“Tony’s not the guy to slack on matters that are important. And the program isn’t something to be taken lightly. I’m sure he wants it to work as much as you do.”
I fall silent as my stomach churns. I haven’t told her yet that he plans to bail after a year. My chest seizes again as hopelessness rises. I can’t believe this is how things ended up. Stupid matching program. And I don’t want to explain any of this to Taya. She wouldn’t judge me for trying to make it work with Tony, even if it might be a lost cause. But my pride has taken beating after beating since I opened that IPP envelope, and I’m sick of it.
“Inara?”
“Hold on.” After slipping my feet into a pair of flip-flops, I grab my keys and make sure to feed Simon before I head out. Once I’m in my car, I transfer Taya to the speaker system and start on the relatively short drive to Shaken & Stirred, but long enough for my toenails to dry. “If we can’t get the sex right—the part that should come naturally—the rest of our marriage is doomed to die a slow and hideously painful death.”
My heart twists because I hoped we could find something real together. I actually enjoy spending time with him. He’s funny, warm, and far more caring and sharp than he likes to let on. But now, I’m almost as doubtful as the day I first opened the envelope.
“Inara, I’m not saying sex is the most important thing in the world,” Taya says.
“But it’s important for the intimacy to go hand in hand with the spiritual and mental connection.” Oh great. I sound like some poet wannabe. Yet, I can’t stop jabbering and my voice climbs in pitch. “Honestly, what’s love without passion? Without lust? Without sensuality?”
And, what am I even saying? Tony and I don’t have love. What we’d had was lust and now, based on his surprisingly bland, quick performance, even that’s in severe jeopardy. Without that? We’re two platonic roommates who barely know each other. Forced to shack up for a year for practicality’s sake.
“Keep an open mind. Tony wouldn’t be the first man to have performance anxiety. And remember, he’s probably under the microscope with Redding, just like Jim was.”
Maybe she’s right. Back in high school, I’d always choked on tests. My vagina isn’t AP Calculus, but I can understand why he might bomb under pressure. And, if I’m being honest, I’m partially responsible for that pressure. I chew the inside of my cheek while some of the tension drains from my shoulders. Plus, now that the shock is wearing off, it is kind of endearing to think he’s not all the talk he pretends to be.
I spend the rest of the drive to Shaken & Stirred grilling Taya about her further adventures with her husband’s interest in anal stimulation because, sadly enough, it’s preferable than talking about my own life at the moment. By the time I stride through the front door of the seaside whiskey bar and restaurant, I’m in a much better mood. Plus, there’s something peaceful about this place in the mornings. The empty farm tables stretch across the floor, their dark, wooden tops gleaming under splashes of sunlight. Mellow tunes pipe in through the scattered speakers instead of the late-afternoon battle of voices. Shaken & Stirred isn’t super fancy, by any means, but it has a comfortable elegance that makes the bar a popular happy hour spot.
Taya walks in shortly after I do to begin her shift while I relieve Megan, one of the new servers. Business is slow this time of day, and when I’m not sitting, wiping down dirty menus—seriously, who splashes this much ketchup on a menu?—or seating the few people who wander inside for breakfast mimosas, I help Taya roll silverware in the back.
I’m standing at the booth contemplating whether this plum shade was really the ideal nail color when a couple of familiar figures step through the door. Mami and Bennett have met for brunch once a month since before their divorce, and it’s a tradition neither one seems too eager to break. I plaster a smile on my face and pick up two menus. I’m genuinely happy to see Bennett, and when he finally glances up at me, his eyes brighten with joy.
“Twice in two days. I’m a lucky, lucky man.” He laughs as he wraps me up in a hug. “What did I do to earn such enchanting company?”
Bennett’s always done everything he can for me. Like the way he started reading up on stepparenting the moment he asked my mother to marry him. He had these funny one-liners that always made me laugh, especially whenever I went through hard times while growing up. And he has to be the absolute king of picking up the check, a fact not lost on my mother.
“You two knew perfectly well I was working today.” I shoot a tiny glare at my mom and she lifts her chin in defiance.
We head to one of the circular wooden booths in Taya’s section, and when she spots Bennett and Mami, her expression undergoes a paroxysm of emotions—a wincing smile followed by one more genuine—that would have made me laugh if I hadn’t done the exact same thing a moment ago. It’s not that my mother is a horror show. She’s just a lot to take on, especially when she’s in the middle of a divorce. Between her painfully obvious attempts to get back with Bennett as the threat of single life looms ever larger and the need she’d had to fix me up with a man since the day I turned twenty-nine—literally anyone would do at this point, Inara—I’ve been tempted to divorce her myself. I drop their menus onto the table, hoping to escape before they draw me into a conversation there’s no getting out of. “Enjoy your meal.”
Bennett slides into his seat, a second later wincing in pain as he reaches below the table to rub at his shin. We both stare at Mami, but she remains impassive. Bennett looks up at me, tries for nonchalance, and fails. “So, how are things going with your new husband?”
“Oh, we shouldn’t pry.” My mother straightens, pressing a hand against her chest as if surprised by the sudden line of questioning. But the three of us know damned well that’s the reason they dropped by.
I stare up at the ceiling for a minute, hoping to find remnants of my lost patience there. Like Bennett, I fail miserably, wanting nothing more than to pour the mimosa she regularly orders on her head. “We’re fine. Turns out married life suits one of us, after all.”
I duck my head after saying it because that was a low blow. Mami might love to meddle, but she has no idea she’s pouring salt on a wound. How could she when I haven’t told her anything about how and why I married Tony? I love my mom, but she can be exhausting.
And honestly, I don’t think the truth would be any kinder.
A breeze drifts over us as the front door opens and shuts. A respite. Salvation from my mother’s version of the Spanish Inquisition. But as soon as my escape appears, my soon-to-be-former best friend snatches it from my grasp. Taya, coward and traitor that she is, rushes up to the hostess booth to greet the incoming customers, and takes them to a table belonging to the next server in the rotation.
Bennett pats the back of my hand. “I wanted to ask if you and Tony might be willing to come help out with the renovation of the house again soon. We’ve been a little shorthanded lately and could use you.”
Last time, Tony and I had worked so well together, and he’d seemed to enjoy helping out as much as did. I suppose it couldn’t hurt to give working together another go. Especially since I hate saying no to Bennett. “I’ll talk to him and find out what his schedule is like.”
Mami leans back in her seat and cocks her head to one side, considering me with those dark eyes that somehow always know all my wrongdoings before I do. When she crosses her arms, I step back and wave to both of them before she can utter a word. “I should get back to work. Your server will be right with you.”
Once back at the hostess stand, I take a deep breath. I’ll have some explaining to do to my mother at some point. Part of me wants to be an adult about it all, admit the truth of my relationship to Tony, and maybe even ask her for guidance on what to do. Then again, how beneficial would advice be coming from a woman with enough husbands to make up a bowling team?
Chapter Eleven
Tony
I spent half the night tossing and turning while attempting to grow enough balls to b
ring up the sex topic with Inara. And now with the morning sun lighting up the living room, I’m still unsure how to proceed. So, I lounge against the back of the couch and try to distract myself with a word search. Not that I’m having much success in the distraction department. Every few seconds, my eyes glaze over and I’m back to the night before, wondering if there’s some kind of manual explaining the best way for a new husband to bring up how to better please his wife in the bedroom.
My hands tense, making the pen jerk across the paper, leaving behind a thick trail of blue ink. I sigh and readjust my reading glasses. I’m not getting anywhere, so I might as well finish this puzzle.
I look at the letters without actually seeing them.
I mean, it’s not like the sex was awful for Inara, right? Just a little quicker than she might have hoped for. But that last thing she’d said . . . ouch. Part of me woke up hoping it was a dream, except the stilted silence between us tells me otherwise.
That whole night at karaoke, the tension built between us. Her hand on my arms sent shivers down my body all the way to the tip of my dick, and I still shudder remembering her ass pressed against it. Yeah, it was good, but I hate the idea all that tension fizzled away for her, or worse, that she left our night either unsatisfied or bored.
I hate the idea that I let her down.
I drop the word search onto the cushion and lean my head back, trying to remember the name of the last woman I slept with. Brenda or Brandie. Something with a B, I think. I don’t know. For the life of me, I can’t remember much beyond checking the clock to make sure I had enough time to get back to base. I’ll be the first to admit my body count isn’t nearly as high as I pretend it is. But to think there could be a tribe of women out there who think I’m a lousy lay isn’t doing much for my mood.
I groan while slipping my fingertips under my glasses to rub my eyes. I’d always assumed I was good because no one until Inara acted otherwise. What was with that anyway? Did she find her comment funny? Because it wasn’t. I mean if she cooked a roast and burned it dry, I would still chomp that thing down like it was five-star cuisine. But then again, even a burnt roast beef fills a hole, and the effort put into cooking one is probably a hell of a lot more than I put out. How long do roasts take to cook again? Two, maybe three hours? Meanwhile, I’d lasted all of four minutes. Maybe five. And that’s being generous.
“I’m a moron.” Gritting my teeth, I curl both hands around the top of my skull, wishing I had hair so I’d have something to yank out. I expel the bad air from my lungs in one giant whoosh. Okay, time to quit freaking the fuck out. Beating myself up sure as hell isn’t going to solve this problem. And it’s not like there’s a crowd of dissatisfied customers lined up behind me.
No, I need to quit letting my fears run away with me. Inara didn’t actually say she didn’t like having sex with me. Although, that disgruntled noise she made, right at the end, and her parting zinger . . . oof. That right there pretty much guaranteed that I haven’t hit her top-five list. Inara has no patience for niceties, so if she dislikes something, everyone and their mother is gonna know it.
My gut twists into knots.
Fuck.
What if she tells everyone?
She probably already told Taya. And Taya will tell Jim. Though Jim probably won’t give me much shit about my in-the-sack skills given what his ex-wife put him through when it came to his sexual interests.
I sit up and straighten my shoulders. This kind of defeatist thinking isn’t getting me anywhere. So maybe I hadn’t hit the ball out of the park our first time. I also hadn’t mastered every single element of basic training right away. Not that Inara is like basic training, but at the time, basic was brand-new to me—sort of like having a wife. Maybe I put too much pressure on myself to succeed right off the bat. And one thing everyone learns quickly in the military—there’s always room for improvement.
I perk up. This situation is far from hopeless. I just need to fight harder to make things better. Practice makes perfect, right? I picture Inara’s naked body and shiver. Damned if I’m not willing to practice as much as possible. Relaxing a little probably wouldn’t hurt either. I’m a damn good cook. I could cook her something. I could please her in that way first and then she’ll give me a chance to really please her in the way I want to, the way I know I can. Blood rushes to my dick just thinking about her moaning in satisfaction as I go down on her right on the kitchen table. I’m going to SEAL this shit, figure out what she likes, and give it to her . . . all night long. She just needs to give me the chance.
“Good morning!”
Oh shit.
Out of habit, I reach up and yank off my glasses, hoping I’ve successfully managed to tuck them between my leg and the side of the couch without her noticing. But I glance up and catch her staring at me with a smile tugging at her mouth.
“Are you trying to pretend like I didn’t just see you shove those glasses into the couch?” she says.
Damn.
I widen my eyes and glance around the room. “Glasses? What glasses?”
Inara chuckles, placing a hand on her cocked hip. “You know, there’s no need to be embarrassed. They look cute on you.”
This weird heat flares across my cheeks. Almost like I’m blushing. It’s an uncomfortable sensation, so I sit up straighter and puff out my chest. “Of course they do. Everything looks good on me.”
I follow that audacious statement up with a wink, which prompts Inara to roll her eyes. But she’s smiling too. At least that’s something. Then the smile fades and her expression goes all serious. She perches herself on the edge of the sofa’s arm. “I’m glad I caught you here because I need to tell you something.” Her gaze drops from mine to study the way her fingers tangle in her lap.
My throat dries out. Oh shit. She can’t even look me in the eye? This is bad. Real bad. My performance must have been way worse even than I believed it was. I suck in a deep breath, filling my lungs with air, and brace myself. Whatever she says, I’ll do my best to take it like a man.
“I, uh, might have volunteered us to help out with Bennett again for a few hours over the next couple of weekends, if you’re able. Sorry, he sort of sprung it on me while I was at work and my mom was harassing me, and at that point, I would have basically said anything to get her off my back. I can totally tell him that you can’t make it if you’re busy.”
I’m so tense it takes me a second to process her words. Wait. Bennett? Her sudden change in demeanor isn’t about my failure to satisfy her in the sack? She’s worried that I’ll be upset because she volunteered me to help her stepdad build some more houses for his community members affected by the hurricane?
Relief whooshes through me and I could not be happier right now that the only thing on the line is forfeiting a few weekend hours to a good cause. “Count me in whenever my schedule allows. I’d be happy to help out again.”
The warm smile she flashes me lands a double punch, to my chest and my dick. “You sure?”
Like I could do anything else but agree when she’s beaming at me like that, for probably the first time ever. “Positive. I like doing things with my hands in my spare time.”
Our gazes connect. Some of that heat from the other night flares between us, and then Inara jumps to her feet. “Awesome. Great. Thank you so much, I’ll let Bennett know.”
She practically flees to the kitchen, leaving my head spinning once again and my groin aching. A situation not helped when she returns a few moments later, eating a peach and licking the juice off that’s collecting at the corner of her mouth. If that isn’t one of the most erotic things I’ve seen in a long time. She moves to pass me on the couch and hesitates, cocking a brow at me.
I blink and drag my attention away from her lips.
Now. I should bring up last night now.
Sweat prickles the back of my neck. I clear my throat and get ready to start again while she gazes at me with big, dark eyes. My phone rings while I’m still struggling to muster u
p the courage.
Without thinking I grab it from my pocket, not bothering to check the screen. One of my teammates—or a telemarketer—had picked the right time to call.
“Tony? Long time, son.”
The familiar masculine voice causes every muscle in my body to tense and my chest to constrict. Is it too late for a do-over? Because I’d rather have outed myself as a sexual failure than take this particular call. Guilt stabs me in the gut at the terrible thought. Even though it’s true.
Honestly, I’d pick subjecting myself to just about any unpleasant task over suffering through a call from my father any day of the week, which is why I limit the calls to quick birthday messages or happy whatever-holiday-it-is. Our longer phone call is reserved for Father’s Day when the guilt of not calling him more catches up with me. I suck in a deep breath. “What’s up, Apá?”
When she hears my greeting, Inara quietly escapes down the hall. And just as quickly, I jump off the couch and start pacing, my heart rate steadily increasing.
“Mijo, I miss you. How’s it going?”
“Been busy. How’s work?” According to Yelp, my dad’s a Zumba miracle instructor. People drive out over an hour sometimes to get to his class. I gotta say, I never expected a construction company owner to excel at something like Zumba. But we all have our things that keep us happy and this was what helped Apá keep my mother’s memory alive.
“Got your text you were back from deployment. You should’ve called instead of texting.” There was a long pause before he began again. “And work is going well. That’s why I’m calling, actually.”
“What’s up?” I fight to keep my tone pleasant, but it’s tough. Any kind of conversation with my pops only stirs up a dark stew of disappointment. It’s not that he was a bad father. In fact, he was a great father. At least, back when Mamá was still alive, when he was in a good enough mental place to parent at all. But after my mom’s death, he had a hard time, for too long. It took him forever to recover. For years after we buried Mamá, my sisters and I had to both battle our own grief and at the same time support our father while he succumbed to his.
Matched (Navy Seals of Little Creek Book 2) Page 10