The Match

by Sarah Adams

  It’s been a long time since I’ve gone on a date. Even longer since I’ve been on a date with a man I liked. Or a man that looked and acted like Jake. No one should look that sexy holding a ladle and stirring a pot. He’s a safety hazard.

  I decide to give in to my awkward and plaster myself in the farthest corner of his kitchen. The cold marble cuts through my shirt and stings at my lower back, but I don’t care. I’m not moving. “How was Sam when you dropped her off?” I manage to squeak out.

  Jake taps the wooden spoon against the side of the pot and sets it down. He takes note of me standing alllll the way across the room and smirks. “Great. She looked so happy running in with all her friends. I’m glad I let her go.” He goes toward the fridge and pulls out a bottle of white wine. How did he know that was my favorite? “Want a glass?”

  “Yes!” I say a little too eagerly.

  He smiles and pours but stays put where he is. “Here you go.”

  He’s smiling at me and holding the glass in front of him. I know what he’s doing. He’s bribing me away from my private island, and I have no choice but to comply if I want that wine. And I do want it.

  I slowly move closer, and he chuckles. “Why are you so afraid of me tonight?”

  “I’m not,” I croak. But I am. I totally am.

  My nerves are sizzling because I don’t know what to expect from the night, or what he expects. We are two adults on a first real date, and let’s face it, there’s been a lot of tension building up between us lately, and I just don’t know what he’s thinking is going to happen tonight. What do I want to happen? What will I let happen?

  When I come within arm’s reach, he slips his hand around to my lower back and pulls me closer. Ha ha, you fell for it, and now you’re trapped. I like being trapped. He smells incredible—like he used a body wash with descriptive words on the bottle, like mountain or rain. Somehow, the smell acts like a truth serum, because when he asks me to tell him what’s going on in my head, I do.

  “I’m nervous,” I say, looking up and meeting his tender blue eyes.

  He smiles, and a small chuckle runs through his chest. “Me too.”

  “Really?” Somehow, that surprises me because he seems so put together and sure of himself. He always seems that way. Like a sturdy tree that’s been there for hundreds of years. You know that if a strong wind blows, it won’t knock it over.

  “I changed my outfit three times,” he admits with a cute, guilty look.

  I grin and relax a little more into him. “You didn’t.”

  “I did.” His voice is warm and rich.

  Something changes between us, and I can feel the moment we both realize that we are completely alone in this house and no one will burst in and interrupt a kiss this time. Chill bumps fly across my skin as Jake brushes my hair away from my face and neck and then leans down. But he doesn’t kiss my mouth. Nooo, that would be way too obvious a choice for him. Instead, Jake moves right on by my lips and goes to my neck, placing a light, lingering kiss right below my jaw. His lips are warm, and I can feel his day-old stubble tickling my neck where he’s placing slow, heart-melting kisses.

  I tip my head back to give him a better vantage point. He puts his hands on my hips and pulls me closer. His kisses are moving up toward my mouth, and as much as I’m loving this slow torture, I’m finding it hard not to tap my foot and tell him to move on to the main event.

  He and I have kissed twice now, but both of those were nothing. I’m ready to find out what a real kiss is from Jacob Broaden.

  Just as his mouth is rounding my jaw, I become aware of a bubbling sound on the stove. “I think something is boiling,” I say.

  “Mmhhmm,” he murmurs against my cheek.

  “Is that a bad thing?” I don’t know why I’m suddenly so concerned with food prep. Actually, it probably has something to do with the way my nervous heart is about to explode from my chest.

  “It’s fine.” He sounds like he’s in a coma.

  “Are you sure? Because—” I don’t get to finish my thought.

  Jake’s lips take mine, and all thoughts of dinner are behind me. In fact, I don’t think I ever need to eat again. I’ll just stay here and keep kissing Jake for the rest of my life, and I’m pretty sure that will be enough to sustain me.

  He pulls me flush with his body, and together, our kiss feels like a deep exhale. Like life has turned fuzzy around the edges and nothing else matters anymore. Except, he’s too tall. I hook my arm around his neck to help pull him down to me, but Jake responds to my dilemma by picking me up and setting me on the counter in front of him.

  My hands run over the tight ridges and valleys of Jake’s shoulders, and I can’t believe that I’m even allowed to touch this work of art. He should be boxed up and sent off to a museum where he can be adequately appreciated. I lace my fingers in the back of his hair and breathe in his clean scent. Jake’s lips move, both soft and fierce like the tides of the ocean, and I fall into them and swim.

  I can hear something on the stove bubbling into a frenzy, and I can’t help thinking that whatever is cooking is perfectly mirroring Jake’s and my kiss, because let me tell you, it’s sizzling. I wind my arms tightly around his neck with a grip that says you’re not going anywhere. He moves his hands up and down my back, pressing in and tugging me closer, and our lips part. And just like a three-Michelin-star chef, I’m able to taste the notes of everything he’s been cooking.

  As the minutes go by and Jake and I are lost in each other, I can’t help but think of how surreal this feels. How perfect. I should have known. I should have prepared for how I would feel after a kiss like this with him, because Jake is an overachiever, and I feel a little in awe of him.

  When I’m with Jake, I’m starting to have these feelings that scare me. They are possessive, and wanting, and wishing to claim Jake as mine.

  And now I’m kissing him with the intent to brand him. I want everyone to be able to look at him and see my kiss planted across his lips and know that he’s taken. I think Jake can read my thoughts (or my body language) because, suddenly, he’s slowing things down. The weight of his hands splayed out against my back is lightening up, and I can tell he’s putting on the brakes. He’s not letting this go too far, and dang it if that doesn’t make me like him even more.

  He slowly breaks the seal of our kiss, and I can’t open my eyes. They are too heavy and kiss-induced to function properly yet. His hand moves to cup my jaw, and I feel his thumb tenderly caress my cheek as he says, “Let’s take it slow, Evie.” The way he says it, though—with a low, raspy voice—knots my breath and instantly makes me wish we were still kissing.

  But with my eyes shut, I nod my head in agreement because I am in agreement. In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s what kind of girl I am: the go-slow kind. The old-fashioned kind. The ring-on-her-finger kind. I say pretty sure because I honestly forgot there, for a minute, but now I’m emerging from the most devastating, tender, passionate kiss of my life, and I think I can remember my full name again.

  I open my eyes and find Jake giving me a lopsided grin that says he knows what effect he’s just had on me.

  “Slow,” I repeat back to him like English is not my first language and I’m trying to commit this new foreign word to memory.

  He smiles bigger and shakes his head a little, stepping back, and taking all of his fantastic body with him. With the new, cool air comes the feeling of embarrassment. I can feel that my lips are swollen and my cheeks are pink, and just a minute ago, Jake felt the need to remind me that we should take things slow…which means he was aware that I had my blinker on and was ready to change over to the HOV lane. Move over, slowpokes.

  But I push that embarrassment right back down because I know that Jake wanted that kiss too. He wanted the HOV lane. And the fact that a man like him—wonderful and handsome and a champion kisser—could have used this opportunity of my kiss coma for his own gain, but instead chose to restrain…well, that’s filling me with all sorts of warm
feelings. I don’t want to let him go. I don’t want to lay my head on my pillow tonight and wonder or leave any room for doubt.

  “Jake,” I say, reaching out and grabbing his hand before he fully turns away. He turns back, and his eyes say, Why yes, I would love to kiss you some more. For a moment, I think that sounds like a great idea, but I hurry and speak up before he or I get a chance to act on that thought. “What are we?” There we go. It’s out now.

  His brows pull together, and a thoughtful expression clouds his eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “I know this is only our first date, but…I guess…I don’t know.” A-plus conversational skills are happening over here. Really top-notch stuff.

  The problem is, I’m scared. I’m scared that making him Define The Relationship will scare him off. Because in history, this is the moment all of my dates bail. It’s like they see me approaching with a giant, man-sized net and think, No way am I getting trapped in that one.

  “You want to know where this is going?” he asks, and I can’t tell if he sounds hesitant or not.

  “Yeah. I guess I do.”

  He bites his lips together and nods. He turns away, and I think that maybe I’ve annoyed him, but when he shuts off the burner and takes whatever has been furiously boiling off of it, I realize he’s just getting settled in. He turns around and takes both of my hands, pulling me back up to his warm body, and I wrap both of my arms around his waist. I like this. I like that I get to do this. It feels natural and new—but also like we’ve been doing this forever.

  Jake looks down at me and fills his broad chest with air and then lets it out. “I think our title would be dating. I like you. You like me. We’re making out in the kitchen but not going too fast too soon.”

  “Right. Good. Yeah.” But see…that’s not the answer that I needed. I want to tell myself to just simmer down and enjoy the ride, but honestly, it’s not safe to drive in a car at night with your headlights off. I need to see where I’m going. “It’s just that…a guy at a restaurant asked me out earlier today, and I honestly didn’t know if I should accept or turn him down, because I wasn’t sure what this thing between us is. I know we are dating, but are we exclusive? Are we casual? Are we seeing other people?”

  Jake’s brows pull together tightly. I can’t tell if he looks upset or is just giving it a lot of thought. I think guarded is probably the best description. “You got asked out?”

  I nod.

  He nods slowly, too, and then his expression changes to something lighter. He shrugs, and suddenly, he’s Mr. Yeah-Everything’s-Cool guy. “I think we should be non-exclusive. Casual.”

  Oh.

  That was so not where I was hoping this heart-to-heart was going.

  “Casual.”

  “Yeah.” He smiles softly. “Like I said, I want to take this slow with you. We should just have fun and keep things light. Date. Get to know each other. But by all means, feel free to go out with other people.” He lets go of me and heads over to pull two plates down from the cupboard.

  I’m staring at him numbly, trying to decide if I’m okay with this or not. I feel let down. As much as I don’t want to admit it, I was hoping that Jake—the man that feels so out of my league—saw something in me that made him want me all to himself. But of course he wants to be casual. He’s just come out of a long relationship, and he wants some time to explore his options.

  I don’t like casual. I don’t like open relationships because they lead to nothing but heartache for me. But I do like Jake, and I think he’s beyond wonderful. So, am I willing to sacrifice my wants for this? Play it cool and see where it goes?

  I don’t know because, right now, I feel so disappointed that I just need a minute to let my frown loose.

  Jake is fluttering casually around the kitchen, looking just as cool and collected as he did at the beginning of the night, and I’m pretty sure my shoulders are sagging. “I…need to wash my hands before we eat.” Surely, he can’t argue with good hygiene.

  I think my voice might have trembled, though, because he looks over his shoulder with an inquisitive look. I don’t wait around for him to ask me if I’m okay. I turn on my heels and make a mad dash for the bathroom and shut the door behind me. I lean against it and give myself the freedom to pout for a minute. Just one little indulgent pity party.

  My mind bounces from that devastating kiss, to his proposal of a casual relationship, back to the kiss. See, this is why I’m old-fashioned. This is why I’m not the kind of girl to sleep around with guys for the fun of it. My heart dives in deep, and if I added the physical layer to it, I’d be shattered when he decided he was ready to move on.

  While I’m in here, I decide to stall by going to the bathroom. It’s when I’m seated on the porcelain throne that I realize my obnoxious and never-appreciated friend, Aunt Flow, has arrived early for her visit. Wonderful! Just wonderful. Because guess what? I know for a fact that I don’t have any tampons on me because I DIDN’T BRING MY PURSE.

  I want to groan at the injustice of the last half hour. It’s fine, though. I’m fine. This isn’t my first rodeo. It’s not glamorous, but I know what to do here. I wrap toilet paper around my hand a few times until I’ve made a nice, scratchy and uncomfortable pad for myself to tuck into my underwear until I can get home.

  I don’t know if I’m relieved or disappointed that this date has to end early. On one hand, I’m happy that I’ll have more time to think over the casual proposition, but I’m also sad to leave Jake. I’ve missed him this week.

  Oh well. I have to go because I don’t really care to free bleed on Jake’s couch. Now, I just have to make up an excuse that will get me out of here without having to sacrifice my dignity.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  JAKE

  I’ve been nervously pacing the kitchen, waiting for Evie to come out of the bathroom. I have a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach that the conversation we just had did not come out in my favor. It might have just been in my head, but she seemed spooked before she went to the bathroom.

  When I hear the bathroom door open but Evie doesn’t come right into the kitchen, I round the corner and find her in the living room. She has Charlie’s leash in one hand and her cell phone in the other. She’s looking down and typing on it, but when I enter the room, her wide green eyes shoot up to me, and she offers an awkward smile.

  “Oh hey, yeah, so I’m really sorry, but it turns out I’ve got to cut our dinner date short.” What?! “I had something come up, and…it’s kinda important. Well, actually it’s super important, and I have to take care of it right away. I’m really sorry.”

  Jake, you freaking idiot! I knew that I played it too cool back there in the kitchen.

  When Evie told me she was asked out by some random dude, I freaked out inside. That situation is exactly why I’ve been hesitant to date someone as young and gorgeous as Evie. But then, I thought about it and realized she had given me the perfect excuse to have my cake and eat it too. I could date her. I could enjoy time with her. I could kiss her. But as long as I never mentally plan to commit to this woman, I’ll be okay. I can’t lose someone I never really had.

  But right now, seeing her frantically typing on her phone…I’m thinking that I made a mistake.

  “Don’t go,” I say, reaching out to cover her phone with my hand. “Or…at least give me two minutes.”

  Her eyes hit mine, and there is a look of finality in them that makes my stomach twist. “Definitely not. I need to go.”

  Wow. I must have really butchered that conversation more than I realized.

  I feel a little desperate. I tried to play it cool earlier, and clearly that didn’t work, so now it’s time to let it all hang out. “Evie, I know I made it seem like I couldn’t care less about this relationship, but here’s the truth: I really like you. I like you so much that it scares me. The last woman I cared for left me high and dry after nine years of marriage. I’m still a little banged up and scarred. I want to have a relationship with you
because I think you’re incredible, and gorgeous, and smart, and…” She looks so shocked right now that I’m scared I’m coming off a little stalkerish, but I keep going because I’ve opened the gates and the truth is all flooding out. “…way too good for me. But I have a lot of baggage, and honestly, I wouldn’t blame you if you want to split right now. I’ve been playing it cool, but I’m scared of putting myself out there to have something real again. That’s why I’m not ready for anything serious. I don’t want to punish you by making you turn down other dates when I’m not ready for anything—”

  “Jake!” Evie cuts off my long-winded monologue with a small chuckle. I don’t really know what’s funny about what I just said—laying my heart out on the line like that and all—but she chuckles, nonetheless. “You didn’t have to say any of that.” She shrugs and shakes her head. “I’m not leaving because I was mad or offended. I’m leaving because I just started my period early, and I don’t have any tampons with me.”

  What? Her statement sinks in, and I feel my shoulders relax. “You started your period?”

  She looks embarrassed as she nods, a tense smile on her mouth.

  I stare, blinking at Evie and trying to wrap my mind around this new turn of events. Evie is not upset. She never was. I didn’t have to pour my heart out to her. She was fine with casual.

  She clears her throat and folds her arms. “So, can I call an Uber now? Since…ya know, I still don’t have any tampons with me?”

  “Oh.” I snap back to life and take her phone out of her hands and toss it onto the couch. “No.”

  She sighs. “I don’t think you fully understand my predicament.”

  I grab her hand, dragging her toward the guest bathroom. Once inside, I open the linen closet, revealing three shelves fully stocked with every kind of maxi pad and tampon known to man—or woman. I wave my hand over the selection like I’m Vanna White.