Mr. Match: The Boxed Set

by Delancey Stewart

  "Come back soon," he said, and the warm invitation in his voice made my whole body warm again.

  I slipped into the bathroom and shut the door, leaning against it and dropping my face into my hands. Oh God, what was I doing? What were we doing? Had we gotten this out of our systems? My own desire to leap right back into bed with Max suggested otherwise. I had to stop this—I would become the next Lana Holmes. Everything I’d worked for all these years could not be destroyed in this single night. I needed to take a stand.

  When I emerged from the bathroom, Max was sitting up in bed, tapping at his phone, but he looked up and smiled when he saw me. "Come here," he said.

  I clung to the doorframe. "I don't know if it's a good idea."

  "Tate," Max's voice was serious, but he smiled as he said, "I think that ship has sailed."

  I gave myself a moment, made my mind be in charge instead of my wanton, easily convinced, traitorous body, and I stood my ground. "Max," I whispered. The light of day brought with it a healthy dose of reality. Dating Max, or having sex with Max, or whatever it was I was doing with Max, was a bad idea for so many reasons.

  For one thing, it was completely impulsive. I hadn't set out looking for a romance or a fuck buddy or anything at all, so acting on these sudden desires to lick every square inch of the man's body were just that—an impulse. Not my style.

  For another thing, this impulse had already put my job on the line. If anyone at the firm got the slightest inkling that I'd gotten involved with a client—let alone spent the night sexually destroying his house—I'd never be able to hold my head up in the office again. And I'd never hold onto the respect I'd spent years earning in that boys' club of an office. Beyond that, I'd never be promoted and the best opportunities would go to others. To men.

  This wasn't an overreaction or an assumption. I reminded myself of the cautionary tale of Lana Holmes. She'd been fierce and respected, had ruled the firm for couple years as the fastest-rising VP they'd ever had. She'd been my hero. And then she'd gotten tangled up with a client and tried to hide it. And her descent from the pedestal had been spectacular. She'd been pulled off that job, kept her title, but never saw another outside engagement and eventually left the firm in shame, hoping to recover her career somewhere else. The thing about my industry though, was that it was a pretty small world. I'd never heard of Lana again, and wouldn't be surprised to find her in another career entirely.

  I didn't want to rebuild, to start over. I'd worked way too hard.

  "Tate. I can hear the gears turning in your head. Come here." Max patted the mattress next to him.

  Despite every thought I'd just indulged myself in, every reminder I'd offered, my feet moved of their own volition, and I was next to Max before my mind caught up. "I wanted to say no, but now I'm sitting here."

  "What do you mean?" Max trailed a finger down my arm, from my shoulder to my wrist, and every inch of me shivered in delight.

  I took a steadying breath. "I mean, my head knows the right answers, but my body is on its own program."

  "I think your body is wise," Max said, sliding his hand around my waist and leaning back as he pulled me on top of him. We were both still fully naked, and I already knew this was a recipe for disaster.

  "Max," I complained, but he was already kneading my ass and I could feel his hard length against me, between us. He lifted his head to suck at my throat, and I heard myself moan, which was the least convincing argument I'd offered so far.

  "Maybe we should talk about what your head wants in a few minutes," he murmured, finding my earlobe with his teeth.

  "Mmm," I agreed.

  We didn't break anything that morning, took it slow and easy instead, until we were both languishing in a satisfied pile, the satiny sheets pooled around us as we curled around one another, upside down on his bed.

  "Your brain is about to kick in again, isn't it?" Max asked, tracing a finger over the wrinkle I could feel forming between my eyebrows as I thought about Lana Holmes.

  I sighed, turned my head to look into his eyes. The green rings were glowing around the gold brown centers, glinting in the morning sunlight streaming all around us. "We should probably have a real conversation. Clothed. Upright."

  "Should I make coffee first?" Max asked.

  "Definitely." I thought longingly of my coffee machine. I could really use the perfect foam right now with a nice little shot of espresso. But Max's coffee would have to do until I got home.

  Max kissed me lightly, and then he slipped from the bed, and I watched his perfect hard ass disappear into the bathroom. When the door shut, I looked around for my clothes before remembering they were downstairs. I padded out of the room, glancing in the mirror over the dresser to run a hand through my hair, wipe at the mascara smudged beneath my eyes. When I'd gotten dressed, I located my purse, flung at the foot of a long leather couch, and as I texted my mother, I looked around the room. We'd destroyed this room too.

  Sex with Max, it turned out, could be very destructive.

  Mom had already texted me.

  Mom: I am guessing dinner went well. Or at least I hope that's why you didn't come home. Text me as soon as you can or I'll worry.

  Me: I'm fine Mom. Home soon. Sorry for worrying you.

  Mom: You're a big girl. I was only a little worried.

  Three dots danced next to Mom's name for a minute, and then her next text appeared, and shock made me cold.

  Mom: Peter slept over here.

  I wanted to respond, but my fingers were as confused as my mind. Peter? Our landlord? What about Raaah-jeerrrr? I managed a question mark and a surprised emoji, and was further shocked when Mom responded with a series of emojis I didn't even know my phone was capable of making.

  I put my phone back into my purse as Max came down the stairs wearing only a pair of track pants. His upper body, in all its cut and muscled glory, was on full display and though I imagined it might be physically dangerous to have sex again at this point—both because my body was so sore and because it seemed like we had a very damaging chemistry (at least where home furnishings were concerned), I honestly wanted to jump him all over again.

  "You look upset." Max stopped in front of where I sat on his couch, reaching a hand down to me.

  I took his hand and followed him through the mess to the kitchen, which was enormous and sunlit, all smooth shiny surfaces and fancy appliances. And his coffee machine? Enormous, amazing, and ultra high end. I couldn’t help but feel like this could be some kind of sign, even though that was ridiculous.

  He saw me staring at it. "I'm picky about my coffee too," he said. "What's your poison?"

  I told him what I wanted as I slid into a chair a the long table that sat in front of a wall of windows looking out onto his grassy yard, where an outdoor kitchen area was built into one side of the patio and a hot tub sat on the other side.

  As he made the coffee, he glanced at me over his shoulder. "Before we talk about last night, tell me what happened this morning."

  "Nothing," I said, my mind focused on things between us. "Oh, well, my mom I mean," I said, realizing he meant just now. "I think she slept with my landlord."

  He turned, cocked one eyebrow high and gave me a half grin. "Is that who took you to the zoo?"

  "No," I said. "That was Raaah-jeerrr."

  "Sounds like Rose is very popular."

  "I'm so confused." Mom was behaving like she was in her twenties, not a widow edging close to sixty-five. But as I considered my shock, and drilled down a bit, I realized there wasn't really anything wrong with that. She was free, she was single. Why shouldn't she be having fun? It was just hard to move her from the very maternal spot she held in my mind over to a place where I could see her that way. As a woman. Who was dating. I sighed as Max slid a perfectly foamy cup in front of me and took a seat next to me with his own cup.

  "Let's talk," he said.

  I peered at him. The Max I was sitting next to today was different than the one I'd met at the office that
first day. He was different even than the one I'd met for dinner. This Max had a self-satisfied air about him, and looked far more relaxed than the one I'd known first. This looked like a Sunday-morning post-sex Max, one who wasn't questioning things, one who knew what he wanted. "I think we've made a terrible mistake," I told relaxed Max.

  "Why?" he asked, still smiling.

  "Don't act like you weren't there. You were there," I pointed a finger at him and then became distracted by the perfect coffee he'd made me. "Oooh, this is so good."

  "We like our coffee the same way," he noted.

  "Which is not the point," I said, turning back to him. "We're entering into a very serious business relationship. My firm is trusting me to take charge of things here, and begin to guide the Mr. Match expansion. I can't be mixed up in ..." I gestured between us. "This."

  Max mimicked my gesture. "This ... was really nice."

  I stared at him for a beat. It was really nice. "Look. In a different situation, I could see us trying this. Finding out where it goes. It has been fun, and there's no point pretending I'm not attracted to you. But I can't do this," I said. "My job is at stake, my reputation."

  He looked at me a long minute and then nodded. "The odds of anything real coming from this are slim anyway," he said. "Not that either of us is looking for that." This part was added quickly, and I could sense Max's guard coming back up.

  I should have been glad to see him coming to his senses. But I felt a twinge of disappointment instead. "Right. I mean, if it happened, that'd be one thing, but I'm not looking for anything. And it can't be you."

  "Of course not," he said, but as he said it, he lifted a hand, pushed it into the hair at the side of my face, cupping my jaw lightly. His other hand came up to trace my bottom lip with a feather touch. "It can't be me."

  I was in his lap a second later, kissing him for all I was worth, realizing my life was as much a disastrous mess as Max's house.

  Chapter 133

  Taking Tesla’s Name in Vain

  Max

  Tate left my house just before noon. We managed to have one more round in the living room, during which we broke only one thing—a glass bowl that had been sitting on the coffee table. It wasn't anything valuable, and if it had been, it would have been worth it.

  The thing about Tate was that every time with her might be the last time with her—there was so much hanging over our heads, so many reasons why each of us assured ourselves and the other that this was wrong. Or more specifically, that it just couldn't be right.

  But once we touched, it didn't seem to matter.

  All my mathematical arguments sifted to sand when Tate's eyes held mine, when her hands slid over my skin.

  An uncomfortable pressure had begun in my chest at some point during the night, something warm and unfamiliar and not totally unpleasant. I was doing my best to ignore it, but it was the thing keeping me from being rational that morning, driving me to keep her close, to show her again and again how our bodies fit, even if our minds weren't as sure.

  I didn't know what was happening between us, only that we needed it to stop. Tate’s career was at stake, and I knew whatever we shared wouldn’t last. It was physical and fleeting, and for both our sakes, I needed to stop it.

  Only, I didn't think I could.

  "You're an idiot," Cat said when I went to the gallery that afternoon.

  "Thanks," I said. "You do remember that all my test scores were significantly higher than yours, right?"

  Cat rolled her eyes. The gallery was slow and we had a few minutes to lounge in the ridiculously comfortable blue chairs that sat near the register. "This isn't about math, Max."

  "Everything is when you boil it down." Which was why Tate and I did not make sense.

  "What you're feeling in here," she said, leaning forward to poke me in the chest. "Feelings. These things called emotions. Not governed by math. Or logic. More like chemistry."

  "Because you're an expert in chemistry."

  "Will you shut up for a minute?" Cat leaned back into the plush fabric of the chair. "You're fighting it because you don't understand it. But this is exactly how love is supposed to happen, Max. Just because you found a way to shortcut it that has worked for lots of people doesn't mean it can't still happen the old fashioned way for you."

  "I have tried that way before. In college." A flare of hot embarrassment washed through me.

  "Oh God, is this about Samantha the gymnast?"

  I scowled at her. "That was serious. And I learned a really important lesson."

  Cat sighed as if this conversation was pushing her to the limits of her patience. "Max. Has it ever occurred to you that your twenty-something raging-hormone-filled college-idiot self was just infatuated? Being ridiculously flexible and good in bed doesn't make a woman your match. You of all people should know this. That girl was not your soul mate, no matter what you thought back then. If you bumped into her today, would you have anything to talk about? Did you have anything to talk about back then?"

  "We didn't talk much." My relationship with Samantha had been largely about her flexibility. But my heart still twisted when I thought about her. "I loved her."

  "You didn't. You'd never really been in a relationship. You were learning. You might have lusted after her, maybe been caught up in the idea of love. Trust me, I've been there a million times. It's still hard when it ends, but it isn't love."

  I shook my head, even though there was something in her words that struck me as valid. The feeling I'd been having around Tate wasn't like what I'd felt for Samantha. I liked Tate's long legs, particularly when wrapped around my waist with my cock buried inside her, but even if that was off the table, I'd still be feeling something for her. I realized I wanted Tate even without the sex. But the sex was... well, it was incredible.

  "Look, it's early. Spend some time with her. Sort through what you're feeling, but don't force yourself to define it. Just get to know her. Maybe she'll say something horrible about Nikola Tesla and that will be that."

  "She wouldn't dare," I said, laughing. Tesla was a hero of mine. If Tate were to take his name in vain, it was possible things would be over between us. But I suspected even that wouldn't quash whatever growing desire I was feeling. I dropped my head into my hands. "This doesn't make any sense. I'm used to dealing in shit that makes sense." My chest ached at the thought of not holding Tate again, not getting to touch her. What was that?

  "Have you gotten her to fill out a profile yet? Maybe you're a perfect mathematical match. And then if you are, you can just relax."

  "And if we're not?" I wasn’t sure how much it mattered, but I had to stick to my guns, right?

  "Really, who cares?"

  "Cat. Do you know me at all?"

  "How about this ... just let it happen. Just see where it goes. Maybe it doesn't matter, if what you're saying about her job is true. If she isn't willing to risk it, to give things a chance romantically while she's running the show at Mr. Match, then you'll have this time to just get to know each other. When the pressure's off at work, you can figure everything out."

  "So maybe I shouldn't run the profiles until then." I could do that, I thought.

  "That makes sense to me. Just be casual. See where things go on their own."

  "So not my style," I said.

  "People change, Max."

  I left Cat's gallery feeling torn. Part of me wanted to go run our profiles immediately. Get answers to all the questions right now. But the bigger piece of me didn't want to know. Because what I'd felt this morning, with Tate next to me? That was something that might defy logical explanation, as hard as that was for me to accept or understand. And I didn't want to lose it yet.

  I knew Tate had work to do today, something about a call with her manager and some details about finalizing her position. I told myself not to bother her. She'd assured me as she left that she would call me later.

  It was going to be a very long day.

  Chapter 134

  Sex
Talk with Mom. Ew

  Tate

  Mom was waiting in the back yard when I got home, sitting with a cup of coffee and Charlie at her feet.

  "You're back," she said, smiling and rising as I slid the screen open and stepped out to join her.

  Charlie leapt to his feet and smashed himself directly into me, nearly pushing me backward into the screen. I had to catch myself on the frame of the door to keep from toppling through it. "Hey, boy, calm down. I don't think the landlord would appreciate a Tate-sized hole in the screen."

  I rubbed my hands through Charlie's thick fur, and Mom laughed. "He might not mind so much."

  I forced my stomach not to lurch at Mom’s innuendo. Mom was happy. I could handle that. "So things are good?" I moved to the table and took a seat, and Charlie waited until I was seated and then dropped his big head into my lap, staring up at me with his huge adoring eyes. Even though my insides felt twisted and confused, I couldn't help but smile at Charlie's clear and open affection. Why couldn't all relationships be so simple?

  "Things are good," Mom said, though her voice wasn't as light and breezy as it had been just a second ago.

  "Your dating life is pretty exciting suddenly," I said.

  Mom looked over at me and pressed her lips into a little frown, and then dropped her eyes as her shoulders rounded slightly. "Yes."

  "Mom?" She wouldn't meet my eye now. "Isn't that a good thing?" Worry spiked inside me, my protective instincts kicking in.

  She sniffed. "I don't know."

  "I thought you were having fun. Is everything okay?" She looked so sad suddenly, I didn't know what to do. Charlie lifted his head, and cocked it to one side, as if he was thinking about something, taking in the shift in my mother's mood. Then he shifted his position slightly and dropped his head again, into Mom's lap this time.

  "Oh!" she said, surprised by the sudden appearance of giant dog head. "Charlie!" she said, but the annoyance in her tone wasn't real, and Charlie could sense her softening toward him too. He made a little rumbling noise and stayed right where he was. After a second, Mom dropped her hands into his fur and began stroking him.