MAKE ME A MATCH (Running Wild)

by Hutchinson, Bobby

  She hung up and reluctantly looked away from the television where two half-naked people tumbled on a bed. “Afternoon, miss, how can we help you?”

  “I came by to see Eric. He’s expecting me.”

  “I’ll see if he’s here, should be, he just got back from brother-in-law’s funeral, good riddance to bad rubbish, I say.” She jerked a thumb at a chair that might once have been a car seat. “Young and the Restless is on. Watch and tell me what happens.” She scurried off down the hallway just as a man carrying two large bags of Chinese take-out food shouldered his way through the entrance door. He was short and wide and smiling, his eyes hidden away behind rolls of flesh.

  “Hi, I’m Henry. Anybody helping you?”

  Tessa nodded. “Thanks, someone’s gone to tell Eric I’m here.” She couldn’t resist adding, “What does he do, escape out the back door?”

  He came over close to her and said in a low voice, “Sometimes, you never know with the boss; he’s kinda slippery.” He glanced down the hall and grinned. “Ahh, but you’re in luck, here he comes. Hey, boss, I got lunch. That new place just opened is great, cheap, too. They gave us a deal. I told them about the funeral. And I said we’d hand out some business cards for them.”

  Eric ignored him. “Tessa, I was watching for you, and then Sophie called in a panic. She lost Ian at the community center, she was a little upset. But she’s found him. He was hiding under the exercise mats in the gym.”

  The wide, welcoming smile on his face was reassuring. He’d changed into chinos and a short- sleeved shirt. She mourned the suit for a moment.

  “I see you’ve met Henry Wong, my office manager. This is Henry’s mother, Gladys. Tessa McBride,” he introduced.

  The wizened woman smiled and shook Tessa’s hand, her eyes gravitating back to the television.

  “Ma’s a soap fiend.” Henry winked and hefted the take-out bags. “Good thing I got enough for an army. You’ll stay for lunch, Tessa? C’mon in the kitchen; we oughta eat while it’s hot.”

  Henry led the way into a small kitchen. He began putting plates and cutlery out on a wooden table. Gladys came in after a few moments and set out cups, pouring boiling water from an electric kettle into a fat white teapot.

  “Green tea, good for cancer,” she said cheerfully. ‘You got any cancer, Tessa?”

  “Not that I know of.” She felt more than a little dazed, first a funeral and now Eric’s staff. She was gratified when Eric held a chair for her and then took the seat next to hers. She had a feeling if Gladys sat there she might reach over and start examining Tessa’s breasts for lumps.

  Gladys poured tea as Henry removed the covers from one container after the other. There seemed an enormous amount of food for just the four of them, but when Henry began heaping his plate, Tessa understood that there probably wouldn’t be much in the way of leftovers.

  Gladys, too, had a massive appetite. She took generous amounts of everything, eating through the questions that poured out of her.

  “You know the boss long, Tessa?”

  “Since we were kids. I grew up a couple blocks away from his house.”

  “Ahhh, long time friends, huh?” She gave Eric a speculative look. “Was he good kid, or bad?” Tessa raised her eyebrows at Eric. “When he was good he was very good, and when he was bad he was horrid.”

  Gladys found that funny and chortled. “So, you married?”

  “Divorced.”

  “How long you been divorced?”

  “Four years now.”

  “You got kids?”

  Tessa was having problems finding time to chew. She swallowed and shook her head. “Nope, no kids. Someday, though, I plan to have at least four.” Might as well lay all her cards on the table.

  “Ahhhh, lots of kids, smart woman. Me, I only had Henry, female problems, couldn’t have any more, worse luck. So what you do for work?”

  “I’m a matchmaker’s assistant at a place called Synchronicity. We find suitable companions for lonely people.” Tessa noticed that this turn in the conversation was making Eric visibly uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat, passed a container of noodles to Gladys, made slight negative motions of his head at Tessa.

  She ignored him. It was fun to watch him squirm.

  How much did the staff know about his connection with Synchronicity?

  Gladys answered that. “So this is how come you dated that Sylvia woman, boss. Henry told me, all that crazy cowboy stuff.” She shook her head. “That’s bad luck, boss, making fun of people that way.”

  Gladys rattled off a long string of Cantonese to her son.

  “Ma wants to know is this like Internet dating, E- Love, like on television,” he explained.

  Tessa shook her head and used tea to wash her food down. “We don’t use computers yet. I think we should but my boss doesn’t believe in them.” She needed to talk to Henry about that, and she wondered how to get around telling him about buying the business. What the heck, what were the chances he’d ever have any contact with either Clara or Butthead Bernard? It couldn’t do any harm to just mention it, as sort of a possibility.

  “In fact, I might be buying the business, and I wondered if you’d be able to help me find a computer at a good price?”

  “For sure.” Henry stopped shoveling in food. “What you want to pay?”

  “As little as possible.”

  “What you want it to do for you?”

  Tessa explained about a database for clients, and a way of matching them that combined astrology with basic compatibility.

  Henry nodded and said, “You know of a program like that?”

  “No, but I’d like to set one up.”

  “I could help.” Henry was looking animated. “So, how much you paying for this Synchronicity?”

  “A fair price.” This was a person with no boundaries.

  Gladys said, “How much is fair?”

  These were two people with no boundaries. Tessa shot a save me look at Eric.

  “It’s not settled yet,” he said. “And it’s bad luck for Tessa to talk about it now.”

  Gladys nodded. “Superstitious, huh? Superstitious is good.”

  Tessa nodded, bewildered.

  Gladys said, “Chinese people very superstitious. And we have always used astrology for matchmaking. I tried for Henry.” She scowled and waved a fork at her son. “My friend Susie has a daughter, not much older. Astrological charts fit. Nice girl, good cook. Smart. What more is there?” She flung the fork down in disgust. “He said she too fat. Look at him. How can he say she too fat? Talk about double standard. You ever come across a nice woman for him, you let me know, okay?”

  Henry said something in Cantonese and Gladys gave up on English and went on at him in a loud, shrill voice for some time.

  Henry was unaffected. He shrugged his heavy shoulders and bent over his second loaded plate, methodically eating his way through his mother’s tirade.

  Tessa gave up on food, expecting blows at any moment.

  “You had enough, Tess?”

  She wasn’t certain whether Eric meant the food or the company. She nodded to both.

  “C’mon then, I’ll show you around.”

  “Thanks for lunch, Henry. Nice meeting you, Gladys.”

  Both stopped in what appeared to be midsentence. Henry got to his feet and gave Tessa a half bow, and Gladys smiled sweetly.

  “I’ll get back to you on the computer,” Henry promised.

  “Come again soon,” Gladys said. “Nice meeting you in person, now I know who boss is talking to when you phone.”

  “And isn’t that a big plus, now she can inquire about your bowel habits before she gets me on the line,” Eric muttered as he led Tessa down the hallway. The argument in the kitchen had begun all over again.

  Tessa glanced back and whispered, “Are they always like that?”

  “Always. Makes for a tranquil work atmosphere, huh?”

  “Why did you hire them both? And where’s Mr. Wong?”

/>   “I didn’t hire her, Henry did. And Mr. Wong died years ago, relieved beyond measure to get away from those two.” Eric opened a door and stood aside so she could enter. “This is my office.”

  “Wow.” It was all she could think of to say. The massive desk was oak, his chair was leather, and there was another weird lamp made from pipefittings beside it. A two-seater couch along one wall was actually the resurrected front seat of a car, placed on a frame concocted from drainpipes. Under the single window a leafy green plant spilled from a hubcap mounted on a twisted metal frame. Live fish swam in the screen of an ancient television cabinet, and on the wall behind the desk, photos of Eric’s sisters and nephews smiled out from frames made of pipes.

  “Eric, where’d you get all this—this stuff?”

  It was truly hideous.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  He who hesitates is a damn fool (Mae West)

  “I made it. It’s my hobby making stuff from valuable secondary material. Junk art,” he added with a grin, closing the office door behind them, and then locking it with a bolt.

  “Why the heavy security?”

  “Because Henry is a snoop, and Gladys’s worse.”

  Tessa walked around. The furnishings looked just as bad close up. “Have you ever exhibited at shows?”

  “God, no.” He sounded horrified, thank god. “I find stuff and weld it together for my own pleasure.”

  “Do you have a studio?”

  He shook his head, and her heart sank. He did this at his home?

  “My apartment. I had to redo the wiring and knock out some walls, but now there’s space there for junk and my welding equipment.”

  It was all she could do not to shudder.

  “Your landlord didn’t object?”

  “He appreciated the rewiring.”

  “You didn’t mention this on your form at Synchronicity. I’ll have to start matching you up with someone artistic.” Actually, blind would be better.

  “You and I match, Tessa. I told you before. How about you dating me?”

  He kept asking, and she kept thinking about it. There was chemistry, no doubt about it. But he’d be detrimental to her health. He didn’t want babies. He drove an ancient orange van. And now there was his hobby.

  “I’d rather we just stayed friends.”

  “What, friends don’t date? I thought you told me that friendship was one of the things most important between couples.”

  “It is. I just think it would hurt too much when the hook came out.”

  He waited a minute, frowned, and then shook his head. “You lost me with that one.”

  “Catch and release, Eric. Meet ’em, date em, drop ’em.”

  “C’mon, Tessa, you gonna hold my past against me again? Maybe it wouldn’t be that way with us.”

  “But probably it would, and I’m an old-fashioned lady, long-term, commitment, marriage, kids. The whole nine yards. I told you that.”

  “So what’s wrong with having some fun along the way?”

  “It’s a detour. There’s only so much road ahead for me, and I’ve already taken too many wrong turns.”

  ‘You do random acts of kindness, though, right?” He was truly devious.

  “Where are you going with this one, Stewart?”

  “Karen’s flying out tomorrow. I got her a ticket on an excursion thing. Sophie has the boys, but she has a meeting Tuesday evening. I promised the kids I’d take them to the fair, but I’ll need help. You can’t call that a date, can you, coming along with me and two kids to a fair? It’s more like an act of mercy.”

  Say no, Tessa, say no, say no, just say no.

  “The kids would love it, they like you. They asked me if your hair was really real or if it was extensions.” He reached out and took a strand between finger and thumb. “Hairdresser’s kids, I ask you.”

  Did hair have nerve endings? She could swear she felt it like a long, slow shiver. She moved away a little.

  “It’s real. My hair.” Well, apart from a little color to cover a few strands that were growing in a lighter shade of pale.

  Karen’s kids. That beautiful energy, those amazing minds, that innocence. Those missing front teeth. Their uncle. He fought dirty.

  “You did offer to do whatever for Karen, I heard you, and I could lose them on my own, all those people. They’re gonna be missing their mom, too, poor little beggars.”

  “Eric, that’s outright blackmail. ”

  “It’s the only way to get ahead in this cutthroat world.”

  She puffed out a breath and said in an exasperated tone, “Oh, all right.”

  He grinned and made a thumbs-up gesture, and came over to her, way too close all over again. “Well, Tess.”

  “Well what?” She should move away.

  “Well, I’ll look forward to seeing you Tuesday.” He smelled good. He must have one hell of an internal thermostat, because she could swear he was giving off waves of warmth. Or was that her? She had a couple days to get ready. She could try that new sugar stuff she’d bought and get all the hair off her legs. And there was her bikini line to consider. And there were always her eyebrows, and her toenails. Maintenance was a real pain. She wasn’t doing it for him, either. It was for Simon and Ian.

  Yeah, right.

  He was a kind man, though. Dogs probably followed him everywhere. Female dogs, anyway. If only she didn’t know what he felt like naked and swollen.

  “I’ll pick you up at four.”

  She’d have to close the office early. He was standing way too close. The room was too small. She edged away.

  Did he still make those noises when he came?

  “How long since you went to a fair, Tess?”

  She cleared her throat. “Not since I was a kid.” She thought of the Ferris wheel, and cotton candy, and tilt-a-whirl. Did they still have tilt-a-whirl? She felt as if she was on one right this minute.

  “We can grab junk food at the fair, and then after we drop the kids off we’ll go out for a decent dinner afterward, okay? We’ll need to unwind, they’re pretty high energy, those two.”

  “You just keep pushing, don’t you?” Being close to him caused a physical reaction, a tightness in her throat, an ache in her chest, a fullness and heat in her abdomen that spelled out plain old lust. Besides, she couldn’t back up any farther; she was against the desk.

  “I do when I want something.”

  Going out for dinner without the kids was a bad idea. What the heck, going out with him with the kids was a bad idea. Being in here alone wasn’t the smartest move she’d ever made, either.

  “Okay, dinner. But that’s it.”

  “Thanks, Tessa.” The crooked killer grin came and went. “It’ll be fun, I promise.”

  Was I promise right up there with trust me?

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  A lady never shows her underwear unintentionally

  He was sort of touching her arm, just with his fingertips, running them up and down her bare skin and pretending it was absentminded and he didn’t know what he was doing, the jerk.

  Oh, the hell with it. What if she just went ahead and scratched this itch that drove her nuts each time she was around Eric? What if she treated it the way guys did, just a quickie, no emotional attachment, sex for the sake of sex, for old times’ sake? Could she do that?

  She could try. What would he do if she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist right this minute? There was a lock on the door. She was wearing a mid calf dark cotton dress, and she’d stripped off her pantyhose in the car, and she wasn’t having her period. She had on lovely French underwear. Navy, with pale pink flowers.

  Never mind matching underwear. Was he strong enough to hold her up if she jumped him? What if he staggered? She’d be humiliated. She’d never done that, wrapped her legs around a guy. She’d lost weight when she divorced, but she probably still weighed too much to attempt it. She’d never wanted to before like she did now.

  He was strong, Eric was
. That chest. And she could see the muscles in his arms. And then there was that bulge in the chinos.

  It seemed a good time to start if she was ever going to; she wasn’t getting any younger. He was looking at her with those blue eyes, and he stopped stroking and put his hands on her shoulders instead. “Tess, you make me crazy,” he said with a resigned sigh. “I’ve been trying not to make a move on you, but it’s out of my hands.”

  He pulled her forward, and she went willingly. His hands dropped from her shoulders to her waist, and she let herself touch him with her breasts and hips and thighs, and her breath came shallow and her heart pounded when all of her places pressed against all of his. Hers were soft, but his weren’t.

  She breathed in a long, trembley breath. Her nose was near his neck, and a subtle, natural smell, not aftershave, not men’s cologne, but pure essence of Eric, took her instantly back to his beaten-up old Ford truck, and the way it had felt to have him inside her. He’d smelled this exact same way that night. Other things might age, but apparently smells stayed just the same.

  He kissed her. He tasted like soy sauce from the food they’d eaten, and she figured she must taste the same way, salty, dark, fermented. And then she stopped figuring anything at all, because kissing him made her so hungry, the texture of his tongue, the way he cradled her face with his palms. His hands were hot. Her skin was hotter.

  He slid one hand over her breast, cupping her through her dress and her nice bra, using the other down low on her butt to press her crotch against his. She sighed and looped her arms around his neck and opened her eyes.

  He was looking at her, looking straight into her eyes, and it was the heat in his that pushed her over the edge.

  “God, Eric.”

  “Yeah. I know. Me too.” His voice came in jerks from deep in his chest.

  It seemed the ideal time for the leg thing, because she simply had to get closer, tighter, or die. She lifted her right leg high and got a death grip on his neck, and he made an eager, encouraging noise, cupped her bottom and hoisted her up. She gulped and wrapped her other leg around him, high as she could reach, and understood right away why women liked doing it this way. Tab A was in instant unopposed contact—except for her best panties and his chinos—with Slot B.