Page 25 of Fall Into You
Oh no.
“I thinkyou’rethe one who’s a piece of work here,friend.”
Jeremy snorts and looks at me. “Wow, Liza.Brava. You have actually found someone as dramatic as you,” he snarls. “Let’s go, Heidi.” He takes the redhead’s hand and drags her out of the restaurant, looking over his shoulder once at us before disappearing into the cold October night.
“Thanks for standing up for me,” I say as Matt takes his seat. “He’s such a loser.” I shake my head.
“He really fucking is.” Matt’s eyes are still on the front door, on alert in case Jeremy comes back. “I don’t get what you ever saw in that tool.”
I flush, embarrassed. “Honestly, I don’t really knowwhyI was with him. I think I first started dating him because I was sad Dad was sick and looking for a distraction or companionship. Also, the idea of dating a professor was kinda hot at the time.” He chuckles at my confession. “Then, when Dad passed away, Jeremy was actually really supportive. Once I started getting better, though, I started seeing his annoying side, and I guess I started wondering what we were even doing together. But then he proposed, and I remembered my dad saying how much he liked him for me, and I guess that’s how I wasted three years of my life.”
I shrug casually, like it’s no big deal that I spent the last three years in a boring relationship with a horribly conceited man. I wash away the bitterness with a giant gulp of beer and smile half-heartedly at him.
“It’s okay,” I say. “Thanks for standing up for me and for pretending to be my boyfriend,” I say again. “It wasn’t really necessary, but thanks anyway.”
He laughs a little, embarrassed. “I justhatedhow he just assumed you would basically die alone. He’s such a tool.”
“Definitely.” I smile coyly at him.
“What?” he asks.
“It’s nothing. It’s just…this wasn’t the first time you helped me with a breakup.”
He looks at me, confused. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”
“It makes sense for you not to remember this, since you don’t remember me at all, but the reason I visited New York to see Vinny the first time I met you was because I had just broken up with my ex. I was really sad and embarrassed and took a train into the city without telling my parents. I showed up at your apartment, crying, looking for my brother, but he wasn’t there. You answered the door and invited me in, asked me if you could do anything for me. I told you I just wanted my brother, that my boyfriend had broken up with me. You said Vinny wouldn’t be home for a couple of hours, told me to sit in the living room, and left.
“I thought you had left to go to class or something, but you came back fifteen minutes later with a Big Mac, fries, a Coke, and an apple pie for me.” The memory makes me smile, makes me feel all warm inside. I fell massivelyin-crushwith Matt then, never having forgotten the kindness he showed me, even over six years later.
“I—I’m so sorry. I don’t remember any of this,” he says sadly.
“It’s okay.” I shrug. “I was just a kid then. I don’t know whether you did that with many girls, but regardless, it cheered me up and made me feel cared for when I felt alone and sad. My point is, you’ve always been a nice guy, Matt—even during your d-bag days.” I reach across the table to grab his hand.
He squeezes my hand with a soft smile, and we say nothing more about Jeremy or Matt’s drinking days as we finish our meals.
AFTER DINNER,he walks me home, hands in his coat pockets, keeping his eyes on the ground, only holding my hand whenever we need to cross the street—after which, though, he drops my hand and shoves his hand back into his coat.
It’s like the night turned south for some reason, and I’m at a loss as to why. I thought we were having a good time.
When we reach my apartment door, the silence has grown uncomfortable, and I’m a little pissed. He waits patiently while I unlock my front door and push it open. We both stand in the doorway, and I look up at him expectantly.
Can I at least get a goodnight kiss? Jeez.
He looks down into my eyes, his gaze occasionally slipping to my lips. I stand on my tiptoes, lifting my chin. I’m definitely going over the 90/10 rule, where the man leans 90% of the way into the kiss and the woman goes the last 10% (thanks, Will Smith, for the lesson). I feel like I’m embarrassing myself—I must be at 40% now. Hehas toknow what I’m doing, right?
Jesus.
When it becomes excruciatingly obvious that, despite the incredible sexual tension that can be cut with a knife, he will not be kissing me tonight, I huff in frustration and say, “Thanks for your help today.” It’s childish, I know, but I don’t understand where this is coming from. I feel like we were having such an amazing time and then…nothing.
“You’re welcome,” he says softly. “I guess I’m gonna…” He throws a thumb over his shoulder and twists in the opposite direction.
I frown. “Right. Have a nice night.” I slam the door in his face, completely embarrassed.
“Un-freaking-believable,” I mutter to myself, kicking off my shoes and removing my coat at the same time. I’m hanging my coat up in the closet when I hear a knock at my door. I quickly walk over and swing it open—and there he is.
Matt. His greens eyes are dark and low-lidded, gaze intense.
“I’m an asshole,” he says, hands on either side of my doorframe.
