When Joss Met Matt (15 page)

“Not too many of them are for this.”

“True.” I slipped my fingers through his where they rested on my waist. “I guess it's a good thing we met.”

“And a good thing we both suck at relationships.”

“No kidding.” I laughed. “Is it so much to ask that I meet a nice guy and just have a nice, normal relationship? No eleven-year age difference, no cheating, no … wooden ducks.”

Matt burst into laughter. “No ducks? Now you're asking too much.”

“Okay, then, how about someone whose weirdness doesn't bother me?”

“Now you're thinking. Everyone's a little weird, right?”

“God knows
you
are.” I pushed my elbow into his stomach.

“Don't make me get dressed, Joss.”

I twisted in his arms and pressed my mouth against his. “Not yet.”

Chapter Seventeen

Now

Matt found me browsing the picture board and came up beside me to take a look for himself. “What's got your attention?” he asked.

“Meghan, actually,” I confessed.

“Wow, where did that come from?”

I tapped the barely visible photo of her electric blue eye.

“Oh.” He leaned closer and inspected it. “Sure enough.”

Something unpleasant pinched in my stomach. Some blend of my lingering negativity toward Meghan and an ugly trace of jealousy that he still kept her photo around. There was so much of my past swirling through my head tonight. I had to change the subject.

“So, is dinner ready or what?” I asked, poking him in the ribs.

Matt inhaled, his eyes seeming to snap back to the present. “Yeah, just about. Do you want something to drink?”

“What are you offering?”

“I think I have the bottle of wine you opened last time you were here …” He looked thoughtful.

I raised my eyebrow at him. “Did you put the cork back in?”

“Yes.” He rolled his eyes.

“Then, yes, I'd be delighted to have some.” I gave him a winning smile and batted my eyes.

“Come and get it, then.”

I trailed him to the kitchen and accepted the glass of wine that he poured.

“What happened, Matty? I didn't even know you were seeing anyone.”

“What do you mean?”

“You said you
needed
me.”

“Oh. I guess I did. Right.”

“And …?” I asked.

“Gimme a minute,” he said, gathering plates to serve our dinner. I kept my peace as he spooned out pasta and sauce, then handed me the plates. “Can you take these to the table?”

I carried them to his small dining table and returned for my glass of wine. Matt carried out bread and the rest of the bottle of wine and we settled into the chairs.

“So, now are you going to tell me?” I asked.

He twirled a forkful of spaghetti while he thought. “Can I just tell you after we eat?”

This was torture. “Oh. I guess.”

He smiled and went back to his food, but didn't eat much more. Neither did I. Silence, usually comfortable and short with Matt and me, felt strange. I had to get out of my own head. Sifting through topics, quickly, I seized on something neutral.

“Hey, you going to Jessie's wedding?” I asked.

“I don't see why not.”

“Wanna ride down together?” I asked with a nod to show him the right answer.

He laughed. “Doesn't sound like you're giving me a choice.”

“I mean, unless you're bringing a date or something.”

“Not planning to.”

These short answers were killing me. Everything about this night was too damn strange. I had to confront him.

“Matty, what's up with you?” I asked. “You're so quiet.”

He pushed his plate to the side and took a moment to arrange his fork before looking at me. “I've been thinking more about leaving school.”

“Oh. And?”

“And …” He shrugged. “I think I should.”

“What are you going to do?” I propped both elbows on the table, lowered one hand to the table as if to touch him, but brought it back up to my chin. I didn't know what he was feeling—I didn't know what to do for him.

He shrugged again. “I've been really thinking a lot about … things … everything, I guess. I feel like I should start doing what I
want
to do with my life, instead of what I should do. I need to stop just … marking time.”

“So, what does that mean?”

“It means I need to make some changes.” He pressed a fingertip against one tine of his fork, making it seesaw off the table. “My lease is up in June. I think maybe I should try somewhere else for a while.”

Butterflies took wing in my chest. “Like?”

“Somewhere different. San Diego … North Carolina … Portland … I don't know yet.”

“But …” I wanted to say “what about me?” but I didn't. “You don't know anyone in any of those places, do you?”

“Nope.”

Dinner, which had been difficult to get down in the first place, made a determined effort to ascend my throat. I pressed my teeth together and focused on the reflection on the outside of his glass.

“I don't even want to be a lawyer. Why am I wasting my time?” He picked up the glass I'd been staring at and took a drink. “How much would it suck if I got in a car accident or something and the last thing I'd done was go to a class on real estate law?”

I flinched at the thought, not of the class, but the accident. “So what do you want to do?”

He hesitated, then looked over his shoulder toward the living room. “Come on, let's go sit down where it's comfortable.” Without waiting for an answer, he led the way to the couch. I followed, a little slower, and tucked myself into the opposite corner of the couch, feet extended toward him.

“Okay.” He stretched one arm along the back of the couch, looked at me for a second, but ultimately refocused across the room when he started speaking. “So … there's a girl—a woman, I guess, when the hell do I have to stop calling them girls?”

“When they're old enough to be somebody's mother?” I suggested, and he laughed a little. This was familiar territory, and my nerves untangled a bit.

“Anyway, her name is Tara, and she's in my class,” he continued.

“A lawyer? I thought you didn't date lawyers.”

He smiled weakly. “Right. Well …” He shifted and hooked the fingers of one hand on the back of his neck. He was nervous, I realized. Why? “You know I haven't really been seeing anyone since my dad's funeral. And I wasn't really seeing anyone before it either …”

I was trying to be patient, but I couldn't see where he was going with all of this. “Okay, so you met Tara. What happened?”

“I've been thinking about how we've sort of been … less rigid with the whole Sorbet thing. Since … well, I'm not sure, exactly. But, the stuff after my dad died … that wasn't what we started out doing.”

“That wasn't exactly normal circumstances.”

He closed his eyes briefly. “I don't know if I would have made it through that week without you.”

My heart hurt, remembering the way he'd been. We'd stretched Sorbet to the limits back then, and although I wouldn't have changed a single thing I'd done for him, it had been rough. On both of us.

I put on a smile for him, though it felt a little out of place. “You know I'd do it again.”

“I know.” The squint he angled at me was unreadable. “Anyway. So the Sorbet thing has been getting kind of gray. Since …” His eyes rolled up in thought. “Since … God, Alex? Maybe that was when.”

“Blech,” I said automatically. “But that was so long ago. And Meghan was a clear-cut case.”

“But what about junior year when you went out with all those random guys? The duck decoy guy?”

I crossed my arms. “How about The Squad? And you almost deflowering Kelly?”

“But I didn't,” he said instantly. “And that's exactly my point. None of those were even breakups and we
still
had an awful lot of Sorbet Sex that summer.”

For all intents and purposes, it had been a series of booty calls, and I knew it. “Okay, so maybe that was a stretch.”

“Which time?” He smirked, and I was so happy to see some reaction out of him I almost didn't mind the smugness.

“That was some of our best work.” The flush in my cheeks gave away my complete lack of cool.

He sucked air through clenched teeth. “Yeah, it really was.”

“But, I digress …” I made a rolling gesture. “You were saying?”

“Well, my point is, that was the first time that we really just threw the rules away.”

“Actually, I'd say it was with Alex. The second time.”

He nodded. “Yeah, okay. The point is that we've been pretty lax about the whole thing since then.”

“I don't know, the whole T.J. thing was pretty straightforward.”

He made a whatever-you-say face. “T.J. was just a mistake, and you know it.”

“That's my point,” I protested. “He was a mistake and I totally needed you afterward.”

“It's not like you were all distraught over him,” Matt reasoned.

“Well, no. It was just the ick factor.” I shuddered.

“Still …”

“That's what Sorbet is all about. Getting rid of the bad mojo, right?”

“How long ago was that?” he wondered.

“A few years, I guess.”

“Jesus.” He dropped his head onto the back of the couch and focused on the ceiling for a moment. “When did time start going so quickly?”

I snickered. “You sound like an old man.”

“Sorry.” He lifted his head and looked at me. “I'm just … thinking.”

“So wait a minute, you were gonna tell me about Tara.”

“No, it's fine. T.J. is relevant to this whole thing.”

“T.J. isn't relevant to anything,” I said, shuddering again.

Matt grinned. “You're never gonna let that go, are you?”

Chapter Eighteen

Second Year Out of College

“To being single.”

“To Constitutional Law.”

“To the new season of
The Bachelor.
”

It was Sunday, and in my world, that meant it was brunch time.

Within a few weeks of Matt starting law school, we'd established a loose tradition of having Sunday brunch. It was a casual affair with a constantly fluctuating membership. Sometimes there were as many as a dozen people—law school friends, Nellie and her boyfriend, Jason, siblings in town, or friends both local and visiting. The smallest ones were just Matt and me. Part of the tradition of our brunches was the toast. Everyone at the table had to offer one as we lifted glasses—sometimes mimosas and Bloody Marys, sometimes the more pedestrian coffee or juice. Even when it was just the two of us, we toasted.

That particular Sunday, we had a larger group. Nellie, sans Jason for once, Matt's brother, Tom, and a couple of his law school classmates. The brunch spot was new—to us and to the city. It was brightly lit, with a decor that reminded me of a Pottery Barn catalog.

The tables were wooden, with hand-painted phrases scattered across the tops in painstakingly random fashion. The phrases were meant to be conversation starters, and damned if they didn't do just that.

“Here's a good one,” Tom spoke up after the toasting. “What's the longest you've ever gone without sleep?”

That one was still making the rounds when the food arrived.

When Nellie came back from the bathroom, she was giggling.

“What's so funny?” I asked.

“When I walked past that table” she pointed in the direction of the ladies' room—“I glanced down and saw one of their questions.” She paused for a fit of laughter. “I have no idea what the question was
supposed
to say, but a packet of sugar was lying
just right
and all I could see was
Who was the best … you ever had?
” She giggled again.

I glanced down the table to Matt's classmates, Laura and Gavin. They were still an unknown quantity on the Sophomoric Humor Appreciation Scale, although Tom, Matt, Nellie, and I were already laughing. Laura cracked a smile, followed by Gavin and then all of us were snickering like a sixth-grade lunch table.

“Somehow, I don't think that's the image they're trying to promote here,” Laura said.

“No shit,” Nellie agreed.

“Do you think that sugar packet was placed intentionally?” I asked. Two middle-aged women occupied the table in question.

“Definitely,” Nellie said. “Look at 'em over there. Clearly sex fiends.”

That started a fresh round of choking giggles from the group, until enough glances from other tables encouraged us to calm down. We tucked into our plates again, trying to avoid eye contact with each other.

Laura started it. “Dan Smith.”

“Huh?” Matt asked.

“Best I ever had,” she explained. She nodded, then shuddered. “Yeah. The best.”

“So, what happened?” I said.

She smiled ruefully. “Don't know. I met him on spring break. Lost his number.”

“Oh, ouch!” Nellie said. “You couldn't track him down?”

“His last name is Smith.” Laura shook her head. “I didn't even know what school he went to. I don't even know if that was his real name. It was not possible to track him down, trust me.”

“Bummer.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Angela Herrera,” Gavin said and scrunched up his face in remembered pleasure.

“My wife, Ally,” Tom said, earning a matched set of “Isn't that Sweet?” awwws from Nellie and Laura.

Matt's mouth quirked and one eyebrow went up. “She's not here, you know. I won't tell on you.”

Tom nodded. “I know. I'm telling you the truth.”

“Ooh, lucky man.” I grinned.

“Damn straight,” he agreed.

Nellie spoke next, holding one hand up as if she was giving testimony. “Terrence Johnson.”

“Who's that?” I asked. I hadn't heard his name before in all the hours I'd spent talking to Nellie over anesthetized animals.

She shook her head slowly. “Just an ex. He was a shitty boyfriend, but—damn.” She turned it into three syllables
duh-a-amn.

“Does Jason know about this guy?” I asked, truly curious.

“Hell no. Are you crazy?”

Everyone laughed.

“How about you, Matt?” Laura asked, and my heart took the express elevator into my throat.

He shrugged. “I don't know.”

“Sure you do, someone has to be the best,” Laura prodded.

“Yeah, even if they all suck, one has to suck less than the others,” Nellie said. I lashed out with my foot under the table, but struck wood.

Matt stabbed a chunk of waffle on the end of his fork and surveyed everyone at the table. “I'm not gonna answer, so you can all just go back to your eating.”

I tried to catch his eye, but he wouldn't look at me. I wanted to give him a telepathic message,
It's okay, you won't offend me.
Though I knew in my heart it would sting if he said someone else's name. Ridiculous.

“All right, if you're going be a douche about it …” Nellie rolled her eyes. She was the only other person at the table who knew why he wasn't answering, and she always enjoyed the hell out of a good secret. She was the definition of smug when she turned her attention to me. “What about you, Joss? Who gets the title?”

I was prepared. “No one.”

That knocked the smug right off Nellie's face. “Why not?”

“Because I firmly believe that I haven't had the greatest sex of my life yet. There is always room for improvement.”

A collective sigh of disappointed disgust came up from the group, except for Matt, who smirked. “That's not the point,” Laura said. “We're just asking who was the best up to this point.”

I had to scrunch my toes tight inside my shoes to keep from looking at Matt. I had a feeling he'd read my telepathy loud and clear now.
Figures
. “All right, all right. I confess—it was Nellie.” I dropped my head onto my crossed arms and faked some sobbing. A few people started to laugh. Something bounced off my head—a napkin judging by the harmlessness of it.

I chanced a look up and found Nellie laughing along with the rest of the group.

“I smell a conspiracy,” Gavin said.

“Okay, Erin Brockovich,” Matt said and, when no one was looking, winked at me.

I smiled, glad not to know his answer and glad he didn't know mine. I'd been honest about one thing: I didn't believe I'd had the best sex of my life yet. I never wanted to achieve that mark, because everything after would pale in comparison. I wanted someone who would set a personal best as often as possible, and constantly compete to outdo himself.

And it was with those high aspirations that I met T.J.

I would like to say I had a clue that T.J. was not right, but I didn't. I don't mean he wasn't right for me, although he wasn't. I mean, he was not right in the call-the-nice-men-in-the-long-white-coats sense. Okay, that might be exaggerating a bit, but he definitely wasn't your run-of-the-mill guy.

He seemed so normal. Average, even. Then again, isn't that what the neighbors always say about serial killers?

I met him on Halloween, while I was dressed like Strawberry Shortcake. He was a Jedi, which was fine by me. I'm not a crazy
Star Wars
fan or anything, but I'd dutifully gone to the movies and I could appreciate a good pop culture reference, as evidenced by my own selection. He struck up a conversation about all the '70s and '80s icons come back for treatment in the new millennium, and we ended up in a lively debate about the worth of Hollywood remakes. I was in the “sure, why not?” camp, as I so often am in arguments, while he was vehemently opposed.

These were all clear signs that he was a geek, but I think everyone is a geek in their own way. I used to be on a synchronized swimming team, and it doesn't get much geekier than that. Pretty much, if you're willing to let your freak flag fly the first time I meet you, I'm probably gonna want to get to know you a little better.

So it was with T.J., and I willingly handed over my phone number at the end of the night. He surprised me by calling two days later, and I agreed to go out for sushi with him.

As first dates go, T.J. was a good one. He was as funny as I remembered, which was delightful. He reminded me of Martin in that respect, and Matt, for that matter. I'd always loved funny, but I'd only dated a few guys who truly were. Score one for personal growth—I was ready to trade in a handful of fairy-tale romance for a good belly laugh.

In addition to being funny, T.J. took me to a decent restaurant, paid the bill, and let me take the lead when he dropped me off at the end of the night. I kissed him, but that was it. Like I said before, I'm a huge fan of kissing and I rarely see a reason not to try it out with someone new.

The next week, we went out again, this time to see his friend's band play. It was hard to talk much with the loud music playing, but it was a decent enough time, and I was friendlier when he came into my apartment that night. We stayed in the living room, as if some unseen parents were watching. It felt safe there, and too dangerous to take off any clothing with the balcony doors showing everything to anyone who had enough ambition to watch. All of that meant I had the dreaded third date horizon ahead of me.

Nellie was a tireless cheerleader in this process—she always wanted me to find someone to date long-term so she could have a “couple's friend” with her boyfriend, Jason. Part of me wanted to resist her just to avoid the gag-inducing title, but I also knew she wanted me to be happy, so I let it slide.

I know there's nothing magical about the third date. I didn't have to sleep with him. I never actually had to sleep with him. But, I liked him, and it had been a long time again—not counting Matt, of course, which I didn't. Not really. It seemed reasonable to give T.J. a chance.

We did the classic dinner-and-a-movie date, and then T.J. invited me back to his place for drinks. I'd driven that night, since we went to a restaurant on his end of town. I figured,
What the hell?

T.J. let me into his house and gave me a tour. It was a nice place, even if it was a typical bachelor pad. He had a pool table in the dining room and a huge TV. Predictably, he saved the bedroom for last. It seemed a little bare bones—hardly end-of-the-tour worthy, but we both knew why he'd ordered it that way, and I wasn't going to complain.

I did my part to make my intentions known, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning back on my hands. I must have succeeded in looking at least a little seductive, because T.J. joined me on the bed and kissed me. I rested one hand on his shoulder and put the other on his waist. He was heavier set than anyone I'd been with before, and for a moment, I thought longingly of Matt. Everything was just a little softer than I was used to. He was very gentle though, and I liked that. He also seemed to like a lot of things about me.

“You have such beautiful eyes,” he said.

“Thank you.” Compliments always make me too aware of whatever has been complimented, and suddenly I was conscious of every blink and shift in my gaze.

“And such soft lips.” T.J. kissed me again, resting one hand against my jaw. That is hands down my favorite kissing move and I knew right then I was going to let him get a good long look at my lingerie choices for the evening. I'd gone sort of middle of the road on the sexiness scale—nothing that wouldn't impress, but a girl has to save a few things for later. You don't bring your best stuff out the first time.

Slowly, in that heart-fluttering way of the first time, we took off our clothes and moved up onto the bed. When I was down to my skivvies, he pulled back to look at me. It was at this point that I won or lost a man's attraction. Some guys like the small-breasted, narrow-hipped end of the feminine spectrum. I've been called everything from nymph-like to delicate. Others are afraid they're going to break me. They call me miniature or frail.

“Wow, you look amazing,” T.J. said, eyes undeniably drawn to my lacy bra. A tiny voice in my mind wanted to know if he was reading from a prepared list of compliments, but I ignored it in favor of believing he might actually like me. At least he appreciated the effort I put into my underwear.

His hands roved over my skin and I arched into each move, following the sensations. T.J. knew what he was doing, that was obvious. I was impressed by how much attention he paid to me. To the extent that he rebuffed my attempts to return the attention. He was very gentlemanly about it, but still firm.

“Just lay back,” he instructed, “I want you to feel good.”

“Okay,” I mumbled, put a little off balance by his focus. I closed my eyes and concentrated on my other senses. The room was quiet, except for the rustling of sheets and my own irregular breath. My skin was hyper-alert, awaiting his next move, the next sensation. His fingers and lips painted my body. It was hard to lie still. I wanted to sink my fingers into his hair, twist my legs through his, and taste his mouth again.

After a while, I couldn't be passive any longer. “We can …” I suggested, slipping my thumbs under the elastic of my thong. “If you want.”

“If you'd like,” he said.

“I've got a condom in my purse,” I said. He probably had them, but I was never willing to count on someone else to protect me. I always figured two people with condoms was better than one. “I hope that's not a problem.”

“No, of course not.”

Good answer.

I got the condom out and handed it to T.J. He did his part while I slipped off my underwear.

“Come here,” he said with a soft smile.

I swung a leg over his hips and bent low to kiss him. My heart trembled in my chest. It had been a long time since I'd been with someone new.