Imperfect Match Read online

  And the twitch in my pants, if she saw it.

  I try to covertly adjust myself. “I didn’t think you were home. And I didn’t break in—I used the key you gave me.”

  She gives me a flat, unamused look. “I gave you that key so you’d water my plants while I was on vacation.”

  “I know.” I stuck another bite in my mouth and tried to concentrate on chewing it.

  “You didn’t do it. They all died.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s right,” I say with my mouth full. I point the fork in her direction. “You probably should have taken your key back right then.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I should have. Maybe I will. Didn’t you eat dinner?”

  “Leo and I ordered pizza but it sucks.”

  “So you just came over here to raid my fridge?” She taps her foot on the kitchen floor. Her toenails are painted bright red, which reminds me of the time I lost a bet—I can’t even remember what it was about—and she made me paint them for her. I did a terrible job and complained the whole time even though her feet are small and kind of adorable. It wasn’t really much of a punishment, to tell you the truth. In fact, standing here trying not to ogle her body in a towel might be worse torture. That twitch is now a full-blown erection.

  “Yes, sorry. Were you planning to eat this for dinner? I left you the lemon chicken thing.”

  “How nice of you.”

  I shrug. “I’m a nice guy. How was the gym?”

  “Fine.” She turns around and walks out of the kitchen. “I have to get dressed.”

  “Why? It’s not like I’ve never seen you naked.”

  She stops halfway to her bedroom door and looks at me over one shoulder, her mouth open in outrage. “What? You have not.”

  “Have too. That time we got drunk and jumped off the dock at your parents place in Michigan.”

  She whirls all the way around and faces me. “It was pitch dark that night! And I was wearing a bra and underwear!”

  I consider that. “Maybe, but if I recall correctly, they were white. White doesn’t hide much. And it sort of glows in the dark.”

  She huffs and crosses her arms even tighter over her chest. “You said you wouldn’t look.”

  “I was drunk,” I say. “You know you should never believe anything I say when I’m drunk.”

  The look she gave me could have singed the scruff on my face.

  God, I love making her mad. It’s so much fun and it’s way too easy. I don’t even know why I’m saying this shit right now—we don’t usually flirt, but her body is making me all kinds of crazy, and the best thing for her to do would be to go put some damn clothes on before I remember how long it’s been since I’ve had sex.

  Instead she juts her chin. “Well, I saw you naked too.”

  “Oh yeah? When?”

  “Same night. I was the only one who kept my underwear on. You jumped off that dock in your birthday suit.”

  “You were completely turned in the other direction.”

  She looks smug. “Not when you got out.”

  I have to think about that for a moment, but the memories of that night, beyond her perfect curves in white cotton and lace, have my brain a bit muddled. “I guess it’s possible you saw me naked.”

  That makes her snort. “Oh, it’s more than possible. I saw you.”

  “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  Setting the empty container and fork aside, I shrug. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

  “Ha! Since when?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want you to worry that I thought about you like that.”

  A few seconds tick by, during which I wonder what the actual fuck I am doing.

  “But … do you? Think about me like that?” Her voice has grown softer. More curious and less accusatory.

  “Sometimes,” I admit, and it’s the truth, although a second later I want to kick myself. I should have lied. “But it’s no big deal.”

  She blinks. “What?”

  “I mean, I’m a dude. We’re always thinking about beautiful women like that.”

  Her defenses go right back up. “So, what you’re saying is, I’m not special.”

  “I’m not saying that at all. In fact, you’re so special I shut down those kinds of thoughts about you right away. Because I don’t want anything to ruin what we’ve got. But it doesn’t mean I never have them.”

  “Oh. Okay.” With that, she turns around again and walks away.

  “Hey, wait a minute!” I chase her into the darkened living room and grab her by the elbow. “What about you?”

  She looks back. “What about me?”

  “Well,”—I struggle with words, which is odd for me—“do you ever think about me like that?”

  Her eyes are wide and innocent. “Like what?”

  “You know.” Letting go of her arm, I make a forward-motion gesture with my hand. “Like when you saw me naked, did it make you want me?”

  “Want you?” She tilts her head and squints a little, like she’s thinking back. “No, not really.”

  I’m so stunned, I just stand there, jaw dropped.

  She moves toward her bedroom again, and it’s not until she starts giggling and breaks into a run that I realize she’s fucking with me.

  I take off after her again, reaching her door just as she tries to slam it shut. Without even thinking, I burst through it with so much force I crash into her and we both go down onto her bedroom floor. She’s trapped beneath me, squealing with laughter and scrambling to get away, and I manage to get her wrists pinned over her head, snickering triumphantly. My body is sprawled over hers, that towel and my clothing the only barriers between us, and neither of them hides my hard-on very well.

  Oh, fuck.

  She stops struggling, and both of us stop laughing. Her breath is coming fast, her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath mine. My heart is beating way too hard.

  The lamp on her nightstand is on, and her face is in the light. Her lips are open. Her eyes are locked on mine. Her expression is expectant—what comes next?

  I recover my senses, that’s what.

  Letting go of her, I hop to my feet and nod once. “Let that be a lesson to you.”

  Then I’m out. I need the safety of two locked doors between us. I need a beer. I need a cold shower.

  Jesus fucking Christ, that was close.

  What the hell was I thinking?

  Five

  Willow

  What … just happened?

  I lie on my floor looking up at the ceiling for a solid five minutes, but my heart refuses to slow down. I can’t seem to breathe normally. My stomach is tied in knots.

  Propping myself up on my elbows, I try to piece together how I ended up on my bedroom floor with Reid on top of me, his totally obvious erection pressing into my thigh.

  One second we were bantering in the usual way, making fun of each other and taking cheap shots, and the next he was barreling into my bedroom and throwing me down on the carpet. I tried to get away, mostly because it was fun to fight back, but he easily overpowered me—and then I felt his dick on my leg. And I saw the look in his eye. I was positive he was going to kiss me, and I suddenly felt this fluttery thing in my chest.

  The fluttery thing happens again as I’m thinking about it, making me shiver.

  Slowly, I get off the floor and sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the spot on the floor where we’d lain.

  It would have been a mistake if he’d kissed me. No doubt about that. Reid and I are not that way. Oh, sure, we flirt here and there, but that’s mostly just to get under each other’s skin. Tease each other. Drive each other nuts. It isn’t real.

  Still.

  There’s something different about what had almost happened tonight. Taking a deep breath, I put my hand over my belly, and I swear I can feel the butterflies. Reid isn’t supposed to give me butterflies. I never feel butterflies. I’m not a romantic whe
n it comes to myself—too many horrible experiences with men have killed those instincts. My butterflies are dead, dammit. DEAD.

  Rising, I hang up my towel and put on comfy underwear and pajamas, remaining in sort of a daze. I comb through my damp hair and put on moisturizer. I wander into the kitchen and heat up last night’s chicken for dinner. While I eat, I watch an episode of This Is Us, but I can’t even concentrate enough to get weepy.

  When I’m done, I put my plate and Reid’s plastic container in the dishwasher. I drop my fork into the silverware holder, and I’m about to stick Reid’s in when I stop and stare at it instead. Then I bring it to my lips and close them around it before pulling it out again.

  It’s stupid. We’ve shared a fork before. We’ve shared water bottles, straws, tasted each other’s drinks, dinners, desserts.

  But this isn’t that. It’s something else.

  Then I’m annoyed with myself.

  “For God’s sake, knock it off, Willow. Are you that hard up?” Disgusted, I throw the fork into the dishwasher and shut the door.

  Ten minutes later, I’m lying in bed, eyes closed, trying to sleep. But those dang butterflies in my belly just won’t quit.

  Flopping onto my stomach, I try to smother them. Suffocate them. Send them back to the graveyard, where they belong.

  Because it’s really fucking bothersome that of all people, it was Reid who brought them back to life.

  Another ten minutes pass.

  Then twenty.

  Then forty.

  And another forty.

  Now I’m getting pissed.

  Screw him.

  Who does he think he is? He can’t waltz into my apartment, rummage through my fridge, and screw with my emotions.

  I’m the victim here, dammit.

  Throwing the blankets off, I hop up. I’m the one over here analyzing this crap, wondering why suddenly my best friend has me all ... confused and whatnot. I put on my off-the-shoulder sweatshirt to cover my tank and some boy shorts to cover my underwear.

  I have a key to Reid’s place since Leo locks himself out constantly, so I grab it from my purse, dash across the hall, and stealthily let myself in.

  I’m on a mission.

  When his bedroom door flies open, he sits up in bed. “What the—?”

  “You don’t get to teach me a lesson,” I say as I stand on the threshold of his room with my arms crossed.

  “Wills?”

  “You don’t come over to my house and think that you can do ... whatever it is you did just now, and then leave.”

  He starts to move off the bed. “What did I do?”

  “You ... you know.”

  “No, I don’t.” Reid takes a few steps toward me. He’s wearing sweat pants, but he’s bare-chested. “Why are you awake?”

  “Because I can’t sleep.”

  “Why can’t you sleep?”

  Because of you and that’s stupid, right?

  I can’t say that, though.

  Even in the darkness, that stupid feeling is in my stomach. I wanted it to go away. I hoped the anger and time that’s passed would’ve ebbed because this is Reid. Reid, my stupid best friend who I cuddle on the couch with. The one who makes weird faces and eats my food. He’s not the guy that makes my heart race.

  He’s never been that guy. Not even shirtless.

  But right now, my chest is tight and my pulse is through the roof.

  “I don’t know, but …” I can’t finish my sentence.

  “I can’t sleep either,” he says.

  “Well, it serves you right!” And then I wonder, is it because he’s just as confused as I am?

  “Why?”

  Because I wanted you to kiss me. Because I stuck your stupid fork in my mouth, wondering what your lips would taste like on mine. Because I can’t stop remembering how you felt against me.

  Oh, God. Coming here was a bad idea.

  Reid moves closer. “Why are we both up, Willow? Why do you think I can’t sleep and neither can you?”

  His chest is right there. He’s so close, and I can smell the faint hint of musky soap from the shower he must’ve just taken. Our bodies are almost touching and I can’t move. If something happens, it will be intentional, not because he got a glimpse of me naked.

  This may have started as an anger thing, but it’s clear that right now, it’s all about desire.

  “I don’t know,” I manage to say.

  His finger pushes a piece of hair behind my ear. “Why did you come here?”

  Why is he asking me this? Does he not see that we’re both crazy and this is stupid and wrong?

  Reid and I aren’t attracted to each other. Not really. This is just some weird mood thing or maybe my sister put a hex on me for something I did. He and I aren’t anything. I mean, we’re not this.

  I wish I could tell my body that. With him so close, it would be so easy to lean up, press my lips to his. We could just ... try.

  “What are we doing?” I ask him, needing to make sense of my jumbled-up mind.

  He looks down at me and shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

  Neither do I, but I do know that this will change everything, and not in the way I’ve imagined. We won’t be able to go back in time and be the friends we’ve always been. Sex could ruin everything.

  I look up into Reid’s blue eyes and know that I would rather walk away now and have him as just a friend than ever know life without him. “I should go.”

  He nods. “But you never answered my first question. Why did you come here in the first place? Was there something you needed to tell me?”

  I could tell him all the things I was feeling and he would understand, because he’s that amazing, but I don’t know that we could ever be the same again. This will pass—it has to, and then I’d regret ever opening my mouth to begin with.

  So I lie. And I lie in a way that will break this spell we’re both under. “To talk about the girl I found for your first date.”

  He takes a step back and my chest aches, but it’s for the best. Whatever this is, it won’t last. It’s just the fact that I haven’t gotten laid in so long, that’s all. It’s freaking Reid.

  I’m clearly just wound too tight and he’s the guy my libido has picked.

  Makes perfect sense now that I’ve put it into perspective.

  “Oh?” he asks before clearing his throat.

  “Yes, I found a girl I think will be perfect and I meant to tell you earlier, but forgot. So, I was up racking my brain about what I forgot to tell you and came over here to do that ... to tell you ... about the girl.”

  “And it couldn’t have waited until it wasn’t midnight?” He asks moving farther away from me.

  “Nope.”

  “I see.”

  “Good.”

  He nods. “Good. So what happens now? You set us up on our date?”

  Date. Why does that word make me want to hurl right now?

  “I’ll call her tomorrow after you look at her profile and set it all up.”

  Reid sits on the end of the bed. “If that’s really what you needed to tell me, I’m glad you can get some sleep now.”

  “Yeah, totally will. Whew,” I say with a sigh and mock-wipe my forehead. “Thanks for letting me clear that up. Glad you were awake too.”

  His head moves up and down slowly. “Yeah, would’ve been awkward, you barging in here, if it weren’t about something important.”

  “Right,” I say and start to back out. “Okay. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight. Sleep tight now that you’ve gotten your head cleared.”

  I smile. “I will. You too.”

  Yeah, like I’m going to sleep at all for the next week.

  “You look like hell,” Aspen says as she enters my office Monday afternoon.

  I really don’t have the energy for my sister today. She requires full brainpower to comprehend, and I have maybe a quarter remaining. I’m so tired, confused, and emotional, I can barely think.

  No
t to mention she shouldn’t talk about how I look. At least I match and don’t have weeds hanging in my hair.

  Aspen gives a whole new meaning to the words flower child. She literally has flowers in her hair, on her clothes, and believes their perfume is enough to mask anything.

  They’re not. Not even close.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask her.

  “Dad is visiting our madre and asked me to come along. He got me a few things for the compound.”

  “Aspen, it’s not a compound, it’s the backyard.”

  “It’s where I’m in touch with the world.” She’s so far out of touch, it’s not even funny. “What are you working on?”

  “I’m finding a match for Reid.”

  She laughs. “Really?”

  “Yes, why?”

  Aspen comes closer to the desk. “Can I see your prospect?”

  My sister is a lot like my mother. She sees things in people—I wish I had that gift, but I don’t. They always talk about the eyes and how you can see a person’s soul and truths. I think they’re just eyes, but apparently this is why I suck at my job.

  “No,” she says as she hands me back the paper.

  “No?”

  “No. She won’t work.”

  I sigh. “Why?” She’s truly the best I’ve found. Each trait that Reid requires, Kandace has. She’s pretty, smart, has her own money, she cooks, and she is even in the same field as him. Her video profile made me a tad bit ragey because she was so perfect for him.

  “Because ... she’s not for him.”

  “Aspen,” I groan. “I need more than that.”

  “It’s a feeling I have.”

  “You haven’t even met her!”

  Then my sister sits ... on the floor ... because my chairs are wood and she has a thing about trees and death. I don’t point out that the floors are hardwood because I don’t have the emotional capacity for that fight.

  “I don’t need to. Reid will never match with her.”

  God, give me strength.

  “Well, I think you’re wrong. She’s got everything he wants.”