Ridiculous: Mattory

8: What Are Your Intentions?

I nearly jump a foot in the air when my phone rings a short time later, having almost forgotten that I asked Matt to call me. "Hey."

"Hey," he says back. Without preamble, he asks, "Do you want to grab dinner?"

I give a quiet laugh that's probably half groan. "Rain check? I don't think I'm leaving my apartment for the rest of the night. And I've already changed into clothes that aren't fit for public consumption."

"I should hope that public isn't going to eat your clothes," he deadpans. I burst out laughing and it takes a couple minutes to completely calm down.

"That was awful," I tell him.

"It was, I admit it." Matt chuckles. "Let me rephrase the question then—do you want me to bring dinner?"

"I wouldn't ask you to do that," I say.

"But you're not asking."

"Well... if you're offering..."

I can almost hear him grin. "Have anything in mind?"

"Surprise me," I tell him.

Forty minutes later, I'm starting to get hungry for real. Just when I become aware of this, there's a knock at my door, and I open it to find Matt bearing two cups and a gray plastic bag with Benny's emblazoned on the side.

"Sandwiches and lemonade?" he says, holding them aloft as he steps inside. "Also, I'm weak and it looked amazing, so I got cheesecake too."

"You're the best," I tell him sincerely, reaching up and pressing a kiss to his cheek. He sets the food down on the coffee table and as soon as his hands are free I wrap my arms around him, closing my eyes and breathing in the scent that is so distinctly him.

"Everything all right?" he asks quietly.

"Yeah," I say. "Just... long couple days. It's a bit smothering with everyone around all the time."

I feel him tense up beneath me. "Would you rather I left?"

"No, of course not," I say, nuzzling a little tighter. In response, he noses at my neck, and I draw in a breath as he softly presses a kiss to one of the love bites he left last night... or perhaps this morning. "I'd like... very much... to have some time with you..."

"Mmm... good."

I almost expect things to start getting heated again, but after a few moments we pull away and start on the food.

"So, I'm guessing you also got grilled within an inch of your life?" Matt asks casually, and my sandwich suddenly tastes like sawdust. Not that I don't appreciate where my friends are coming from... but it had hurt, to have them think that I might not be taking this seriously, that I might be taking advantage of someone as near and dear to me as Matt is.

"Yeah, it was... interesting," I say finally. I look away and clear my throat. He rests his hand on my knee, the gesture subtle but filled with meaning. An unspoken gesture of support, of trust; I might be reading into it, but the simple touch strikes me as a promise.

"They mean well," he says, and it takes me a moment to remember what we were talking about.

"Yeah." I want to say more, but the words stick in my throat.

"So, uh..." He rubs at the back of his neck, a nervous gesture I can't help but find endearing. "Valentine's Day is coming up."

"We've already told the cast, though," I say, glancing at him curiously.

"Which means the day is free."

I can't help myself, because there's a part of me lurking below the surface that has to tease him. I set my sandwich aside and skate my fingers up his chest; I'm abruptly reminded of Dungeons and Dragons. "You're blushing."

"Am I?" I've got him flustered now and it brings a mischievous grin to my face. "So. Valentine's Day. Dinner?"

I lean in and curl my fingers into the collar of his shirt, brushing my lips over his for just an instant, then pulling away before he can respond. "No."

"No?" he repeats, eyes widening.

"I don't go out on Valentine's Day. The traffic is terrible...you always end up waiting an hour for the food... the servers are stressed..."

"I never said we had to go out."

I can't take the tension anymore. Our lips crash together, hot and wet and demanding. I'm caught in a tidal wave of desire and I wonder how many years of this I could have had if I hadn't been so oblivious.

"So," he says again, when we've gotten back on track and finished eating and are sitting curled together, watching a movie. "Valentine's Day. Dinner?"

"Yes."

~~~

Where do people even get these?

Matt has hardly been gone half an hour when he texts me and I chuckle to myself, swiping open my phone to find a link.

It leads to Instagram, to a picture I haven't seen before, though the setting is familiar enough I can recognize the day. It was last week, when Matt and I went to LaBella—judging by the fact we're sitting outside on a bench, I'm assuming it was when we were waiting for our table.

The photo is slightly blurry, like someone had quickly snapped it while walking by. I have a moment of thankfulness that Matt doesn't have his arm around my shoulders, nor are we holding hands, though we are sitting a little closer than what could be considered strictly platonic. I know the fans will find out we're dating eventually, but I'm not particularly eager to explicitly clue them in on it. Not yet, at least.

I find the account that posted the photo is private, bringing an end to my casual stalking and sending me back into my text messages.

Let's be real, Stacey was probably hiding in the bushes.

I can practically hear Matt's laughter over his text.

Not even joking, you're probably right.

A beat passes before another message pops up.

In all seriousness, our fans (and Stacey) are stalkers.

I let out a sigh, knowing he's right. They're going to find out, sooner or later. And they will freak out, I think before tapping out a response.

Yeah, I know. At this point, I really don't care, though.

I would care soon enough.

Published: 08/27/16

Edited: 07/16/17