Izabel hurried from the room before she said any more. Her knees shook with adrenaline as she left the building and hurried toward the St. Peter’s tram stop just as the East Didsbury tram pulled into the station. She hurried across the tracks, jogged up the steps, and with a second to spare, she rushed through the door of the packed tram and slammed face first into a solid chest. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”
Paint-splattered tattooed hands grabbed her biceps. “It’s me, Iz.”
She looked up, beyond the polo shirt advertising his Uncle Allan’s decorating company, to Matt’s face. He hadn’t shaved, and she liked him best when he had a bit of scruff. His dark hair was standing up in all directions, which told her he’d had a tough day. Hell, so had she.
“Sorry. Mad dash and all that.”
The tram pulled out of the stop and Izabel stumbled. Matt grabbed her arm again to steady her. There was nowhere for her to go. With the doors closed, bodies were packed closer to each other than sardines in a tin. Which put her way too close to Matt. She could see the outline of his pecs through his polo shirt and wondered what it would feel like to just rest her forehead against them and close her eyes for a few moments as he hugged her tightly.
He reached for the handrail attached to the ceiling with one hand and held on to her with the other. “Heading home?” he asked gruffly.
She pulled her gaze from the glass angles of the Bridgewater Hall building. “Yeah. Shitty day. I need a drink.”
Matt huffed. “Know that feeling.”
When they pulled into the Deansgate-Castlefield station, the doors opened, and a flood of people left the tram and new ones clambered on board.
“Izzie?” she heard from behind her. “Oh. Matt.”
Izabel noticed Matt’s eyes widen as his jaw twitched, something Matt did when he was angry. Izabel turned to look over her shoulder. Harry. And the bitch she’d caught him fucking.
As if her world couldn’t get any worse today.
“Harry,” she said, curtly, and turned back to Matt. His eyes were on her. Like really on her, as if trying to read how she was doing. She shook her head infinitesimally, then looked down at the floor.
Matt gripped her arm momentarily, a squeeze of reassurance.
“I’m glad I’ve seen you,” Harry said. “I wanted to talk to you about Gemma and my brother’s wedding.”
Fortified by Matt’s touch, she took a deep breath and turned to face him again. “What about it?”
“Well, we’re both in the wedding party.”
“No shit, Captain Obvious.”
Harry rolled his eyes, then shared what could only be described as a knowing look with the woman. Matt gripped her hip, the move grounding her. She’d no idea why he was suddenly touching her again after avoiding her all this time, but it was almost worth dealing with Harry for it to happen.
“Please, Izzie. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I don’t want it to be weird. For Gemma and Ollie’s sake. And . . .”
“And what?” she asked, as the tram jerkily came to a stop at Cornbrook.
“Well, and to remind you you’ll need to book your own room, and to let you know I’ll be bringing Sophia with me.”
Sophia.
Such a pretty name for a piece of trash with overly drawn-on eyebrows.
Wait.
Own room. Shit. Of course, they’d need two rooms now. In the upset of splitting up and moving out, it hadn’t even registered. Her immediate thought of why he got to keep the room was quickly quelled when she remembered he’d booked and paid for the damn thing.
And the idea of spending the day with the two of them getting all smoochy on each other.
Bleurgh.
Yeah, her day sucked. She debated jumping off the tram and waiting for the next one, but just as she made a move to go, the chimes of the door started, and the door closed.
“I spoke to my brother,” Harry continued. “And he said it was fine for you and me to add a plus-one to our invitation.”
She wondered if Gemma knew what Harry had arranged with Ollie, because she was certain her best friend would have mentioned it. Matt slipped his hand around her middle and pulled her close to him. “Don’t worry, Iz. We’ll get our own room.” His words rumbled through her.
Harry’s eyes went wide as Izabel’s heart bounced around inside her chest cavity like a ping-pong ball. “You two are a . . . like . . . are you dating? I don’t know what to think about that.”
Izabel floundered for something to say. Matt was surrounding her, and she clutched on to him like a life raft. How could she answer Harry?
“What I think is it’s none of your fucking business.” Matt felt her skin against his lips as he spoke, and it was the only thing stopping him from wringing Harry’s neck. That, and the two transit cops standing part way down the carriage. “Once you took your dick out of your pants for someone else, you lost the right to give a shit about her.”
“Izzie?” When Harry finally decided to respond, he had the audacity to look wounded. Standing there like a jumped-up jerk in a fancy suit with the side piece he’d been banging.
Prick.
Izabel squeezed his wrist, and it took everything in him not to shove Harry down the tram. The heat of her back warmed his chest, and he mentally instructed his dick to stay down while frantically processing what he’d just got himself into and the fact he finally had Iz in his arms.
“What do you want me to say, Harry?” Izabel said finally, her words filled with confusion and sorrow.
“It feels a bit—”
“Oi, shit-for-brains. Look at me,” Matt said, the pathetic look on Harry’s face rattling his usually controlled anger. Only the warmth of Iz’s hand on his arm stopped him from curling his hand to a fist. “She doesn’t need to hear it, whatever you were about to say. Iz deserves someone who respects her and treats her better than you ever did. End of story.”
Harry scoffed. “You treat her better than I did? Didn’t realise painting and decorating paid well.”
Ouch.
“Never said I did. I said she deserves someone who could.”
Of course he wasn’t as financially secure as Harry. But in the scheme of things, was a bank balance and paycheck really the measure of a man?
“You’re a bigger twat than I thought if you think I’m talking money. No flash suit, flash car, or flash holiday can make up for the lack of respect you showed her. Money can’t make her forget how you screwed her over. Literally. You can’t buy loyalty, Harry.”
“But before we met, didn’t you and Jase . . . you know?” Harry continued.
The words cut through him. He didn’t want to think about it. Not when it felt like the walls of the tram were a metaphor for his whole life closing in around him.
The tram juddered to a halt at Trafford Bar and the doors opened.
“It’s our stop,” Sophia said, her lip curled in frustration.
Matt watched the two of them step off the tram as Izabel turned in his arm. God, had he ever seen prettier eyes?
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said.
“I know, sweetheart.” It was wrong to pull her closer, but he did it anyway. He wanted, for just a moment, to feel the possibilities of the two of them. “But he was a dick, and the way he was looking at—”