Matched

by S. E. Lund

  I don't like the way it feels.

  "India," I call out. She stops at the bottom of the stairs and turns around, looking up at me on the landing.

  "Yes?"

  "Are you all right?"

  She nods, but it isn't exactly enthusiastic. "I'm tired. I guess the stress of everything is getting to me. I need to take some time off."

  I come down the stairs and stand in front of her, my hand on the door. "You can talk to me about anything, you know."

  "I know," she says softly but I can tell from her voice that she doesn't feel that way.

  Obviously, she doesn't feel she can talk to me about anything anymore.

  "Has this totally fucked our relationship?"

  She exhales and looks away, like she can't meet my eyes. "I don't know."

  "I don’t want this to have fucked things up."

  "Me neither."

  "You have to tell me how you feel, India."

  "I don't know how I feel, Jon, except confused." She meets my eyes finally, and I see the pain in them – in the way her brow is furrowed. It's not anger. It's sadness.

  I reach out and cup her cheek, stroke her skin with my fingers. "I only know that I want you," I say, because it's the truth. "Whatever that means and whatever that involves."

  She nods, but she doesn't reply with something similar. Instead, she pushes the door open and leaves me standing there in the entrance, the door closing behind her.

  Crap.

  I watch her walk down the street until she disappears around the corner.

  Now what the fuck do I do?

  I sit back down behind my desk and glower at my computer screen. On it, a report on third quarter projections sits unread. I try to read it, but end up only re-reading the same sentence over and over.

  Then Marina sends me a text.

  MARINA: I have a new match for you. If you want to meet her, she's ready and willing! She'd like to meet at Mulvaney's for a drink if you're interested. I'll send you her profile but she's a massage therapist with an interest in interior decoration and real estate flipping. She's twenty-five and has a certificate in massage therapy from the Brookbridge Institute. You can see that she's gorgeous and blonde, just the way you like them! Tell me this isn't a perfect match! Let me know when you want to meet her.

  I read over the profile Marina sent to my email. The photo depicts a beautiful young woman with long blonde hair and lots of makeup. She's wearing something seductive – a deep-cut sweater that shows off ample cleavage.

  Typical of Marina to have matched me with someone who is everything I would normally prefer in a woman – beautiful, blonde, tall, built, and looking for an uncomplicated relationship for fun and social engagements: No long-term commitments! I'm too young!

  I want to put her off, but make her think I support her. For India's sake.

  JON: She's lovely, but I'm too busy right now with work to be meeting anyone. Maybe after a few of our upcoming business trips and contract negotiations are finished.

  MARINA: So you like her? She's perfect, right? I'll tell her you’re definitely interested but maybe in a few weeks?

  JON: I'll let you know if and when I'm available. How's that sound?

  MARINA: Okay. Don't wait too long. A beautiful woman like her will be snapped up quickly.

  JON: I'm sure she will be. By the way, I thought your app was for Stanford grads. None of the women you've matched me with are from Stanford.

  MARINA: Oh, it's for Stanford men, mostly.

  JON: But you're matching India…

  MARINA: She's just a test subject to see if I can match Stanford women. There not as plentiful in grad school – only thirty-nine percent – so I'm focusing on the men first. They're pretty easy – a beautiful woman, great figure, smile, and easy-going attitude. Most men are intimidated by a woman as smart and successful as India, so only the most confident and successful guys will do in her case.

  JON: I think that's sexist, isn’t it?

  MARINA: No, it's realist, Jon. In case you didn’t live in the real world. Which you don't. I mean, you’re the CEO of a multimillion-dollar tech company. You're handsome and well-educated. You have your pick of the crop as a result. Not all Stanford grads are as successful as you or have the same options as you. You live in a very rarefied atmosphere.

  JON: Yes, I realize that. I don’t need your app to find a date, Marina. I'm only going along to help you out because you’re India's friend.

  MARINA: I know you don't need my help getting laid, Jon. But finding a girlfriend? Maybe, yes. In fact, I think so. Definitely.

  JON: I don’t need help finding a girlfriend, Marina. Given MATCHED's failure to find me anyone even remotely interesting, I think you better go back to the drawing board.

  Oh, crap… Now I’ve done it.

  MARINA: ‘Remotely interesting’? Those women were beautiful and sexy and would have been happy to go home with you. That's always been good enough for you before.

  JON: It's obvious we don't see eye to eye on this. I gotta go and get some work done.

  MARINA: So, do I strike you off my list of customers?

  JON: Yes, please do.

  I turn off my cell and slam it down on the desktop.

  Goddamn meddling woman.

  I spend another couple of hours at work and then plan to leave just after five. Everyone else has left for the day, so I close up and walk down to the parking garage where I keep my vehicle. I get inside and sit there, wondering what the fuck is going on with India.

  Is she really thinking of selling her stocks in Pacifica and leaving?

  That's it – we fucked and it's screwed with her mind.

  She's one of those women who doesn't fuck around. She only has serious relationships – hasn't she told me that for years? Yet, she fucked me.

  Now she regrets it. It's not in her to just have casual sex with someone – even someone she really likes. I've always known that.

  What the fuck was I thinking, breaching that divide between us that kept us professional?

  I wanted to have my cake and eat it, too.

  India and Pacifica have always gone hand in hand for me. I've always wanted them both – together, preferably. I thought I could have them both.

  I hope I wasn't wrong.

  I don't want to go back to my apartment alone, so I call up my old friend Dan from the Army and invite him for a drink. He's only too happy to meet me. We used to surf together, and did some base jumping down in South America one year. He's a wild man and loves the adrenaline rush as much as I do.

  We meet at a local bar just down the block from where I live.

  He looks just the same as before – tall, heavy-set but ripped, a big fucker with a head of jet black hair and bulging muscles under a white t-shirt and jeans.

  We clasp hands and hug briefly before sitting down at the bar and catching up on what we've both been up to.

  "I know Pacifica's doing well," Dan says after a long pull on his draft beer. "I saw some report on CNBC that mentioned you guys."

  "It is doing well," I say, and tell him about our recent contracts with the Defense Department. As for Dan, he's a consultant in a security company and is thinking of starting his own business.

  "So, what about that pretty CTO of yours?" he asks me. "India? Is she still there?"

  "She is," I say, remembering how Dan hung around India when he met her a couple of years ago.

  "Is she still single?" he asks, his expression unreadable. "She was one pretty little filly."

  I laugh at his tone. "You liked her," I say and it's a statement, not a question.

  "I did," he says, finally smiling. "What's she doing? Is she married yet?"

  "No," I say, then I tell him about us. "In fact, we kind of got together recently, but I'm not sure if things will work out."

  "Oh, that's too bad," he says, genuinely sympathetic. "It must be hard to have a relationship with a business partner. Especially when it doesn’t work out."

  I s
hrug. "I'm fine with it, but she's uncomfortable. We're trying to figure things out."

  "Well, I hope it works out for you."

  We talk some more about his life and how he's dating again after the divorce, and is looking for a new woman who could be a mother to his two children, whom he has shared custody of.

  "So you're totally domesticated, are you?" I say with a laugh.

  "Happily," he replies, holding up his glass of beer. "A man without the love of a good woman is only a shell."

  I laugh and take a drink. "Speak for yourself. I'm not a shell."

  "Of course you aren’t," he says. "But a man can only take so much meaningless pussy before he craves something real."

  I don't say anything in response.

  After an awkward silence, we move on to future plans and how we both want to do some more surfing when the waves are good. The rest of the hour goes by quickly and then, after we've finished the food, it's time to leave.

  We shake hands again and hug, and I walk him to his van, just down the block.

  "Don’t be a stranger," he says.

  We fist bump. "I won't."

  I watch him drive off in his van and think how much he's changed since we were in the Army together.

  Back then, he was a wild man who picked up every piece of ass that passed his way and offered. He was an adrenaline junkie who seemed to defy death with every fall and crash and IED. He loved the ladies, he loved his beer, and he loved being a soldier.

  Now, he's a security analyst with two kids and an ex-wife, looking for a good woman to move in and take her place.

  Is that my future?

  I don't want to become the man in the gray flannel suit who is so strapped by debt and busy with responsibilities that I never have any fun.

  Is that what India wants?

  I can't see her staying at home with kids and a house to clean, giving up business to raise a family. Maybe I don't really know her.

  I want her. That's not the issue. I want us to be together. I also want us both to focus on Pacifica and our mutual success.

  She was thinking of cashing out and leaving Pacifica.

  Fuck…

  Chapter 17

  INDIA

  Mom is getting better with each day, and is going home tomorrow. The doctors think she'll regain full use of her arms and legs, so that's a relief. She'll have to take it easy for a while and get some rehab but she'll return to a normal life.

  "No more climbing ladders," the neurosurgeon says, pointing at her. He smiles at her and she agrees she won't.

  When my mom's tray comes for her supper, I check it out and laugh.

  "I'm making chicken parmesan for Dad, too."

  "Oh, I wish I was home with you two," mom says, staring at her much more assembly-line-looking chicken breast with a half-melted slab of mozzarella on it.

  "If I don't kill Dad with my own version, I'll make it for you when you get out."

  "You won't kill him," she says with a grin. "Just remember to set the timer. I know you two get distracted and have a tendency to burn stuff, so remember to time it."

  "I will." I kiss her and leave, relieved that she's doing so well.

  I take my SUV and drive to their place. I turn on my car mix and the next song up is “I Go Crazy” by Paul Davis. It’s one of my father's favorites and makes me sad to hear it. Will that be Jon and me?

  I pull into the driveway, a knot in my gut that things are so uncertain with Jon. My dad is standing at the door, waiting for me, his apron already on. I swallow my feelings and force a smile.

  He and I are not gifted cooks. It was my mom who cooked for us when I was growing up. But we'll try to follow the recipe I printed off the internet. The recipe was apparently fool-proof and so even my dad and I should be able to handle it.

  Two hours later, we're sitting at the island in my mom's professional kitchen, smiling at the successful meal we cooked together. I really enjoyed it. My dad and I always shared a love of technology and spent time when I was growing up putting computers together, but we didn’t do a lot of talking about life and personal things. That was always my mom's job.

  So now, here we are, smiling across the island, a glass of red wine in hand and a demolished dish of chicken parmesan in front of us.

  "So, tell me about what's going on with you. Your mom said you and Jon got together but that you're having second thoughts."

  "She told you that?"

  I didn’t think I told her I was having second thoughts. I thought I just said I wasn't sure if Jon was able to make a commitment to the relationship.

  "I love Jon," I say to him. "I mean, I love him as a person. I think I could love him as a man, in that way. But I don’t know if he can do that back."

  "Hun, you two have known each other for how long? Five years? If you don't know each other by now, you never will. You know him as a person and a man. Do you think he's a good man?"

  "He is," I say, imagining him in my mind's eye. "He's a very good person and man. He's a former Army Ranger. He's brave and he's strong and he's ambitious and he's funny. But he plays around and has never had a serious relationship."

  "Maybe he's never had you." My father raises his eyebrows like he's made a point in our discussion. It feels like the point. "Maybe," he says, and takes my hand, squeezing it, "you have to give him a chance."

  "And ruin our business relationship? We have an amazing partnership. We work really well together. We're good together. I don't want to ruin that."

  "Then don't. Go all in. It seems to me that you've already more than dipped your toe into this. Go big or go home, I always say."

  I smile at him and squeeze his hand back. "How did you get so smart about relationships?"

  "I met your mom and she taught me everything I know about love and marriage. You and Steven taught me everything I know about being a father."

  I squeeze his hand again. Both of us are silent for a moment, thinking about Steven's death, which has left a hole in my heart that can never be filled. It can only grow scar tissue where the hole still is.

  "I hope things work out with you and Jon," my dad says after a moment. "He's a really smart, successful, hard-working, honorable young man."

  "You think so?" I say, surprised to hear him talk about Jon that way.

  "I do," he says. “If Steven liked him, I know he's a good guy."

  That makes me feel better about Jon. I know it's crazy. I'm a grown woman. I should be able to decide on my own who I sleep with and who I love, but I'm afraid of making a mistake. I'm afraid of not having listened to Marina, who has warned me off Jon whenever the subject of me getting together with him has surfaced, which it has on and off over the years.

  Dad and I clean up after the meal is over and I kiss him goodbye. He's going back up to the hospital to see my mom once more and I'm going home.

  I drive along the streets back to my place, thinking of everything – of my mom's recovery, of my dad's words to me about love and giving Jon a chance, and most of all, about Jon. On my music mix, “If You Leave Me Now” by Chicago comes on. I skip ahead. “Make it With You” by Bread.

  I turn off the MP3 player and listen to a local newscast instead.

  I don't need the sappy seventies music that I normally love.

  I only know I want Jon.

  When I get back home, I make a cup of decaf coffee and sit on my patio in the darkness, overlooking the Bay. I love this time of night, just after the sun has set and the horizon is still slightly pink from the setting sun. The stars begin to peek out and I can hear the hum of the freeway in the distance.

  I feel so lonely.

  My cell pings and I remove it from my bag and check.

  JON: Can we talk?

  I was hoping to spend the evening without thinking about Jon, but I can't escape this.

  INDIA: Talk away.

  JON: I mean in person. I have more powers when I'm physically present to manipulate events to my liking, which happens to include overpowering y
our futile resistance to my charms.

  INDIA: You think your physical presence will sway me more than your words?

  JON: I've been told I have animal magnetism. I like to use that to my advantage.

  INDIA: I have an interest in preserving my self-control and personal integrity, and I refuse to be manipulated by charlatans and snake oil salesmen.

  There's a pause for a moment. I'm smiling to myself and I imagine Jon is smiling to himself as well.

  JON: India, we have to talk. We have to work this out.

  INDIA: I know. Can we meet for breakfast tomorrow and talk?

  JON: We’ll be in public, fully clothed, and surrounded by people. That takes away my advantage. I was planning on coming over wearing a muscle shirt and shorts, with me freshly showered, so you're overwhelmed with lust and can't resist me.

  I laugh out loud at that.

  INDIA: You think a muscle shirt and shorts will work? I got news for you.

  JON: It’s my evil plan.

  INDIA: The best laid plans…

  There's a pause and I know Jon wants me to either go to him or him to come to me. He wants us to be together tonight. He knows that if he gets alone with me, he can seduce me. It will be all the harder to resist him.

  Why do I want to resist him?

  INDIA: Jon, I already know you're great in bed. And out of bed. That's not the issue. You proving just how good you are as a lover isn’t going to help me decide.

  JON: Decide what?

  INDIA: Whether this thing between us is a good idea or a very very bad idea and should be nipped in the bud.

  JON: I want to nip your buds.

  INDIA: JON!!!!

  JON: Okay, okay. Have it your way. We'll meet for breakfast and talk.

  INDIA: Sounds good to me. Mulligan's? Around eight?

  JON: See you then.

  I put my cell down and smile, drinking my coffee and watching the ships in the harbor.

  The next morning, I get up and shower, then dress for the day in my typical business suit and heels, my hair pulled back in a neat bun, minimal makeup on. I have a meeting today with some suppliers for a part we need for the drone prototype, so I want to look as professional as possible. When I arrive at Mulligan's, Jon is already there, mug of coffee in one hand and the morning paper in the other. He smiles when he sees me and stands when I get to the table, leaning over to pull out my chair. He kisses me, a friendly kiss. He never would have kissed me before all this happened.