Page 36 of Matched with the Hollywood Heartthrob (Matched for Love #4)

JACK

W hen we get back to the penthouse, I don’t say a word.

I head straight for the bar.

The lights are low, the city flickering faintly through the windows, and all I want is something strong enough to shut my mind off for the night. I reach for the whiskey decanter, fingers already curled around the glass?—

But Mia steps in front of me.

Blocking me.

I blink at her, tired and not in the mood. “Move.”

“No,” she says quietly. “Alcohol isn’t the answer. It’ll drown you tonight, but you’ll still wake up in the morning with the same pain. Probably worse.”

I clench my jaw. “And what? You want me to sit in a circle with you and share my feelings?”

“Maybe,” she replies, soft but firm. “I want you to talk to me. I can be your sounding board, Jack. I want to be.”

I let out a laugh. Cold. Bitter. “You? You’ve judged me since the day we met.”

Her face flickers. “That’s not fair?—”

“It’s true,” I snap, the words coming out sharp. “You’ve always looked at me like I’m some spoiled, arrogant jerk who’s too used to getting what he wants. Don’t pretend you know me now.”

“I’m not pretending. I see you. I see you tonight,” she says, voice cracking. “And you’re hurting. I can’t walk away from that, Jack.”

I see the tears brimming in her eyes. And just like that, I break. Just another woman with a great hold over me. Great.

“All I ever did,” I whisper, “was try to get her attention.”

Mia says nothing, but she doesn’t move either. Just stands there, heart open, waiting.

“I thought if I became someone… if I was loud enough, famous enough, good enough, she’d look at me. She’d see me. I did everything, everything, with her somewhere in the back of my mind.”

I sink onto the edge of the couch, burying my face in my hands.

“All the interviews. The movies. The reckless stunts. I thought if I made enough noise, she’d come back. Like I could shout my existence loud enough to matter to her.” I look up. My voice shakes. “But she already knew. She knew who I was. And she stayed away anyway.”

A sob catches in my throat, and I choke it down, but it’s too late. Mia’s already across the room, kneeling in front of me, crying now too.

“It’s not your fault,” she whispers. “You love her, Jack. That’s why it hurts. That’s why this is breaking you.”

“I thought I was immune,” I mutter. “Thought I’d buried her so deep she couldn’t touch me anymore.

But tonight—God, tonight—she looked at me like I was a ghost and still managed to hurt me worse than she ever did.

This is why my dad warned me never to reach out to her. He didn’t want me to feel like this.”

Mia wraps her arms around me.

Warm, trembling, real.

And I let her.

For the first time in a long time, I let someone hold me.

Her cheek presses to mine, her breath hot against my skin, and when I tilt my head and look into her eyes, the distance between us doesn’t stand a chance.

I kiss her.

I don’t think. I just do it.

Her lips are soft, hesitant at first—then hungry. Fierce. Honest.

Everything I’ve been aching for.

Everything I never knew I needed.

I press in closer, kissing her like I’m starving for comfort, for warmth—for her. She tastes like hope and tears and everything I’ve ever been afraid to ask for. Her breath hitches when my hand finds the curve of her jaw, and she leans into me like she needs it too.

The kiss deepens—mouths hungry, open, desperate.

And still, it’s not about lust.

It’s about pain. About feeling seen. About being held. It’s messy, beautiful, too much, and not enough.

When she finally pulls away, her lips are slightly swollen, her cheeks flushed. She rests her forehead against mine, and for a second, we just breathe in the silence, our foreheads pressed together.

Then she kisses the center of my forehead. Soft. Reverent.

That simple gesture does something to me.

Breaks me open all over again.

“You’ve had a long day,” she says gently, brushing her fingers down my cheek. “You should shower. Then rest.”

I nod, slowly. My voice comes out small—unfamiliar. “Can you… will you stay with me tonight?”

She blinks. “What?”

“I’m sorry—I don’t mean it like that,” I say quickly. “No sex. I promise. I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to. I just… I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Her face softens.

“I can do that,” she says quietly.

And somehow, those four words feel like a lifeline. “Thank you, Mia. Really.”

With a smile, she takes my hand and leads me into the bedroom.

Minutes later, I step into the shower, and the water hits my skin like a wave of silence. Hot. Steady. Almost punishing.

The kind that should wash everything away?—

But it doesn’t.

I stand there, eyes closed, hands braced against the cold tile, and let the water run down my back. Every muscle in my body feels like it’s been strung too tight for too long. My chest still aches from the weight of the conversation with Megan and the following moment with Mia.

All I ever did was want to be seen.

Heard.

Loved.

By her.

And now, here I am. Stripped bare, emotionally exhausted, thinking about the one person who didn’t just see me, but stayed.

Mia.

She’s waiting in my bed right now. And I don’t even want sex.

That surprises me more than anything. Not because I don’t find her beautiful—God knows I do—but because something about her… calms the noise. Calms me.

She quiets the war in my head.

She softens the places I’ve been too scared to touch.

I tilt my head up, let the water pour over my face, and exhale slowly.

I’ve had everything—fame, money, women, applause.

But nothing has ever felt as grounding as her hand on my chest when I was breaking.

Nothing has ever felt as intimate as her forehead resting against mine after that kiss.

I turn off the water and grab a towel. My reflection in the mirror looks older, somehow. Tired. But there’s a softness in my eyes now, too.

Peace.

Because she’s here.

I dry off, pull on a pair of joggers and a plain black T-shirt, and step out of the bathroom.

She’s curled on her side, facing the door, hair fanned across my pillow, eyes fluttering open when she hears me.

She sits up slightly, and I can see the question in her eyes before she says it.

“You okay?”

I nod. “Better now.”

I cross the room, climb into bed beside her, and pull the covers over us both.

She settles in without hesitation, putting distance between us. I flip the light off and close my eyes.

Thirty minutes later, I flip onto my back for what has to be the tenth time tonight. The room is dark and quiet, but my mind won’t shut off.

Mia’s here—so close I can hear her breathing—but she’s lying on the far side of the bed. I can’t blame her. I told her I just wanted company, and she respected that. Gave me space.

But now…

Now, I just want her near.

The silence stretches. I close my eyes. Open them again. Her silhouette is faint in the moonlight slipping through the window.

I take a deep breath, my throat dry.

God, this is so simple and so hard at the same time.

“Mia,” I whisper, voice low. “Are you awake?”

There’s a pause. Then a soft, sleepy hum. “Hmm.”

I hesitate. I don’t want to cross a line. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable.

But I also don’t want to lie here and keep pretending I don’t need what I need.

“Um… can I hold you?” My voice is rougher than I mean it to be. Honest. Stripped bare. “I swear I won’t be inappropriate. I just want to hold you.”

A beat of silence.

Then, “Okay.”

The sound of her sheets shifting, the gentle rustle as she rolls over and moves closer?—

It hits me harder than I expect.

And then she’s there.

Close.

Her body slides against mine like a puzzle piece falling into place. My arm wraps around her waist, fingers splaying gently across her back. I feel her breath on my chest, and I bury my face in her hair.

She fits.

She fits.

No words. No pressure. Just warmth. Contact. Peace.

The war in my chest stills. And for the first time tonight… I feel like I can finally sleep.