Only he had retreated to the back of the house to his bedroom.

Drying her hands, she moved to answer the door and was met with a face she wasn’t expecting so soon.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Matt?”

He was ear-to-ear smiling with her sunglasses covering his eyes.

They looked ridiculous on him. Unable to stop herself, Erin started to laugh.

“Are they me?” he asked as he turned to the side.

“They’re not bad,” she lied. “Maybe you should try them with a white frame.”

He looked over the rim as if considering her suggestion. “That might work with my white seventies suit I wore at a theme party last year.”

“You dressed up for a theme party?”

“You sound surprised. Isn’t that what people do at parties created around a theme . . . dress up?”

Erin took two steps back and opened the door for him to come in. He handed her the glasses as he walked past.

“You really didn’t have to rush these over for me.”

“Considering you left them at my place a few days ago, it’s safe to say I didn’t rush.” He walked into the kitchen and did a double take at the mess. “Spring cleaning?”

More like raw nerves getting the best of her, but cleaning was helping immensely. “You could say that,” she told him.

He walked past the mess, opened the fridge, and pulled out a beer she’d returned to a clean shelf. “Do you mind?” he asked.

“I’m pretty sure that’s your brother’s, so, no . . . I don’t mind.”

Matt didn’t need any more encouragement. He twisted off the top and tossed it in the trash. “It’s happy hour. Want one?” he asked.

“Beer isn’t really my thing.”

He reopened the fridge. “There’s wine in here. I’m sure Parker won’t mind.”

“Oh, that’s mine.” She stood rooted in place while Matt buzzed around the kitchen like he lived there. She’d seen his truck parked in the driveway a lot since the rain had stopped. Even though Colin hadn’t officially moved in, he was there a lot and apparently his younger brother spent a lot of time with him.

He grabbed the wine and closed the refrigerator door. “You’ll join me, then?”

She opened her mouth to say no and hesitated.

His eyes caught hers and he tilted his head slightly, tempting her.

Erin opened the utensil drawer she was standing beside and handed him a corkscrew.

“That’s my girl.” His words flowed so easily they didn’t even register until she’d turned around to finish cleaning the last of the shelves.

She wasn’t his anything, but she didn’t know how to correct him without sounding pathetic, so she pretended not to have heard him instead.

“Glasses?” he asked once the cork had popped free of the bottle.

“The cupboard above the coffee maker.” She added a point of her elbow to aid him in finding a wineglass.

With her drink poured, he stood beside her and waited for her to turn off the water before handing her the glass. He stopped her from taking a sip by lifting his beer in the air for a toast. “To Colin and Parker.”

“That’s sweet.” She didn’t see that coming.

They both sipped their drinks.

“I have to give my brother credit. If he hadn’t had the hots for Parker, I wouldn’t have met you.” He put his beer down and grabbed a dish towel.

“Matt.” His name was a warning.

He lifted the glass shelf and started to dry it. “You can never have too many friends, right?” he asked.

Friends? She didn’t think he was talking about friends. “Right.”

“Right,” he agreed with her.

She watched him take the shelf to the fridge and put it back inside. “Does all this go back in?”

“You don’t have to help.”

“Payment for happy hour.” He proceeded to put everything back in order.

All she could do was stare. Matt wasn’t a small man. She was five eight and he had to be six three with shoulders that filled out every shirt she’d ever seen him in. From the back, all you could see were muscles that ran down to a narrow waist and a tight . . .

Matt turned and caught her staring.

She closed her eyes and pivoted away.

He chuckled. “Busted,” he said.

“Sorry.” She felt her face grow hot. She reached for her wine. How many shades of embarrassed could she turn getting caught checking out his ass? “I-I was trying to picture you in that white zoot suit.”

“Ah-huh . . . sure.”

Oh, this was bad. “No, really.”

He walked around her, picked up his beer. “It’s okay, Erin.”

She dared a look at him and found his soft hazel eyes and boyish smile looking back. “I’m not used to seeing a man work in a kitchen.”

“Your dad never helped your mom out?”

It was her turn to move to keep her nerves from showing. “As sexist as that sounds, the answer is no. My mother didn’t know the kitchen existed, and the only experience my father had with one was to pay for it.” She quickly shuffled food back inside the fridge.

“Who cooked?”

Maids.

“We got by,” she said instead.

“But—”

“My parents divorced early, and after my mom left, my father hired babysitters. They cooked.” Babysitters sounded a lot easier to swallow than nannies.

“What about when you were at your mom’s . . . did she hire babysitters, too?”

Erin huffed a laugh. “I misspoke and gave my mother too much credit. I haven’t seen my mother since I was seven. She abandoned us.” Something she’d gotten over a long time ago. Her mother wasn’t part of the equation.

“Damn, Erin . . . that sucks.”

She shrugged. “It is what it is. So if I was staring—”

“You were staring,” he interrupted her with a grin.

Squaring her shoulders and lifting her eyes to once again look at him, she said, “It really was because I’m not accustomed to seeing a man working in a kitchen.”

“So you weren’t staring at my ass for the pleasure of it.”

Blink . . . blink . . .

Words failed her.

He started to laugh.

“You are so full of yourself.”

That boyish smile went full wattage. “I adore the way you blush.”

She brought both hands to her cheeks and tried to cool them off. “You’re awful.”

“I know. I should be destroyed.” He turned and reached for the garbage. “I’ll take this out while you construct a witty response to my teasing.”

Matt had many traits worth touting, but he had to admit, charming women was at the top of that list. And tonight he felt like he’d just received the Golden Ticket from the judges when it came to getting what he wanted.

He wiggled his way into happy hour, which was two drinks in before he helped Erin finish making dinner . . . which he invited himself to . . . almost like a player on first base stealing second without the pitcher seeing. He sat beside Austin so he could watch Erin as she ate.

“Are you getting excited about graduation?” Erin asked Austin.