Matt doesn’t know why he lets you get away with half the things you do. Maybe it’s because he’s hopelessly, stupidly in love with you.

You were getting ready for a party at his house. You’re wearing some sparkly, ridiculously short dress that hugs your curves in a way that makes his chest tighten and his palms sweat.

He really didn’t like parties. Too many people and too much noise, and way too many moments where he feels like he’s just taking up space. He’d tried, once or twice, to stomach them for your sake, but you’d caught on quickly. Now, you didn’t even bother asking him to come anymore—you just gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and promised to tell him everything when you got back.

But tonight… tonight, he can’t shake the knot in his stomach.

“I don’t know why you’re so nervous,” you say, catching his reflection in the mirror as you were putting on mascara. “It’s not like you’re going. I’ll be fine.”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his messy hair. “I know you’ll be fine,” he mumbles, his voice soft, almost embarrassed. “I just… you know, those guys are gonna be there. And they’re all…” He gestures vaguely, as if that somehow explains everything.

You pause, turning to look at him, your brows furrowing. “They’re all what?”

He doesn’t say it outright, but it kills him a little that you’re so excited to go. A part of him hates the idea of you being surrounded by guys who’d do anything to get your attention—guys who don’t freeze up like he does every time you touch him or say his name. But he doesn’t want to ruin your fun. He’s always known you’re the life of the party, and he’s always been okay with watching you shine.

“They’re all into you,” he blurts, his face going red the second the words leave his mouth. “I mean, who wouldn’t be? Look at you, baby.”