Three dots appear in the text chat, the anticipation of his response forcing me to hold my breath.
Matthew: Mon-Tues, I’m usually on the coast. Wed-Thur, in Richmond. Fri-Sun, I’m in DC at Trend or The Mill.
I exhale in relief.
In appreciation.
He’s opening up to me. Trusting me. And he’s also in town.
Layla: You know what they say—all work and no play makes Matthew…
The dots appear again. This time, the reply comes quicker. It makes Matthew preoccupied with work so he doesn’t fall victim to thoughts of the woman he’s obsessing over.
I smile, big and bright enough for the lingering swelling in my injured cheek to make itself known.
Layla: Does this woman know about us?
I bite my lip, hoping for a flirtatious response.
Nothing comes.
I’m driven further and further into the heart of D.C. Closer and closer to the hotel I booked last minute, yet those three dots never reappear.
It’s hard not to take it as a sign. Maybe he does have another woman. Maybe I’m the mistress this time.
I refuse to dwell once I’m delivered to the front doors of my accommodation and check into my room.
I change clothes, pulling on a tight black dress that leaves little to the imagination, before perfecting my makeup. The bruising on my face is now easily hidden, but that’s no longer all I’m striving for. I don’t merely want to cover up.
I want to slay.
When I’m as flawless as I’m going to get, I grab my purse and make my way toward the first club he mentioned—Trend.
I don’t tell him I’m coming. I don’t even message once I arrive at the front of the building to find an illuminated white script sign of the club’s name elegantly placed above an entirely black brick wall, the lone door framed by two hulking bouncers.
This needs to be a surprise. Not only so I can judge if he’s excited to see me. It’s to cast aside any lingering concerns. I don’t want him to have time to prepare or hide those skeletons.
If he has secrets, I need to know now, while I can still walk away with my head high.
“You can drop me off here.” I unclasp my belt and pay the cab driver in cash before getting out.
I join the end of the small line of people waiting to get inside, show the ID stored on my cell when it’s my turn, and then walk into the darkened entry, the carpet beneath me barely visible as loud music thunders from the dance floor up ahead.
I reach the main area without drama and stop at the railing that sets me apart from the dance floor a few steps below.
For a Sunday night, the interior is swarming with people bopping and drinking along to the techno beats.
The place is massive. A two-level rave fest with a glowing purple bar in the center of the ground floor with more along the side walls, and a glass-encased room upstairs.
I can’t help being impressed. But it’s not the hyped crowd or glistening bars that steal my attention. It’s Matthew, who stands on the middle landing of the metal staircase leading to the upper level, both hands gripping the banister as he scrutinizes the crowd, the flash of lights making him look hardened and devilish.
My heart flutters.
He’s wearing another stylish suit, his stubble now thick along his chiseled jaw. His hair falls around his eyes, framing the perfection, while his lips are pulled thin.
God, he’s attractive.
My body reacts as if he were made for me. Born to the exact requirements that stoke my libido to its highest peak.
I don’t know how it’s possible to be this captivated. This magnetized. But I am.
All the way down to my curling toes.
He remains a statue of confidence before the crowd as a woman climbs the stairs toward him, her long, dark hair plaited over one shoulder, her attention intent as she sways her hips in a skirt that has to be giving those on the dance floor an indecent view.
My throat dries the closer she gets, my heart taking on a panicked rhythm.
She stops at his side, placing a hand on his arm, the touch seeming sexually familiar even from this distance.
Shit.
I step back, wanting to shrink into the shadows.
Matthew stands there without reaction, still eyeing the crowd as she inches into him, her breasts brushing his bicep as she speaks close to his ear.
They’re together.
They have to be. A woman wouldn’t approach a man with his current icy demeanor unless she had carnal confidence.
I retreat another step, apologizing as I bump into someone behind me. But I can’t take my eyes off him. I can’t quit staring at the approaching car wreck that will knock my feet out from beneath me.
I can already feel it. The impact of heartache. The collision of fantasy and reality.
I fell too hard, too fast.
I’m stupid for thinking our tryst had depth when even our conversations didn’t.
I shake my head, attempting to dislodge the self-loathing as he continues to eye the crowd, the woman now leaning in to press her mouth to his neck.
I’m such an idiot. We’ve only spent one goddamn weekend together and a handful of texts, and here I am, shattered.
Matthew jerks back from the dark-haired woman and turns on her, a flash of overhead light illuminating a face filled with anger. He says something, his words unkind if the way she straightens and balks is any indication, while my pathetic ass clings to hope.
They’re arguing.
Fighting.
He remains cold as he speaks, his confident posture unwavering until she raises a hand to slap his face.
I jostle with the impact more than he does, and blink in shock as she storms back down where she came from. I don’t realize I’m panting until she disappears into the dancing crowd.
All the while, Matthew remains unfazed, pivoting back to grasp the railing like nothing happened.
I’m more stunned than he is, and I don’t know whether I should leave or stay. The flighty flutter of my heart has no intention of letting me escape without answers. The brutal twist of my stomach makes me question if I want to learn the truth.
I’d thought of him as a gentleman. A sly, devious gentleman, but a gentleman all the same.
Now I’m not so sure.
And still, I crave.
Even after witnessing that drama, I can’t stop wanting him. Can’t stop making excuses for what just happened.
The woman obviously couldn’t take no for an answer.
His body language had been clear. Hell, I could see his lack of interest and I’m ten yards away.
What unsettles me, though, is the difficulty in aligning this severely frosty man with the flirting and smoothness of the one I’m accustomed to. This side of Matthew doesn’t fit the person I’ve been fantasizing about.
This guy is different.
I’m about to turn on my heel to rethink my options at the hotel when someone else climbs the stairs. A hulk of a man this time—Bishop.
The temperamental offsider leans in to say something to his friend and this time, there’s an immediate reaction.
Matthew stiffens, his face pinching as his attention glides in a straight line right to where I stand. Those eyes take me in, holding me immobile while his harshness evaporates with a sly grin.
Goddamn. Gorgeous.
I swallow over the desert claiming my throat and curse my fluttering pulse.
He maneuvers around Bishop and descends the stairs to the ground floor. I can’t see his face as he parts the dancing crowd like a warrior destined to decimate.