and forth over a tear. I pull away for a second and whisper against his mouth, “Thank you.”

His eyes turn dark and needy under his glasses. He bobs his head up and down swiftly, a quick acknowledgment, before his lips come crashing back down onto mine. If that first kiss was slow and tender, this one is anything but. His mouth is hungry against mine as he pulls me as close to him as I can get. He runs his tongue against my bottom lip and my hands instinctively crawl up his neck and bury themselves in his hair.

I need to get closer to him.

I tug him down to the ground by his shirt and press him against the empty street cart without breaking our kiss. He pulls me onto his lap, brushing my curls to the side so that he can get access to my neck. He nips at the skin above my collarbone and I let out a sound that I’ve never made before.

I startle myself.

“Oh god.” I untangle myself from Matthew’s lap and move to stand up. My legs feel like Jell-O.

He grabs my wrists and drags me back down next to him. “Don’t go,” he whimpers.

I fall back against the cart so that our sides are pressed up against each other. “I just thought about Danny,” I confess, still breathless.

“Who’s Danny?” he asks. His brow is furrowed with concern, but it’s hard to notice anything other than how adorably flushed his cheeks are and how his hair is mussed up in one hundred different directions. I reach out to smooth it down.

“The kid. My student. What if he and his mom walked by?”

“They didn’t,” he assures me, placing his hand on my thigh.

“I know, but can you imagine?” I cringe, standing up and offering my hand. “Come home with me.”

He nods excitedly while adjusting his position on the ground. “I just need a second.” He looks everywhere but at me.

“No rush,” I tell him, even though I really would prefer to get a move on and fast.

I have never needed anything more than I need Matthew Baxter in my bed.



* * *



—

“I can’t look at you,” I tell him while staring out the window of the passenger side. “You have to stop doing all that.” I make a vague, sweeping gesture over his hands gripping the steering wheel and the arms they’re connected to.

“You asked me to drive,” he says, laughing. “I can’t just take my hands off the wheel.”

I sigh. “You can at least take one hand off.”

He lifts his right hand from the wheel and places it on my thigh. “Better?”

My skin tingles so fiercely beneath his fingers that it’s hard to believe there’s any fabric separating us. “So much worse.” I pick up his hand and begin twisting his ring for a distraction.

“I’m excited for you to meet Jonathan in person,” I tell him as we get closer to my apartment. “I think you two will really hit it off.”

“I’m nervous,” he admits. “It feels like meeting your family.” Matthew and Jonathan met over FaceTime last week, when the three of us spent the better part of an hour trying to come up with the perfect answers to the prompts for Jonathan’s new Hinge profile. It seems that with every passing day, Jonathan grows more comfortable in his own skin.

“Yeah, I guess he is my family,” I agree. “But you already met my family family at the wedding, and you were great. And Jonathan is far more normal than them.”

“Yeah, but this time is different because I’m meeting him as your…” He trails off midsentence.

“As my…”

He eyes me apprehensively. “As your invited guest.”

I cackle. “My invited guest,” I repeat. “I guess that works.”

For now.

We turn onto my street and I direct Matthew into the garage. He navigates my parking spot with an ease I haven’t even come close to after living here for two years.

“So, this is my garage.” I begin to label every landmark in the immediate vicinity.

It’s possible that I might be nervous, too.

“This is our dumpster. This is the gate to our apartment that doesn’t lock. That’s the front door.”

I freeze in place as I reach in my bag for my keys. “Oh no.”

“What?” Matthew asks. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you hear that?” I place my ear against the door and he does the same.

“Voices?” he asks.

“It’s an ambush,” I tell him. “I think my friends are in there.”

“That’s okay,” he assures me. “I can handle it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” He gestures for me to open the door. The voices on the other side go quiet as I turn my key in the lock and walk inside. Matthew follows from behind.

Jonathan, Alex, and Meg are huddled around the dining room table with a deck of cards. In the twelve or so years that I’ve known them, not once have I seen any of them play cards. Not even a round of Go Fish. I can’t imagine which one of them even had the deck.

“Hello!” Meg greets us cheerfully.

“It’s great to see you,” Alex says to one of us or both of us, I’m not really sure. It’s oddly formal either way.