“Don’t change the subject.” Taya shoves her hand back into the bag for more.
“I’m not changing anything. We were talking about how you and lover boy are going to start popping out mini-lover boys pretty soon.” I freeze, hand halfway to my mouth. My mind fills with an image of an infant with Jim’s scary-ass head attached to its body and I shudder. He’s attractive in a Brawny man sort of way, but not my type.
“No, you were talking about Jim and I having kids when you know I’m scared to death of the subject because you want to avoid discussing the contents of the envelope sitting on the floor in the corner.”
After opening the manila envelope two days ago, I’d launched it across the room where it still lies dejectedly at the base of a potted fern. My pet tortoise, Simon, wandered over while I was in the kitchen. He sniffs the envelope and then his little mouth clamps onto the edge and tugs.
Taya frowns. “What’s he doing?”
“Simon has a lot of pent-up hostility. Hashtag ‘Red-Footed Tortoise Problems,’ am I right?”
Not that Simon is angsty. He’s just a naturally grumpy bastard. A lot like Jim actually. Maybe that’s why we get along so well. Jim isn’t my idea of a romantic anything, but after Taya got out of the hospital, the big guy and I became quick friends. He’s no-nonsense and likes to get straight to the point, and I respect the hell out of him.
Which is more than I can say for my soon-to-be husband. I scowl and my chest tightens even more.
“Personally, I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” I hand over the popcorn so I can pull my leg up on the couch and wrap my arms around it. Lying my cheek against my knee, I give up on the television and focus my full attention on Taya. “You’ll make a great mom.”
Taya pales and sets the bag on the coffee table before turning to face me. “First off, you’re deflecting. Second, motherhood is scary, yeah, but Jim and I are really happy.” Some of the color returns to her face as her lips turn up into a big grin. “I’m not afraid of having kids with the man I love, I’m afraid that . . .” She swallows hard and I reach out to grip her hand where it lies clenched in her lap.
“What?”
“Santoro.”
The crime boss’s name is a dropped bomb between the two of us and the silence grows heavy.
“His trial’s coming up.” It isn’t a question, but she nods anyway. I grip her hand as she begins to shake and squeeze it gently. “He’s going to get what he deserves, Taya, and you won’t ever have to think about him again.”
Taya laughs, but the tone is flat, forced, and without humor. “My brain tells me he can’t hurt me.” She shakes her head and her eyes glisten with newly formed tears. “But my heart? Inara, it’s saying something entirely different. I can’t help but think that once I let my guard down, someone else is going to swoop in and destroy everything Jim and I have built. And to bring a baby into the mix . . .”
I’d love nothing more than to march into the prison holding Santoro and beat him senseless for everything he did to Taya and all the ways he still affects her life. She doesn’t deserve to go through any of it. No matter how much I want to fix it for her, to make it all go away, I’m practical enough to know that there’s only so much I can do.
Silence falls between the two of us again and I glance at Taya to find her chewing her bottom lip. Time to change the subject before she starts sobbing. I bump her with my shoulder and chuckle. “Just think, this time last year, you and Jim were trying not to kill each other and now you’re thinking about babies. Who knows? Maybe if I stop bitching for five seconds, I, too, can achieve marital bliss.”
Taya bursts into a loud, harsh cackle of laughter. “I can’t even picture the two of you surviving the night, let alone having kids. I’ve already started planning how to hide his body.”
“You and me both.” I blow out a puff of air to chase away a strand of hair from my eyes. All those trainings Taya and I did with the cadaver dogs on our search and rescue team may actually come in use. I snort and shake my head. Guess the dark sense of humor from the K-9 handlers is rubbing off a little too much on me. I turn back to my best friend and flick an upturned hand in the air. “On the bright side, I guess I won’t have to worry about how to pay for my rent increase once Tony moves in.”
My landlord died a month after I’d been accepted into the program and his son had taken over, springing the little surprise on me and the tenant upstairs that he’d be increasing our rent. Doubling it, in fact. For the past three months, I’ve had to take extra shifts at work and still can barely cover my bills. In fact, last month I had to borrow money from Mami. I love my place and I hate the idea of moving. And two days ago, when I came home to the envelope in my mailbox, I’d taken it as an auspicious sign that I’d found a solution to my problem.
Ha! That’s what I get for being optimistic.
Taya arches a brow. “Pretty drastic step for finding a roommate.”
I sigh, too embarrassed to vocalize my main reason for signing up with the Issued Partner Program because it sounds so stupid right now, given that I’ve been matched with Tony. “You think? You know he hit on me back at the hospital.”
Taya snorts. “Hello, I might have been on pain meds, but I do remember that whole STD line.”
My palm strikes my forehead and I groan. “That’s only half of it. So, check this out, Tony follows me out to the vending machines, right? I’m minding my business, trying to get a coffee when this hijo de las mil putas struts over and continues to drop cheesy pick-up lines for another five minutes and then asks me what shampoo I used because—and I quote—’I want to make sure I have a bottle waiting in my shower for you come morning.’ I shot his ass down, of course. But then tell me why the next time I see this fool, he’s spitting the same game to the nurse at the counter?”
Taya’s eyes grow wide and she presses a hand over her mouth. Granted, Tony isn’t the reason I signed up for the program. That honor belongs to the guy I’d met shortly after, a financial advisor. He’d been respectful, considerate, and even attended Taya’s wedding as my plus-one. And then the shit hit the fan. Waiting for us in the parking lot of the reception was the idiot’s wife.
My jaw clenches at the memory, at the embarrassment. And, of course, my soon-to-be husband was the only one of the group to bear witness to the catastrophe, making sure I got into my car safely. None of the group knows exactly what happened to my former boyfriend, not even Taya. I’m too ashamed to tell her and Tony’s kept his mouth shut on the subject so far. A fact I appreciate. Then, two days later I signed up for the Issued Partner Program because my own instincts on men can’t be trusted.
The doorbell rings, interrupting my thoughts and making my entire body go rigid. The only company I’m expecting is the marriage officiant, and Jim and Tony, and neither option is especially welcome. I sigh. Not like I have a choice in whether or not to answer the door.
“Here goes nothing.” I rise to my feet and meander around the coffee table, stopping at the window to peek through the blinds. The first thing that catches my eye is a black Durango with tinted windows sitting in my driveway. In the street is Jim’s pickup, so I’m pretty certain I can guess the Durango’s owner. As I’m taking the last few steps to the door, the doorbell rings three more times in rapid succession.
I curse under my breath. If I wasn’t one-hundred-percent sure of whose Durango it was before, I am now. I yank open the front door, my lips pressed into a tight line. “Tony.”
“Wifey!” Tony grins, his bald head practically glowing beneath the sun, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He grabs me around the waist, lifting me off my feet so he can wrap me in his enormous arms.
Before I can quell it, a thrill works itself through my middle. Tony is physically mouthwatering. He’s six foot and made of pure muscle. His features are chiseled and his thick, black brows only draw attention to those sultry brown of his eyes. His lashes are longer than mine and, coupled with his easy smile and penchant for troublemaki
ng, he always looks as if he’s about to get into mischief. Maybe, if he can keep his mouth shut and just let me look at him, we might be successful in the program. But that happening is about as likely as pigs flying.
The thrill fizzles, leaving behind a growing determination. Guess I’d better work on finding some pig-sized wings and teaching the bigmouth when to zip it because damned if I’m going to let this marriage fail.
“You looking to get tased?” Over Tony’s shoulder, Jim hovers in the doorway and hefts a cardboard box a little higher in his arms. “Because snatching a woman out of her house while screaming ‘wifey’ is how you get tased.”
Tony leans back far enough to put down at me and then winks. “Ignore him. He’s just cranky because he hasn’t gotten laid today.”
I arch an eyebrow. “And you have?”
Tony opens his mouth, only to shut it abruptly. He brushes my shoulders and adjusts the hem of my T-shirt until I slap his hands away while heat rises to my cheeks. Between his muscled body and Jim’s, the foyer is suddenly unbearably warm and cramped, so I edge away until my legs hit the back of the couch.
“Where do you want this?” Jim interrupts and makes his way over to the kitchen island.
I frown as I finally focus on the box in his hands. “What are you talking about? What is that?”
Jim glances between Tony and me and then closes his eyes while he takes a slow, deep breath, as if searching for patience. “You didn’t call to tell her you were moving in today.”
Tony shrugs. “Didn’t think about it actually.”
While my mouth gapes open, Tony breezes past me to the other side of the couch to say hello to Taya. I cross my arms over my chest and turn my attention to Jim.
“Don’t glare at me.” He strides forward and I grumble beneath my breath as I move out of his way and bump my hip on the counter I previously used as a karate block. “I told him he should call first. Wifey.”
I hit Jim’s arm as he passes and he chuckles. The two of us step into the living room as Tony grabs the bag of popcorn and plops onto the love seat sitting perpendicular to the couch. Jim drops the box in the corner of the room and Taya, Tony, and I all wince as something inside shatters.
“Dude, not cool. What if it was something important?” Tony eats the popcorn one buttery puff at a time, which strikes me as odd. He’s so obnoxious I would have expected him to shovel it in by the handful.
Taya glares at her husband and turns back to Tony. “What was it?”
“No clue.” He grins and puts his feet up on the coffee table. My coffee table. The wooden square that I’d picked out myself and would rather remained boot-free.
Jim runs a hand through his hair and his jaw ticks. “What’s ‘not cool’ is the fact I took the day off to help your ass move at the last minute, and you won’t even help carry the boxes.”
The doorbell rings again, snapping everyone’s attention to the storm door where an older man in a dark-gray suit stands. His black hair is neatly cut and sprinkled with gray, and rectangular, wire-framed glasses perch on his nose. In his hands, he holds a manila folder.
The officiant is here.
My heart beats erratically, nervousness replacing my ire. I’m about to get married to Tony. I swallow as I glance at my soon-to-be husband, then back to the officiant. Taya joined the IPP program because she’d been desperate to escape New York. But for me, well . . . I’m thirty-one years old and haven’t been in a relationship for longer than a few weeks. Something always goes wrong, like with the married jackass I took to Taya’s wedding. One time, after a nasty breakup with husband number three, Mami had a little too much to drink and told me the women in our family were cursed when it came to love. I scoffed back then, but as time marched on, well, part of me started to worry that she had a point. Which especially sucks given the way my biological clock ticks double time whenever I’m around Bear and his family or listen to Taya talk about Jim, making the lonely ache in my chest burrow a little deeper.
The officiant clears his throat.
“Inara?” Taya says gently.
I blink and look over my shoulder to find everyone is staring at me. Waiting for me to invite the man in, since it’s my house.
I steal a sidelong glance at Tony and gulp. At least, it was my house, until today. Now I guess it’s our house, technically speaking. Which is exactly what I wanted, right? A husband and someone to help me keep this place now that the landlord raised the rent.
I take a deep breath, straighten my spine, and head over to the door to let the officiant in. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
The officiant heads into the living room where Taya and Jim are seated. After saying a perfunctory hello to the two, he places his briefcase on the coffee table, then pulls the papers from the manila envelope in his hand. While he thumbs through them, the tension builds. To keep myself from hyperventilating, I mentally retrace the steps that led me here.
During the final interview, the member of the committee assigned to me explained how the military hopes the program will reduce the divorce rates among Spec Ops personnel by pairing them with compatible spouses. Up to that point, I’d been wavering a little, but that knowledge had sealed the deal for me. I didn’t want five husbands. I didn’t even want two. I wanted a partner I could count on to stick around. Since choosing her own partners hadn’t worked out for my mother, I figured maybe the solution was in letting experts pick for me.
Except . . . now I’m stuck with Tony. The man standing right next to me, shooting me wicked grins that I’m trying my best to ignore. God only knows why he signed up for the program. No one seems to know, and Tony is keeping his lips sealed. I’m hoping the big guy upstairs has the answers as to why the committee figured Tony and I would be a good match because our interactions have proven anything but.
I lift my chin. I can only hope Tony will take the program seriously because I am not getting married again. This is my one shot and, as much as Tony grates my nerves, I will make our union work because, when it comes to marriage, I refuse to follow in my mother’s footsteps.
I suck in a deep breath and try to calm myself down. I’m not the only one who signed up for the program. Tony did too. No one forced him into this, which means he’ll have his own reasons to make this mismatch work. Right?
The sound of the manila folder smacking the coffee table jerks my attention back to the officiant. He stands up straight and smiles at Tony and me. He explains to us he is here to both witness our consent and to validate the marriage for legal purposes.
This is it, then. No going back after this. I lace my hands together to hide their trembling as we recite the vows, Tony’s deep baritone voice a bit too loud in the enclosed space. When we finish, the officiant flips to a page marked with a Post-it. “I need both of you to look over the marriage license. Make sure your information is accurate and then sign it. Once that is complete, I’ll have your witnesses sign it.”
I take it and glance over my information. Everything is perfect. I grab a pen from the table and swallow past the lump in my throat as I scribble my signature on the empty line. Then I hand the license over to Tony. When he is done, he hands it back to the officiant.
Once the man completes his section of the license and Taya and Jim sign off, we all walk the man out. My shoulders sag as I sigh, not sure if I am relieved or sad. Either way, this is my life now.
The four of us make short work of moving the rest of the boxes out of the bed of Jim’s truck after the officiant drives off. Not that carrying in ten boxes would take anyone very long. Plus, what little Tony has isn’t all that heavy. Everything he owns fits in the entryway in three neat stacks.
I stare and my chest tightens. I’m not sure what bothers me more—the fact that Tony’s entire life could probably fit into my closet, or the fact that he will have a toothbrush in my bathroom. Panic tries to dig its claws into me, but I shove it away.
I glance outside. Jim is heading to his truck, scanning the middle-class ne
ighborhood I’ve called home for the last five years. His shoulders are tense, hands ready at his sides, searching for signs of a threat. I turn away, unwilling to draw Taya’s attention to him and remind her about Santoro.
I extend my arms out and around Taya, hugging her goodbye. “Now go be with your man, and let me deal with this moron who I’m now married to.”
She makes a strange choking sound that ends in a laugh and pulls away. “If you need someone with a shovel, just give me a call. I’m sure we have an extra tarp in the garage somewhere too.”
Once she’s in the truck with Jim, I close the door and lean against the wood frame, some of my bravado leaving with my best friend. What am I supposed to do now with that man parked on my couch who’s expecting God knows what today from this ludicrous arrangement? Mierda. Surely he doesn’t think we’re going to jump straight into bed? My pulse pounds in my ears, my heart racing from a dizzying mix of anxiety and some other emotion I’d rather not examine too closely.
After straightening to my full height and pulling my shoulders back, I head into the living room. Tony is scrolling through Netflix but when he stops and looks up at me I’m struck, yet again, by how handsome he is, how imposing, even while sitting. It’s almost impossible to catch a breath when in the same room as a man who takes up so much damn space.
Then—as if by design—he ruins my silent appreciation by opening his damn mouth. “Where do I sleep, by the way? Is there like a guest room, or do you have bunk beds in the master bedroom? Not that I would mind sharing, but I really like bunk beds.”
Bunk beds.
I’m nervous about, oh, potentially being trapped with the wrong person for the rest of my life, and Tony’s talking about bunk beds. I grind my molars. Are my hands too small to wrap all the way around his stupid neck? On the plus side, my nerves have all but disappeared. Now I’m just irritated.
Matched (Navy Seals of Little Creek Book 2) Page 2