We lay side by side, staring at the ceiling. Matt radiated frustration. I wondered if he felt my sadness. After a while, I sat up and smoothed my skirt over my thighs.

“Is this how it’s going to be?” he said.

“I don’t know.” I hugged my knees to my chest. Another long silence stretched between us. “Did you really think I wasn’t serious when I said marry me?”

“We’ve been over this.”

“But couldn’t you see how happy I was on the show? How much I believed it?”

“No.” He sat up. “I couldn’t see anything except an audience that wanted to crucify me. I was scared, okay?” He shook his head. “I was freaking out, I was alone, and then you appeared and said marry me and you were my only friend in the building. And once I said that to the audience, everything changed. Hannah, you threw me a lifesaver. Of course I used it.”

“But you used me, too.”

“I thought you would understand. That was a talk show. This is reality. Marriage, even engagement, is a big fucking deal. And you don’t—”

“Know you?” I pressed my fist into the bedspread. “I have seen you drunk, depressed, paranoid, um, jealous, crazy. I mean, what are you so worried about?”

“I don’t know. God. Things we might not even”—he touched my shoulder—“know about ourselves. We haven’t given ourselves time…” He turned me toward him and leaned in. Our lips met. Easy, this kiss. And I missed his mouth, his body, which I had pushed away for days.

I yielded briefly, curling my fingers in his hair. He moaned against my lips. The sound vibrated down my spine and desire hummed through me.

“God, you—” I pressed him back.

“Oh, fucking fine,” he hissed. “Let’s do it.”

“What?”

“You want to get engaged so badly? Is that what you need to believe I love you? Fine. Marry me.” His eyes burned into mine.

“No,” I snapped.

“The hell?”

“Are you serious? Jeez, that was such a heartfelt proposal. Really, it’s like your dick just proposed to me.” I flicked a meaningful glance at the swell in his boxers.

“No, I fucking proposed on behalf of my dick, which apparently gets nothing until I agree to marry you. Do you see how messed up that is?” He grabbed his pillow and stalked out of the room. The door slammed. My comeback died on my lips.

I crumpled, scooting over to the warm spot left by his body.

No tears. No tears. I squeezed my eyelids together, but I couldn’t silence my thoughts. Was Matt right? Was I giving him an ultimatum, marriage or nothing? We were fine—well, fine in a really dysfunctional way—until my stupid off-the-cuff proposal.

But God, it hurt, being all in while he was hedging his bets. It hurt …

I uncurled and undressed, changing into my pajamas—boy shorts and one of Matt’s big T-shirts. The clock read 11:04. He really wasn’t coming to bed. I shuffled down the hall to the bathroom, brushed my teeth and washed my face. On my way back to our bedroom, a small sound from the family room caught my attention. I peered into the dark.

“Matt?” I whispered.

Silence.

I crept toward the family room, feeling along the wall. I jerked to a stop.

The only light in the room came from Matt’s laptop, which stood open on the coffee table. He sat on the couch, his bare shoulders and head visible. His arm moved rhythmically.

On the laptop screen—I squinted—a woman knelt on a broad bed. She was naked, her dark hair tumbling across her back and her breasts hanging down. Behind her, a male figure plunged into her body. Another man—my mouth dropped open—knelt in front of her. She licked and sucked his length eagerly; he thrust into her mouth.

“Oh,” I peeped.

Matt glanced over his shoulder. Blood rushed to my face.

“You all right?” he said, his arm still working steadily.

“Uh … um…” I inched forward, craving a better look at the screen.

“Sorry. I didn’t feel like”—his voice caught and he shifted on the couch; he glanced at his cock—“being uncomfortable … in the office. Not many options … in this place.”

I couldn’t look away from Matt’s porn. Two guys, one girl. The blush drained from my face. Tiny moans and grunts emanated from the laptop.

Hannah, I want things that …

“Is this what you want?” I gasped.

Matt gave a tense laugh. His hand stilled, then resumed, and my gaze panned over his lap. Dear God, he was rigid. This stuff excited him. A lot.

“No,” he managed. “Just something … I like to watch. Fantasy … there’s a difference.” He clenched his teeth and refocused on the screen.

Shit, I was throwing him off his game—after denying him sex.

“Sorry, I’ll—sorry!” I fled to our bedroom, my heart thumping and my skin fever hot. Two guys … I could never. I climbed under the covers and hugged myself. The image replayed in my mind. The girl had even looked like me—pale skin, dark curls, large breasts. Matt had to be thinking about doing that to me. Sharing me.

My face burned hotter.

The men in the video had been enjoying their plaything, clearly. They’d looked at her and at one another and moaned in pleasure. And she took it; she let herself be used.

I pressed my thighs together. “Just something I like to watch,” Matt had said. I struggled to believe that. Was he telling the truth?