step back immediately before I do something stupid, like start licking him like a lollipop. Silly girl, friends don’t lick each other.
“Thanks,” he says, his warm breath a whisper away from my face, “I had help. I can’t take all the credit. It’s all from the wonder that is Joy.” He looks around the space before meeting my eyes again, this time I know my disappointment at his words is evident on my face. I can tell because he pauses, as if gauging whether or not he should continue. “Yeah, I love it. She knows me so well; we had a lot of fun doing it, too. I never thought decorating could be fun. But with the right person, it really is. She nailed it, and me. It’s home you know?”
Joy? Who is this Joy? There’s a sudden pit in my stomach and I instantly hate this place. No. I hate the “joy” that seems to come from Matt while talking about Joy. Fuck you, Joy, he’s mine. Wait…no. No, he’s not.
“Well, that’s great. I’m happy for you. It’s beautiful.” I look at my phone, trying to scheme a way to get out of coffee. To get out of here before I lose it. Without having any right to. I mean, I was the one who left. And this isn’t what I want, is it?
“I…er, I better go. I didn’t realize the time. I need to go get my…uh, my wax. Yeah. I need to get my stuff waxed.” I move aside without meeting his face.
“What’s wrong, Sugarshack?” he asks, moving closer to me again. I feel the familiar pull in my groin.
I can’t believe you slept with me and all along you’ve had a Joy! I want to scream, but I can’t. I’ve lost the ability to think. Why the hell am I so upset? I need to get away from him. Matty Bishop fucks me up.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” I know he knows I’m lying. The tremble in my voice is my stupid tell, it’s always been my tell.
“You jealous of Joy?” he scrutinizes.
Yes. “No.” It comes out more deflatedly than I want it to.
“She’s just my decorator, baby. My mom’s friend. It was my mom’s ‘welcome to home ownership and life-long debt’ gift. Joy.” He moves in, engulfing me in his hold, and I let out an audible exhalation at his admission. “The happily married Joy,” he says, his fingers playing with a lock of my hair.
“You’re an asshole, Matty.” I bat his hand from my hair; he wipes a tear that’s pooled in the corner of my right eye. “Glad to know you’re not a complete asshole who’s been seeing someone while fucking around with me, though. Good,” I say, flinching at my own accusing words, seeing the hurt cross his handsome face. I know I’m a dick for voicing it, but I guess this is just my way to put back some much-needed space between us. “I mean, not that it would matter. We can only be friends anyway,” I smile. It’s a pathetic attempt, but I’m sinking into the quicksand that is Matt and my defences are dwindling. Where are my trolls and their flaming torches? They must still be sleeping this early in the day. I knew I shouldn’t have come here.
“Never anything serious, Claire.” He grips my hips, pulling me flush to his body, his hardness making itself known. “How could I? Fuck, even after two years of not hearing a peep from you, like the pussy-whipped asshole I am I still only ever think of you. Sure, I’ve fucked chicks,” I blanch at that comment, hating the rush of jealousy I have no right to feel even as it consumes me. “But never here, and they’ve never been close to filling the void that you left when you ran from me. They’ve never been you.” He dips his nose to my neck, breathes me in deep. “You’re still my only goddamned thought when it comes to wanting a relationship. It’s only ever been you, baby—always only you.” He leans down and runs his tongue softly across my lips, eliciting a moan. “Can’t you feel how much I want you, Sugarshack?” He digs into my hips, grinding his cock against me.
“Matty. We can’t.”
It’s a weak protest, we both know it. I
“Thanks,” he says, his warm breath a whisper away from my face, “I had help. I can’t take all the credit. It’s all from the wonder that is Joy.” He looks around the space before meeting my eyes again, this time I know my disappointment at his words is evident on my face. I can tell because he pauses, as if gauging whether or not he should continue. “Yeah, I love it. She knows me so well; we had a lot of fun doing it, too. I never thought decorating could be fun. But with the right person, it really is. She nailed it, and me. It’s home you know?”
Joy? Who is this Joy? There’s a sudden pit in my stomach and I instantly hate this place. No. I hate the “joy” that seems to come from Matt while talking about Joy. Fuck you, Joy, he’s mine. Wait…no. No, he’s not.
“Well, that’s great. I’m happy for you. It’s beautiful.” I look at my phone, trying to scheme a way to get out of coffee. To get out of here before I lose it. Without having any right to. I mean, I was the one who left. And this isn’t what I want, is it?
“I…er, I better go. I didn’t realize the time. I need to go get my…uh, my wax. Yeah. I need to get my stuff waxed.” I move aside without meeting his face.
“What’s wrong, Sugarshack?” he asks, moving closer to me again. I feel the familiar pull in my groin.
I can’t believe you slept with me and all along you’ve had a Joy! I want to scream, but I can’t. I’ve lost the ability to think. Why the hell am I so upset? I need to get away from him. Matty Bishop fucks me up.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” I know he knows I’m lying. The tremble in my voice is my stupid tell, it’s always been my tell.
“You jealous of Joy?” he scrutinizes.
Yes. “No.” It comes out more deflatedly than I want it to.
“She’s just my decorator, baby. My mom’s friend. It was my mom’s ‘welcome to home ownership and life-long debt’ gift. Joy.” He moves in, engulfing me in his hold, and I let out an audible exhalation at his admission. “The happily married Joy,” he says, his fingers playing with a lock of my hair.
“You’re an asshole, Matty.” I bat his hand from my hair; he wipes a tear that’s pooled in the corner of my right eye. “Glad to know you’re not a complete asshole who’s been seeing someone while fucking around with me, though. Good,” I say, flinching at my own accusing words, seeing the hurt cross his handsome face. I know I’m a dick for voicing it, but I guess this is just my way to put back some much-needed space between us. “I mean, not that it would matter. We can only be friends anyway,” I smile. It’s a pathetic attempt, but I’m sinking into the quicksand that is Matt and my defences are dwindling. Where are my trolls and their flaming torches? They must still be sleeping this early in the day. I knew I shouldn’t have come here.
“Never anything serious, Claire.” He grips my hips, pulling me flush to his body, his hardness making itself known. “How could I? Fuck, even after two years of not hearing a peep from you, like the pussy-whipped asshole I am I still only ever think of you. Sure, I’ve fucked chicks,” I blanch at that comment, hating the rush of jealousy I have no right to feel even as it consumes me. “But never here, and they’ve never been close to filling the void that you left when you ran from me. They’ve never been you.” He dips his nose to my neck, breathes me in deep. “You’re still my only goddamned thought when it comes to wanting a relationship. It’s only ever been you, baby—always only you.” He leans down and runs his tongue softly across my lips, eliciting a moan. “Can’t you feel how much I want you, Sugarshack?” He digs into my hips, grinding his cock against me.
“Matty. We can’t.”
It’s a weak protest, we both know it. I
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