Page 22 of Mr. Match

“Nope. Just the same old small-town bullshit as usual. Work is the same, home is the same. Everything is the same.”

“Well, that’s good news,” West says.

“Makes me nervous,” Mac replies.

“Yeah,” Pax adds. “Like we’re missing something.”

I try to concentrate on the football game. Katya isn’t unusual. Yeah, she’s a girl who came back from my past, but this is Katya. I know her better than she knows herself. I don’t care how long she’s been away, I know her deeply. I know her inside. I know her heart. And every bit of it is good. Not one ounce of her is manipulative or evil. Not one ounce.

If she wanted to fuck me over, she could’ve done it many, many times.

She is clean, she is good, and most of all, she is loyal in the only way that counts. She loves me, I know it. And I love her, she knows it. We’re gonna work out this bullshit that’s happening and come out the other side just fine.

Nothing to worry about here. Nothing to see at all.

“Dinner’s ready!” Ellie calls from the kitchen.

We all get up, hungry and wanting to put the Mister shit behind us. But Pax grabs me by the arm as Mac and West walk off.

“Hey,” he says, leaning into me a little. “We need to talk without the girls after dinner. You got a place we can do that?”

“Well, we can’t leave together from here if you want it to be secret. They’ll follow. Ariel for sure. Victoria probably.”

“So where?” He’s looking at me like this is urgent. “I don’t want Ellie to find out until I tell Mac.”

“Find out what?”

“Where can we talk that won’t make them suspicious?”

I look around the main floor and my eyes stop on the door to Ariel’s office. “In there, I guess. I’ll tell Ariel I need to make a phone call, then you guys follow me in there. I bet they don’t even notice.”

Chapter Ten - KATYA – FOUR YEARS AGO

“Excuse me?”

I cancel my provocative body language and stand up to see what’s happening. A man is walking across the street. A very… good-looking man. Tall, light brown hair, maybe blond in the sun, his arms covered in tattoos and his jeans spotted with rips and tears.

My client startles, redirects his attention from me to the stranger interrupting our business. “Can I help you?” he asks, with that air of superiority some men seem to wear like a coat.

“Do you know this guy?” the stranger asks, having reached the car. He peers over the roof at me.

“Do you mind?” my client says.

“I actually do mind. You see, that’s my house over there and I don’t think it’s appropriate for perverts to pick up schoolgirls at the bus stop while I’m watching.”

My client looks at me. I expect him to explain our story. I’m his daughter’s friend. He’s offering me a ride home.

But he just steps on the gas and leaves.

“That’s right, asshole,” the stranger says, watching the black Mercedes turn the corner a block down until it disappears. “Was he coming on to you?”

“What?” I am so shocked at what just happened, I don’t know how to answer that.

“Did you know that guy? Or was he trying to pick you up?”

“Um…”

“Look, I get it. You probably think you’re old enough to be in control of that situation, but you’re not, OK? He was wearing a wedding ring. Don’t get involved with men like that. Bad news, take it from me.”