Page 90 of Pucking Matt
I’ve never been anyone’s distraction before. I don’t think I’ve blushed that hard in my entire life – so embarrassing – but it also worries me. I don’t think real life needs any more distractions than what we already have in this modern world, but if I’m Matt’s distraction, then he must be avoiding something. I glance at the screen. What is he avoiding? Why does he need to be distracted?
I think about all of the conversations we’ve had in the past, and it seems like he enjoys distractions. That’s what Michelle must’ve been for some time. He had problems with his ex-girlfriend, and I distracted him from that. Is that it? He’s still hung up over her? I don’t know what to think about any of this.
“I’m hungry,” I mutter. “So, I’m going to–”
He looks up from his iPad. “Wanna go grab dinner? I didn’t eat anything after practice.”
I almost laugh, but I try to withhold it. It’s not the kind of laugh that means something is funny, no. My body is giddy at his request. This man wants me to pretend to be his girlfriend and now he wants to get dinner with me? The fucking world is tilting on its axis.
“I’ll pick you up,” he offers. Before I can protest, he’s collecting things around his room. He walks out of his bedroom door and says, “Send me your address.”
I blink a few times. That happened really fast. “Matt, I can meet you there.”
“No, I want to make sure you get home safe.”
“I can handle myself,” I say.
He walks out into the night. “Send me your address.”
He ends the call, and I left staring at my phone. I glance around the room, panicking. Holy shit. Matthew Pearson, all six-foot-two-inches of him, is coming to pick me up to take me out for a bite.
Matt: Send me your address
Amber: 974 Monte St
Matt: Be there in ten
Shit!
I glance in the mirror at my work clothes. I need to change. Shit, I haven’t even showered. I start racing around my room with my heart in my throat. What am I going to wear? I dig through my dresser, grateful I did laundry yesterday. I throw on jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. I pull out my boots with the fur and look in the mirror. I retouch my basic makeup when I get a notification.
Matt: Outside
My heart is hammering against my chest. I think my breath is shaking. I inhale and exhale, feeling the pause in my lungs. Yeah, I’m trembling.
“Little nervous Rex,” I mutter to myself as I search for my lip balm that tastes good just in case. I apply it and put it in my pocket. When I taste it, I glance in the mirror. What the hell’s gotten into me? I’m not kissing him tonight. Oh my God. I’m thinking about kissing him.
I look around the room. I can’t leave without my wallet. He’s not allowed to pay for my dinner because I don’t want to feel like I owe him dinner another night. Oh, and where’s my phone? On my desk.
Phone. Check.
Wallet. Check.
Lip balm. Check.
I just did the adult version of head, shoulders, knees, and toes.
I spray myself with perfume, grab my things, and hurry outside.
When I open his truck door, I’m hit with a wall of Matt’s cologne. He must’ve sprayed himself, but I’m not complaining because it’s a great smell.
“You okay?” he asks as I put on my seatbelt.
“Yeah, totally. You’re just picking me up to get dinner.” I shrug and flail my arms. “It’s not a big deal.” I sound like I’m whining, and I am in a dramatic way.
He drives off and says, “Should I not have invited myself?”
“It’s okay. I’m just nervous.”
