“I know, but…”
Weston silences me with his stare, and I clamp my mouth shut, watching as he studies me. Then nods. “Okay. We’ll figure something out. In the meantime, let me handle your sister.”
He winks.
Oh Christ.
Cecelia
Over the next few days, I pour myself into my thesis work, taking refuge in the University’s library, hardly coming up for air. At this point, I’m so close to being done with my Masters I can taste it.
Thirty-eight more days.
But who’s counting?
Not only is it necessary for me to buckle down and get my final paper done, but… I honestly need to keep my mind off Matthew Wakefield – aka “Mr. Desperately Seeking Blow Job.”
Besides: I heard through the grapevine that he’s leaving for training camp in California at the end of December, and the last thing I need to do is get wrapped up in a guy who isn’t even going to stick around.
Long-distance relationships have never been my thing.
Even casually.
I tried it once when I was a sophomore, after a guy I’d been dating since my freshman year at Madison transferred to Purdue. He was a really nice guy; funny, smart, good-looking with lots of potential. But you know… after only a few weeks of texting and Skyping, we finally agreed a technology based relationship just… well…
Sucked.
I mean - what’s the point of being with someone you can’t physically touch, kiss, or hold? And pardon me for saying so, but sex is way too important in a relationship to put on hold for weeks – sometimes months – at a time.
Oh shit.
The thought makes me pause, pen poised above my notebook. Sex is way too important in a relationship to put on hold for weeks…. Way too important in a relationship to put on hold for weeks. For one nanosecond, it becomes clear to me why Matthew might have been so pissed off.
I wasn’t born yesterday: I know sexual frustration when I see it. And Matthew Wakefield has a classic case of blue balls (Jenna’s words, not mine). I mean – I haven’t even let him kiss me yet. Instead (as my mother would put it) I’ve led him on a merry chase, making him practically pant after me like we’re on a middle school playground.
No wonder he has that crazy look in his eyes half the time…
I groan at my own stupidity, regret and embarrassment in the pit of my stomach. I run a hand over my face, then think better of my own insecurities and stiffen my spine.
Nonetheless, I think we can all agree he was completely out of line speaking to me the way he did.
“Forget it,” I say out loud to myself. “I am not letting that jerk off the hook for the way he treated me.”
I mean – talk about a guy acting like a colossal douchebag.
And I think that’s putting it mildly… don’t you?
Matthew: Do you hate me?
Me: So many ways to respond… so little time….
Matthew: Well, at least you replied. That’s saying something.
Me: [blank stare]
Matthew: I guess I deserve that.
Me: [blank stare]
Matthew: Know what I find sexiest about you? Your blank stare.
Damn him.
I stare down at the screen of my phone, thumbs hovering over the keypad – and despite myself, a smile plays at the corner of my lips. Thank God he can’t see me right now, or I’d be a goner.
CHAPTER 27
MATTHEW
“Despite being a huge pain in the ass and a total prick, you have to admit – I still bring a lot to the table.”
– Matthew Wakefield with a grin.
One week.
One week and she’s barely speaking to me.
On one hand, I should be glad – she drives me absolutely nuts most of the time and on a positive note: her nagging and bitching has stopped.
On the other hand: she knows what happened between Cecelia and me.
My sister glowers at me, arms crossed, from across our parent’s dining room table, and I can’t see it but I know she’s bouncing her crossed leg under the table. It’s one of her quirks when she’s nervous or pissed off, and if looks could kill, I would be a dead man. In fact, judging from the look on her face, she’s plotting my imminent death as we speak and deciding which weapons to use…
I hiss at her, “Would you please knock it off? Mom and Dad are going to think something’s up.”
Our parents are out of earshot in the kitchen preparing au’jus for the roasted tenderloin they’re serving for Sunday dinner – and I’m grateful they aren’t in the room. The last thing I need is my parents breathing down my neck too. Molly’s doing a fine job hating on me enough for the entire family.
She narrows her eyes and gapes at me incredulously. “Something is up, dick wad. You are a disgusting slob.”
Those are the first words she’s spoken to me since after the Halloween party, and quite honestly, I’m a little taken aback: Molly hardly ever swears. Plus, we may have had our differences in the past, but she’s never given me the silent treatment for so long.