“Who was that on the phone?”
“Nobody…” I clear my throat. “Just going out to study.”
“Then why aren’t you bringing any books?”
A rush of blood comes into my cheeks. “Um, I’m going to, uh…”
“Oh, come on, Rachel!” Heather gushes, nearly bouncing on her mattress. “Tell me who it is! Please? Is it Leo Chang? Chris Johnson?”
Yeah, right, like I’m going to tell Heather anything when she’s acting like a complete child. It’s bad enough that Danielle might know. Anyway, it’s not like she’s been honest withme.
“Tell me why you broke up with Abe.”
That stops Heather in her tracks, and her lips twist into a pout. “Fine, go have fun with your prince.”
I take the now-familiar drive to Matt’s house, weaving through the back roads. As I make the final turn on the wooded path, I notice that I’ve started humming a song from the radio. Oh, great. Matt’s turning me intoHeather.
I pull into the driveway and park behind Matt’s car—a large white Lincoln Continental. Considering he’s the youngest professor I’ve ever slept with, I find it amusing that he drives a car that looks like it’s owned by an eighty-year-old. In a lot of ways, Matt acts very much like an old man. It’s something I always tease him about.
Matt yanks the door open almost before I even have a chance to knock. I can’t help but suppress a smile.
“Happy to see me?” I ask, closing the door behind me as I enter the house.
“You have no idea,” he says. And before I can even get my coat off, he pushes me against a wall and starts kissing me.
About two hours later,we’re both exhausted, and as we lie in bed, holding hands, I make the executive decision that we should order pizza. Matt nods soberly.
“Yes, I think we’re definitely too tired to cook,” he says. He grabs for his cell phone. “Toppings?”
“Hawaiian, what else?” I say.
“That’s my girl,” Matt says with a grin.
He’s the only other person I know who loves ham and pineapple on a pizza as much as I do. We’re definitely soulmates.
We lie in bed a bit longer, then Matt decides he’s too sweaty and wants to take a shower. I’ve suggested showering with him in the past, but he’s rejected my idea, saying he’s too worried about slipping and breaking his neck. (See? He really is an old man.) So I lie in bed, playing games on my phone until the doorbell rings.
I knock on the door to the bathroom and stick my head in. “Pizza’s here. I’ll go get it.”
Matt sticks his head out from behind the curtain. His black hair is plastered to his scalp, and he has water in his eyelashes. He looks so sexy.
“My wallet’s on the kitchen counter,” he says.
I roll my eyes. “I can afford a small pizza.”
“I want to pay,” he insists.
“You don’t have to pay.”
“Rachel,” he says. “If there aren’t twenty dollars missing from my wallet when I get out of the shower, I’m going to fail you in anatomy.”
I stick my tongue out at him and slam the bathroom door closed. I throw on one of Matt’s T-shirts, figuring it’s big enough to conceal most of me, and that way, I don’t have to get dressed. Then I take the money from my own wallet (I don’t believe his threats) and throw open the door for the pizza guy.
Except it’s not the pizza guy.
It’s Patrice.
Oh shit.
