Page 188 of Lovers' Dance

“You like it,” I said, satisfied, maybe a little smug. I pulled the edge of the large t-shirt back on my shoulders. It was Matt’s. He was busy with work, and it was my way of having him close to me. Never mind he currently stood by the glass wall separating his office from the studio indulging me in a supportive round of applause. He looked great in that light sweater and casual dress pants. A bit much for staying at home, but hey.

“I am sure many would find it enjoyable to watch, Ms DuMont.”

“You like it,” I repeated, grinning from ear to ear. George huffed before turning on his heels and exiting the space, my space. I ambled over to the end of the large room where I could see into Matt’s office. He was about to take a seat behind his desk, attention on the paperwork in front of him with a tiny scowl on his mouth.

I tapped on the glass and he looked up at me. I turned around and lifted the bottom of his t-shirt to flash my leotard-covered ass. When I turned back around, he pointed in the direction of his door, then to me. I grinned and hurried out of the studio to meet him; knew that would make him leave his office.

“Hi,” I said as he closed his office door behind him.

“Hello,” he replied, fighting a smile.

“Do you have a lot to do?” I asked. “We could watch TV. You’ve been in there for hours, and I think you need a break. There’s a show on Sky that I want to watch.”

“What sort of show?” Matt asked suspiciously. During the early stages of our relationship, it had become apparent that Matt was a documentary/news sort of guy. And a remote control freak. I’d been subjected to his viewing pleasure for months, never being agile enough to wrest the control from his strong hands whenever we did watch TV. Every time I manually changed the channel, he would use the remote to flick it back and tell me to sit down so he could rub my feet. I only put up with it because he gave the best foot massages.

“It’s a movie.”

That suspicious look turned into a ‘definitely not going to happen’ look as he said, “I’ve got a lot of work to complete, poppet.”

“We can eat popcorn,” I offered in way of convincing him. “I noticed a microwave pack in the back of one of the cupboards.”

“I don’t eat popcorn. It must have been left over when the twins last stopped by and that was months before you and I got together,” he stated and my eyes widened in disbelief. Everyone loves popcorn. The sweet kind, the salty kind, the buttery kind; it didn’t matter your preference, it was popcorn and you loved it.

“That’s wrong, Matt. How can you not eat popcorn? And you say I’m crazy.” I scoffed.

A shadow flickered through his eyes. Maybe I shouldn’t joke about that particular word. Did he really think I was nuts?

“Please?” I wheedled, applying an exaggerated beseeching expression to my face.

“How long is it?” The negotiations began.

“About two hours, maybe less,” I said.

“What’s the storyline?” he asked.

I waved that question away. “Does it matter? We can get cosy on your back aching sofa for two hours.”

The suspicion was back on his features. “It’s dross, isn’t it? Some brain-stunting dross that you feel no guilt in subjecting me to.”

“I watched that documentary on macroeconomics with you, Matt. A three hour long documentary, and I didn’t complain once.”

“No,” he shot back with a reminiscent gleam shining from his grey eyes. “You complained several times, not just once. And chatted through half of it, which was distracting, to say the least.”

“You need a break,” I admonished. “I’m going to make popcorn. Come help, hon.” With that, I turned on my heels and started down the hallway in the direction of his kitchen. I had gotten around one corner before I realized he wasn’t following me. “Matt?”

“Go make your popcorn, poppet. I have to make one more call,” he yelled back.

I continued my journey to the kitchen, silently vowing that Matt would be watching the movie with me.

Fifteen minutes later, popcorn rapidly cooling on the side table and soft drinks getting warmer by the second, there was no sight of Matt in his entertainment room. I put my cell down. I’d been texting Dante on and off, and strode out of the room to search for my missing boyfriend. He was exactly where I knew he would be—behind his desk in the office, hurriedly writing something out on a pad of paper.

“The movie’s about to start,” I said from the open doorway. He glanced up at me, then back down to the pad of paper.

“I’ll join you in a bit.”

“No,” I said, walking over to pull the pen out his hand and put it down across the pad. “You’ll join me now, Mr Bradley.”

Matt sighed in resignation and got up from his chair. “And you say I’m the bossy one.”

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