I said nothing, because my instinct was to say, Yes, please. How about tonight?
And he would probably think I was joking.
That Friday night, I found myself fighting Professor Quirrell for the Sorcerer's Stone, still on a Matt-induced high from the evening before.
Okay, yes. My more-than-platonic feelings weren't reciprocated, but my heart didn't seem to care. I liked him. A lot. Exorbitant liking. So what if we were never anything more than friends? Being around him was beyond satisfying in so many ways, I was beginning to think a friendship with Matt was preferable to a romantic relationship with anyone else.
Presently, Jack, Grace, and I donned our scarves and wands, but Grace couldn't find my wizard hat, so I'd been forced to wear one of her princess tiaras instead. Which, all things considered, I thought it suited me quite well.
Once again, I'd made pizza and once again it smelled delicious.
"You know who likes pizza?" Jack grinned as he set the table, showcasing a gap-toothed smile and a mischievous glimmer in his eyes that I was certain had been a genetic gift from his father.
"Who?" I asked warily, packing up the board game.
"Professor Simmons," Grace supplied, practicing her twirls instead of helping set the table. But this was Grace's modus operandi, confirmed by her mother. I could ask the seven-year-old to do something ten times and on the eleventh she'd act like it was the first time she'd heard the request.
Kids.
"Ah, yes. The good professor." I nodded, smiling to myself. "He does indeed enjoy the pizza."
"Can we ask him over?" Jack was already inching toward the door.
Without waiting for my response, Grace sprinted into the kitchen, shouting, "I'll get another plate."
"Fine. Fine." I tried to cover my own surge of excitement by sighing wearily. "I guess."
"Yes!" Jack made to leave.
I crossed to my purse. "Wait. I'll text him, see if he's home. Wait, Jack."
Jack pretended he didn't hear me and darted out the front door.
"Darn kids," I grumbled, stepping quickly after him out of the apartment and into the hall, finding Jack already standing outside of Matt's place.
"I just knocked." He motioned to the door. "No need to text."
I stood with one foot in Fiona and Greg's place and one foot out of it, shaking my head at the willful nine-year-old.
"Jack," I warned.
"It's fine," he said. "I do this all the time."
We waited as one minute stretched into two. Jack's expression fell from hopeful to confused and he stared at the door with such intensity, I almost expected it to burst from its hinges.
I was just about to suggest that Jack come back inside and we text Matt instead, because he was likely still at the office, when the sound of the elevator dinging pulled both of our gazes down the hall.
Matt's laughter greeted my ears and my heart leapt.
But then it promptly fell.
It fell hard.
It fell from the top floor of the Sears Tower onto the pavement below hard.
Because Matt's laughter was joined by the sound of a woman's laughter, and in the next moment they were both visible. But they didn't notice us. They were too busy. With each other.
Matt tugged her forward, then pressed her against the wall, his mouth fusing to hers. Her hands roamed freely and I heard her moan, which was kind of incredible because they were at least fifty feet away.
Apparently, Matt enjoyed the moaners.
Good to know.
Except, not good to know. Not at all good to know.
I hadn't recovered from the shock of witnessing Matt making kissy face with someone not me when Jack called out, "Professor Simmons!"
Matt lifted his head, glancing down the hall.
I stiffened, unsure what to do.
He spotted Jack first, and gave him a quizzical smile, immediately stepping away from the woman.
Then he spotted me.
And do you know what? His smile didn't slip. It didn't falter. If anything, it brightened. Like he was happy to see me.
What.
The.
Fuck.
I thought I might be sick.
Matt whispered something into the woman's ear as they moved from where he'd been mauling her, and then took her hand and pulled her forward.
"Hey, Jack." He grinned at the young boy, then lifted his attention to me as they approached, his gaze traveling over my hair before meeting my eyes. "Hi, Marie," he said easily, like we were meeting on the street. On a Sunday. After Church. "What's going on?"
My heart thundered between my ears as I glanced dumbly-still blindsided-from the woman to Matt, then to Jack.
"Um . . ."