Page 37 of Matched with the Hollywood Heartthrob (Matched for Love #4)

MIA

I wake up before Jack does.

The sky outside is pale blue, and for a moment, I just lie there, listening to the silence of the penthouse. His breathing is even, steady. He’s asleep beside me, his back turned, one hand curled loosely near his chest like a boy still guarding old wounds.

Nothing happened last night.

Well—except the kiss.

I slip out of bed quietly and pad to the kitchen. My body is still humming with the memory of how it felt to hold him, to feel him break and not try to fix it, just… be there. I shouldn’t care this much. I shouldn’t let myself care this much.

I distract myself with breakfast.

The fridge is cleaner and more organized than I expected. I pull out eggs, tomatoes, bread. Something simple. Grounding. Something that reminds me that I exist outside of whatever Jack Calloway stirs up in me.

I’m making him breakfast because he didn’t have dinner last night. I’m not sure he had anything outside of what he ate with Hayley. I mean, I didn’t, either. But no one told me to go around stalking and trailing him.

I keep moving—whisking, slicing, flipping toast—pretending last night didn’t mean anything. Pretending it didn’t tear through me like a storm.

I’m plating the eggs when I hear the door creak open behind me. My stomach tightens instantly.

“Morning,” Jack murmurs.

I don’t turn around. I can already feel him. His presence. His warmth.

Then I feel him step closer. His arms wrap around my waist, and I stop breathing.

He holds me gently, chin brushing my shoulder. It’s soft. Intimate. Too much.

I close my eyes, then gently peel his arms away and step forward, putting space between us.

“Hi. Um, I made you breakfast.”

He looks like he has a lot to say, but he simply says, “Thank you,” and sits. We sit across from each other at the kitchen island, eating eggs and toast like we didn’t almost fall apart last night.

I chew slowly, more focused on the silence than the food. Jack hasn’t said much since we sat down. He’s watching me. I can feel it. I try to stay neutral, professional. Like I’m not still thinking about the way he kissed me. The way he asked me to stay the night with him.

“So,” I say, trying to sound breezy, like this is any normal breakfast. “How was your date with Hayley?”

Jack looks up slowly. His jaw tightens.

“You’re seriously asking me that right now?”

“I’m just doing my job,” I shrug, though I already regret saying it. “It’s part of the process, remember?”

He stares at me for a long second, fork halfway to his mouth. Then he drops it on the plate with a sharp clatter.

“Give it up, Mia. I’m not picking any of those women.”

I try to keep my face blank, but inside I’m spinning. “I can look for someone else. Maybe someone more aligned with your?—”

“God, why can’t you understand?” he snaps, pushing his chair back slightly. “I don’t want anyone else. I don’t want a process. I want you .”

My world literally stops. I feel a part of me start to warm up to this facade, and I immediately shut it down.

“Jack, stop.”

“Mia. I’m serious. I can’t believe you’re acting like you don’t know this.”

My heart stutters in my chest, but I force a scoff, reaching for my coffee to buy myself a second.

“Don’t,” I say, keeping my voice even. “Don’t make this into something it’s not. We shared a few kisses, Jack. A few emotional moments. That’s all.”

“It’s not all.” His voice is low, heated. “You can lie to yourself if you want, but every second with you—everything—means something to me.”

I shake my head and push my plate aside. “You think that because you were emotional last night. But you’ll wake up in a day or two and go right back to being Jack Calloway. You’ll charm someone new and forget this ever happened.”

He stands too now, eyes dark. “You don’t really believe that.”

“I’ll believe what I need to,” I snap. “And if you can’t stick to our agreement and respect my role in this, then I’ll just call it off.”

“Mia—”

“No,” I cut him off, stepping around him. “Don’t. I need to go.”

I storm into the guest room and shut the door behind me, my pulse thudding in my ears.

My fingers tremble as I snatch my bag off the dresser.

I don’t even check to see if I’ve forgotten anything.

I just need to get out before I completely lose control of this situation—of myself.

Why would he say that to me? He wants me?

That’s a joke. He can’t want me. I’ve seen the women he usually wants, and I’m nothing like them. I don’t want to be anything like them.

He was emotional last night, and that’s why his head is all messed up this morning. If I stay any second longer, he’ll convince me and I’ll only end up heartbroken. I have to leave immediately—put some distance between us. For my sanity.

I change into a fresh outfit and behind me, the door creaks open.

“Mia,” Jack says from the doorway, voice gentler now. Like he’s trying to soothe a skittish animal. “Please. Don’t leave like this.”

I turn, bag slung over my shoulder. He’s barefoot, hair still mussed from sleep, wearing that soft gray T-shirt that clings to his chest in a way that makes me want to scream.

“Where are you even going? You don’t know anywhere in L.A.”

I brush past him, and he follows me into the living room, but he doesn’t speak this time. He just watches as I walk to the elevator and press the button with a shaking hand.

I feel his eyes on my back, feel the weight of everything unsaid pressing between us.

The doors slide open, and I step in.

I don’t look back.

Because if I do, I won’t leave.

And I have to.

For both of us.