Page 107 of The Golden Scoop

Emma’s head drops onto the kitchen counter with a groan.

“Out. Now.” I physically push them out.

When I turn back, Emma’s hopped onto one of the stools, her eyes following my every move. She bites her bottom lip, and I have to take a deep breath to steady my pulse.

She raises her pointer finger and curls it a couple of times. I gasp and bring a hand up to my chest, spinning around, acting as if I’m checking to make sure she’s talking to me.

Her head throws back, and her giggles fills the space. A sheepish smile tugs at my lips as I dance my way to her with the most ridiculous disco-level moves I can come up with. The Cure’s “Friday I’m In Love” plays in the background. When I finally reach her, she’s on the verge of tears from laughing so hard. Her arms wrap around my neck, singing along dramatically.

It’s indeed Friday. And I’m absolutely, completely in love.

TWENTY-FOUR

Emma

The left side of the bed is empty when I wake up. My eyes are still closed, and for a moment, I wonder if I’ve had the longest, most dangerous kind of dream: the one that’s easy to believe.

Then everything comes into focus. Matt’s library, the view of the hills through the window. The smell of coffee and pancakes lingers in the air. I can hear him fussing around in the kitchen. My stomach grumbles, complaining about the lack of proper food last night.

He’d offered to make me dinner after Julia and Harrison left, but I’d been too distracted by the way his lips moved down my neck. My eyes caught on the Rummikub box still sitting on the living room floor, and the night turned far too interesting to take him up on his cooking skills.

“I wanna play,” I whispered into his ear, biting playfully that spot right under his jaw that immediately makes him groan.

He chuckled, and I felt his faint smile against my skin.

“Play what?”

“Strip Rummikub.”

Matt pulled back, eyes darkening. That naughty smirk of his took over the corner of his mouth for a second before dropping back down.

“You win… I strip,” I tell him.

That caught his attention. And it’s exactly how we turned a kids’ game into a high-stakes competition.

In the end, he put on some music and gave a show to remember. By the time his last piece of clothing came off, I was so hot and bothered I had no choice but to take off my own too.

If asked, I’ll deny, but I don’t regret that decision one bit.

My phone lights up from the nightstand. I reach for it, expecting a message from Julia, or my mom. But it’s an e-mail. From Martha. On a Saturday.

I’m about to dig into whatever crisis she’s having—urgent, as always—when the man of the hour walks in, sporting a black apron covered in flour over his boxers.

“I hadn’t realized Magic Mike came with a chef option,” I tease. He flips the covers off in one big swoop, takes my ankles and pulls me down until he’s towering over me at the foot of the bed.

“Morning, honey,” Matt says. I hook my fingers into the front pocket of the apron and tug him to me for a kiss. “You taste like trouble.”

“Still rejoicing in my fair-and-square victory,” I tell him. “Want to go for round two?”

“How about I feed you first?”

My stomach answers for me. He chuckles and lifts me up like I weigh nothing. I wrap around him, although I could play dead and he still wouldn’t drop me.

His hands squeeze the back of my thighs, and I give his neck a playful bite. Two can play this game.

“I thought you were cooking,” I say with a pout when we get to the kitchen. There’s chaos, but suspiciously no breakfast in sight. “Did you eat already?”

“I’m offended you’d even consider that! I would never.” He gasps, taking us down the stairs.