Matt’s pretty in that Abercrombie kind of way. All blue jeans and designer shirts, perfectly styled blond hair and a killer smile. He’s stunning, really. And he’s totally humble about it, which makes him even hotter.
I’m not really sure why he’s with me. He could do better. Not that I’m hideous or anything, he just… he could do better.
When I first met Matt, he pursued me for weeks with his soft brown eyes and dashing manners. I was such a wreck at the time and had no interest in starting a relationship with anyone. I’d gone on a few disappointing dates and decided that boys were the last thing I needed in my life, but something about Matt made me feel… normal. And soon enough, all that charm and goodness of his wore me down until I was agreeing to a first date. Then a second. Then a third. Before I knew it, he was calling me his girlfriend and I wasn’t correcting him.
He made me feel unbroken and I clung to the illusion.
We place our drink orders, and the supermodel bartender gives Matt a sexy smile before walking away. He pretends not to notice and squeezes my knee affectionately.
“So how’s life on the prairie?”
Bell peppers flash in my mind.
“Boring,” I say. “How’s your internship at Edgemont going?”
Matt’s an artist, but of the left-brained variety. The kind that likes math and perfection and drawing ninety-degree angles on everything. His internship at Edgemont Design is the perfect launching pad for his future career in architecture.
“It’s great, actually.” His hand moves from my knee to my thigh, sending a pleasant warmth up my leg. “I’m making some good contacts. Hopefully, they’ll consider keeping me as a part-time employee through the year, just until I graduate.”
The hope in his eyes makes me smile. “They’d be crazy not to. You’re amazing.”
I mean it. Matt really is talented, and I have no doubt he’ll go on to build epic skyscrapers and buildings and whatever else he sets his mind to, because he’s that kind of guy. A go-getter. An overachiever.
He’s only two years older than me, but he’s a good decade ahead of me in maturity and, well, life in general.
He’s got a list of life goals and a ten-year plan and probably some kind of color-coded flowchart to keep them both straight.
Me? I’ve got a fake ID and a loose itinerary for tomorrow. No flowchart.
“Thanks, babe.” He wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer. He always smells good. Clean.
The drinks arrive, and I suck on the straw in my ginger ale while Jenna takes a gulp—not a sip, a gulp—of her Manhattan. Jenna orders cocktails like an old man and drinks them down like a desperate housewife. I love her.
Matt turns to me and lowers his voice. “So you didn’t call me back all week.”
I make an apologetic face. “Sorry about that. I just got so busy. You have news?”
He nods. “Remember Tyson, my roommate last semester?”
“Yeah,” I say, watching as Jack reaches for the plastic spear of olives garnishing Jenna’s drink. She swats his hand away.
“Well, he works at New York University now, in the admissions department,” Matt continues. “And he said he might be able to get your transfer application reviewed again.”
I whip my eyes to him. “Really?”
I’ve been applying for transfers all year. California. Colorado. New York. Virginia. I just need something else. Something other than Arizona and all the familiar people and places I can’t hide from.
New York was the first school to get back to me with a denial letter. The others followed suit shortly after. Fickle undergrads majoring in art don’t seem to be at the top of every university’s wish list for transfer students.
So the idea that Tyson could get my application reviewed again—that I might be able to transfer after all—is thrilling. For the most part. My palms start to sweat.
He nods. “Yeah, but he needed you to submit an appeal by last Thursday.”
My heart dips, but comes right back up. “Well, that sucks. I guess I’m stuck at ASU for now.”
“Giving up so easily?” He smiles at me mischievously.
“What?” I eye him.
His smile grows. “I submitted an appeal for you.”
“What?” I squawk.
He nods excitedly. “Tyson said I could fill one out for you and, since you refused to answer your phone, I took the liberty of doing just that. So there’s still a chance you could transfer there this fall. We could go to school together.”
My mouth falls open. “Wow.”
Matt starts his graduate program at NYU next semester, which explains the smile on his face. But me… I’m equal parts thrilled and panicked.
“Aren’t you excited?” His smile slips.
“Yes.” I force my mouth into a grin and nod. “Very excited.”
Balls of stress tighten in my stomach.
Jack goes for the olives a second time and Jenna slaps his hand. Again. “Back off my olives or I will voodoo your ass.”
Even though Voodoo is a peaceful religion that has nothing to do with cursing people, Jenna takes full advantage of others’ ignorance and plays the Voodoo card every chance she gets.
“Oh please. You’re not going to voodoo my ass.” He tries again, only to be smacked harder.
“Keep playing,” she says. “See if you wake up with all your appendages.” Her eyes drift over to me and she cocks her head. “You okay?”
I lift my brows. “What? Yes. Yeah, I’m okay.” I push out a smile.
I’m okay. I’m totally, completely okay.
Hours go by until everyone is drunk except for Matt and me. I’ve never seen Matt get wasted. He’s too responsible for that.
Again, why is he with me?
We don’t mention NYU or school again, so the stress balls in my stomach slowly unwind until I’m actually enjoying myself.
When Jenna, Jack, and Ethan decide to move the party to the bar next door, Matt and I opt to head to his place to watch movies. Matt cracks joke after joke on the way there, and by the time we reach his apartment, my stomach hurts from laughing so hard.
After choosing a movie, we go to his kitchen and make popcorn. Five minutes and four handfuls of salty popcorn later, we’re kissing against the fridge, the wall, the counter… until we’re kiss-walking our way back to his bedroom. It’s dark in here, the only light being the soft orange glow filtering in through the window from the streetlamps outside.
We fall on his bed and the kissing turns into something more, which is right about the time my eyes—and my mind—start to wander.
Why is his room so clean all the time? I mean, seriously. Everything is tidy and organized. His desk is spotless. His shoes are in neat little pairs in the closet. It’s not natural.