Page 14 of Gift of You
I couldn’t stop thinking about Matthew as a narrator. He had the perfect voice for it, but it was hard to picture him reading a romance novel. He was so gruff and took everything so seriously. How would he read a romcom? Or lord help me, a sex scene? Jesus, his voice reading a sex scene would be worth the price of purchase. I was pretty sure I’d combust.
“So, are you working on any books right now?”
He let out a weary sigh. “You’re not going to drop this topic, are you?”
“I find it fascinating.”
He let out another sigh—I’d never met anyone who sighed as much as he did, except for maybe Jonathan—and turned to lean on the counter opposite where I was standing, wiping his hands as he did so.
“I’m actually working on something right now.”
12
MATTHEW
I couldn’t believeI was telling him this. I couldn’t believe I’d told him any of it. I’d shared more personal details with Louis in one dinner conversation than I’d shared with anyone since Ally died.
It felt... good? I’d always been more reserved. Everyone else always had so damn much to say, but I’d never felt the need to add my own voice to the mix. That wasn’t to say I didn’t enjoy conversation. I enjoyed a healthy discussion from time to time with the right people. I had a sense of humor. I knew how to laugh and to deliver a well-timed quip.
But from the moment we’d gotten Ally’s diagnosis, I’d been completely locked down. How could I have meaningless conversation when my wife wasdying? Why would I spend my time with anyone else when I could spend it withher? For ten months I’d shut everyone out, my focus entirely on the woman who’d been my everything. And I didn’t regret it. But when she’d passed and the dust had settled after the visitation and funeral, there was no one left. I was completely alone, and had been ever since.
I liked it that way. Iwantedit that way. It was easier. It had allowed me to stew in my own grief undisturbed and unbothered.
And yet here I was, having a meal and a conversation with a man I’d met just two days before. I’d told him I was a narrator, something no one else knew. And I found myself wanting to tell him more. What the hell was that?
“Okay, so if you don’t want me to ask you a million questions, this is where you would expand on what you just said.”
I felt one corner of my mouth curve up at his snark. “I’m in the preparation stages, which means I’m still reading the book. I haven’t begun recording yet. I’d hoped to start on that the day after tomorrow.”
“Where do you record? Can I watch?” His face lit up with glee at the prospect, and damned if I didn’t find myself smiling back at him.
“I have a recording studio below the bookstore. And absolutely not.”
He pouted, and I could tell it was in an effort to be playful, not because he was actually trying to be difficult. “Will you at least tell me what the book is about?”
I stared him down, contemplating my response. Once again, I couldn’t believe I was talking to him about this, but I had a feeling he was going to wear me down anyway. “It’s a gay romance. Childhood friends to lovers and bi-awakening.”
“Did you saygay romance? Like two guys?”
“Yep.”
“Do you narrate a lot of gay romance?”
“This is my first one.”
When I’d said the wordsgay romance, his eyebrows had shot up above his glasses and then continued to climb higher as I’d answered each additional question. If he’d had a hairline, those brows would have been hidden at this point.
“Do you . . . like it?”
Memories of the way I’d gotten hard while reading last night, and then the way I’d jerked off afterwards, had blood rushing to both my face and my groin, making me lightheaded.
“It’s a well-written story,” I hedged.
He snorted.
“Listen, some of the best writing I’ve ever read comes from romance novels and?—”
“I’m a romance fan,” he interrupted. “You don’t have to convince me. But most romances contain at leastsomesex, and by the way your face is flushed, I’m going to assume you’ve read at least one of those scenes in this book you’re working on.”
