“Alright pervert, bring it down a notch. And for the record, I don’t do blow jobs. Ever. So, get your mind out of the gutter.”
“Never?”
“No.”
“Have you ever?”
“Don’t you think this conversation is a bit premature? We aren’t even dating.”
Matthew cocks his head and studies me. “No, it’s not premature. The Millionaire Matchmaker on Bravo! says you should always prequalify someone you want to date. Make sure they don’t have any deal breakers.”
“I think you watch too much television.” I chuckle and tap him playfully on the bicep.
“So wait. You’re telling me you would never…” He makes a choking sound in his throat like he’s gagging. It’s disgusting.
“No.”
He pulls away and looks down at me. “I’m sorry, but BJ’s might be a deal breaker for me.”
“Are you shitting me? You cannot seriously be telling me you wouldn’t date someone because they don’t… won’t…” I wave my hand in the air in front of his pants, refusing to say the words blow job.
“Because they won’t suck my cock? Yeah. I wouldn’t.”
Holy crap, he’s actually serious. “Wow. This conversation sure took a turn for the worse.”
“Hey, what are hell are you complaining about? I’m the one who hasn’t been sucked off in months.”
“Oh my god you’re a pig.” I shove him off and away from me, backing towards my apartment, anger, hurt, and a million other feelings surging inside me.
“Baby, I’ve been one from the beginning.” He postures arrogantly, crossing his arms. His steely green eyes flash brightly under the black eyeliner, making him look like a menacing asshole.
“I am not your baby.”
“See, when you say it like that - all throaty and angry-like… I think maybe you do want to blow me.”
I cannot believe this is happening. What the hell happened to the nice guy I was coming to know and… and…
My bottom lip trembles. Don’t let him see you cry Cecelia. Don’t let him see you cry, don’t let him see you cry…
“Go fuck yourself, Matthew.”
He gives a short, sardonic laugh. “Not necessary, baby - I can find plenty of girls who will do it for me. In fact, I can think of a cheap dozen to call right now and finish what we started.”
I step back into my apartment and slam the door in his face so violently the frame shakes.
Leaning against the living room wall for support, I close my eyes, squeezing them so tightly the salty tears behind my quaking lids are unable to escape. The unshed sobs burn inside my chest, and I’m only able to control my breathing by slowly inhaling through my nose… and breathing out through my mouth.
Several minutes pass before I hear the footfalls of Matthew’s retreating form.
Only then do I let my body collapse to the floor, weeping.
CHAPTER 26
MATTHEW
“The best way not to get your heart broken is to pretend you don’t have one.”
– Charlie Sheen
“Wow. You really are a heartless bastard.” Weston stares at me from across the tiny table at Starbucks, sipping from the straw of a Venti Iced Tea Lemonade. In front of him, a plate of pastries (two small muffins and one blueberry scone), a plastic container of yogurt, and a slice of pumpkin pound cake. “I mean… I kind of thought the whole douche bag thing was just an act. Guess not.”
“I couldn’t help myself. It just came spilling out.” I shift uneasily in my seat as he silently observes me, unwrapping his utensils from their little plastic baggie and stabbing the spoon into the yogurt to stir it. “Like verbal diarrhea.”
“Only worse?” Weston asks, slurping a big blob of strawberry yogurt off his spoon, then ads, “You know she’s eventually going to tell Molly, right? You’re pretty much screwed.”
“Thank you Captain Obvious.” I poke at my caramel cake, uninterested, with a plastic fork, deciding I don’t have the appetite for it anymore. “You know, this is the reason I’ve never dated Molly’s friends.”
“Oh really? It’s because none of them will let you shove your dick in their mouth?” He laughs to himself and takes another drink of lemonade, draining the cup, then taking the top off to shake ice into his mouth. Chewing noisily on ice chips, he says “I will say this: you royally fucked up your chances with Cece…”
“Seriously dude?”
“What? You can’t handle the truth? Cece is probably at home right now stabbing pins into the teeny tiny dick part of a Matthew voodoo doll.” He tips his cup back again, shaking more ice into his mouth and chewing. “The likelihood of you getting back into her good graces: slim to none.”
The ice in his mouth crunches loudly – the sound is grating on my nerves worse than nails on a chalk board. And the worst part is, I know for a fact he fucking chews ice at the movies, too.
Drives me nuts.
Despite my scowl, Weston continues. “In an ironic twist, I bet she goes and screws some random dude at a party just to spite you.” He laughs ruefully and picks a blueberry muffin off his plate, muttering, “That would be a classic chick move,” as he peels back the muffin wrapper.