But his face is pure masculine elegance.
Square jaw, full lips, straight nose, facial hair that’s artfully groomed yet scruffy. Arched low-set black brows that keep his penetrating blue eyes in the shadows. His hair is black, wavy and long, almost to his chin. He’s like if Aragon from Lord of the Rings just walked in here wearing a three-piece black suit and red tie. His clothes scream money.
“Wow, I’d definitely rate her a ten,” I hear Elle say.
This can’t be the man who was following me, can it?
“Her?” I repeat absently, unable to look away from the man’s gaze. I’m completely captive in it.
I want him to know my name.
“Yeah,” she says. “What are you staring at?”
It takes all my effort to blink and look at Elle, and the moment I do, my blood runs cold, the connection severed.
“You don’t see that man?” I whisper, finding it hard to talk.
I look back to the door, but he’s gone.
“Who, the scrawny dude who just walked in with the inexplicably hot girlfriend?” she asks.
I get to my feet and step out of the booth, looking around. Where the hell did he go? “There was a guy here. By himself. I was…we were looking at each other.”
“Okaaay,” Elle says. “What did he look like? He must have been Oscar Isaac-worthy to get you out of your seat like that.”
I shake my head, not understanding it. Not only where he went, but what came over me. That wasn’t normal. I’ve never had my body react like that to anyone before. Maybe that’s what I’ve been missing. It’s not enough to just find someone hot or attractive, but to find yourself attracted on some other realm.
Realm? Okay, calm down, I tell myself, forcing myself to sit back down. You’re getting a bit woo-woo here.
“Lenore?” Elle prods me. “How old was he?”
“I…I don’t know. Maybe thirty-five? Forty?”
She scoffs. “You and your older men. No wonder you’re so picky. And no wonder he didn’t stick around. Probably stepped in here and realized we’re all a bunch of youngins. The man can’t party.”
She’s right. The mystery man probably figured out pretty fast that this wasn’t his scene. I mean, yeah, it looks cool, but if you look closely you’ll see how cheap and rough around the edges this place is. It’s all for show.
Still, the disappointment in my chest is palpable.
“Do you think it was the guy following you?” she asks.
I glance at her. Her interest is piqued again. “I don’t know. This man was wearing a suit. The other one was wearing a long coat. I think.”
“A suit?” she exclaims, pressing her fingers into the table. “Since when do you go after men in suits?”
“Since never,” I say. It’s true. I have a very specific type. Black leather jackets, boots, white t-shirts, tattoos, maybe a bit of eyeliner. Matt fits the description to a T. This man did not.
But maybe my type’s been wrong this whole time.
“I think you dodged a bullet there, Lenore,” she says. “Men in suits don’t usually go for girls with tattoos. Believe me, I know.”
She’s probably right. It’s not like I’m covered head-to-toe, but I have a lot for someone my age. My parents have tattoos and they’ve always been strangely encouraging toward me getting them. And as long as I ruminate on what I want and what they mean to me, making sure it’s something special, they’ve even given me the money to do it. I know it’s pretty rare to have that kind of support, so I’ve definitely run with it. Tattoos and jewelry, those are my trademarks.
Matt comes back with our drinks, pulling me out of my head for a moment. We make a toast to the semester almost being done. Matt went to Stanford for one year, met his start-up buddies, and dropped out (which seems to be the popular thing to do around here), but he still sympathizes. Then Elle tells him all about my supposed stalker and the hot guy in the suit, and I swear I see his jaw tighten a little, like the fact that I showed an interest in another guy bothers him.
But I don’t dwell on that too much. The more I think about our relationship, the weirder it gets. Better to just take it at face value.
We end up staying at The Cloister for a couple of hours, until I’m pretty buzzed. But I know I need to do some studying tomorrow, so I don’t want to be totally hungover.
“I’m going to go,” I say, grabbing my purse and sliding out of the bench.
Matt reaches out and grabs my wrist. “Wait,” he says. “I’ll walk you.”
I give him a quick smile, taking my wrist back. “I’m fine. I’m going to get an Uber. Don’t worry.”
I wave goodbye to Elle and head toward the door, but Matt is hot on my trail.
“Don’t fuck him, Lenore!” Elle yells after us. “You can do better.”
Matt gives her an incredulous look over his shoulder. “Hey, thanks.”
I can’t help but laugh, waving her away. Way to make things awkward, Elle.
“I’ll be fine,” I tell him as we step out into the night. The fog seems to have thickened, the air damp, but all the spookiness is gone thanks to the crowds of people in the back garden and heading down the path.
I stop at the side of the road and take out my phone, opening the app. Matt stands beside me, hovering.
I steal a glance at him. “I’m fine. Really. No need to babysit me.”
“I’m not babysitting you,” he says. “I’m looking out for you. If you really do have a stalker…”
“I don’t. The more I think about it, the more I think I’m being paranoid. As you always used to say.” I nod at the church. “Go back inside. Don’t leave Elle by herself.”
“You know she’s fine,” he says. “But you’re not.”
Then, before I can move, he reaches out, cupping my face in his hands and kissing me.
Ah, fuck. Elle was on to something, wasn’t she? She picks up on shit that I don’t. I figured Matt was drunk, but I didn’t think he was this kind of drunk.
I press my fingers into his chest and push him back. “Stop,” I say quietly, licking my lips. My red lipstick is on his face.
“Sorry I…” He shakes his head, running his hand through his hair. “I just think we could start over.”
I manage a sympathetic smile, not liking where this is going. “You have a girlfriend, Matt.”
“I don’t have to have a girlfriend.”
My expression turns withering. “If you’re hoping that sounds romantic, it doesn’t. Come on, man. You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“And I don’t know what you want,” he says sharply. “Do you even know?”
I blink at him, taken aback. Matt is always so mild-mannered and chill, this is the first time I’ve seen him get cross with me.
“What are you getting at?”
He takes a step toward me, dark eyes glinting in the streetlight.
“I’m getting at you,” he says. “I don’t know you at all. You never let anyone in. You don’t even know yourself.”
I feel my cheeks burn, hating how his words are making me feel. “Go back inside, Matt,” I manage to say. “Before you say something even more stupid.”