Page 13 of Imperfect Match (Imperfect Match 1)
Yeah, that’s it. And my gain.
I was content living on my own, and I didn’t want to deal with a damn roommate, let alone my brother. He drives me fucking crazy. He’s lazy, he’s a slob, and he can’t even cook. I’m sure the girls Willow picks are going to love having to adopt my brother along with dating me.
“Speaking of loss, do you have the money you seem to have misplaced?” I ask him.
He looks guilty. “About that …”
And another month I have to cover his end of the rent. “Leo,” I groan.
“I’ll have it. Soon.”
“Not soon enough. I’m throwing you out.”
He laughs because he knows I won’t. Our parents are two people who never should’ve procreated. Leo and I only have each other to depend on, and some days I wonder if we’ll ever get over the shit we grew up with. I thought I was done with it all when I walked away from my parents at age twenty-two. I gave up my rather large trust fund and never looked back.
Daddy Dearest was pissed that I didn’t want to work for Fortino Hospitality Group, and he cut me off completely. Then he tried to groom Leo into taking my spot, but Leo hadn’t spent his entire adolescence going to board meetings and shadowing Vince, as I had to call my father in the office. For all the things my brother is, an executive he is not. He was a trophy kid, if such a thing exists. Leo was a star pitcher, and he was supposed to do great things in athletics—but they drove him so hard, he burned out by high school. I was supposed to be a businessman, a second-generation power-hungry CEO. It was all about appearances.
I would’ve rather been poor and loved than deal with the pressure to be perfect. We could never live up.
Leo laughs. “You’d miss me if I were gone.”
“Yeah, that’s it.” I roll my eyes. “I’d miss you like I’d miss the plague.”
That’s a lie, I like having him around sometimes. But what was supposed to be a few months has turned into a year, and in that time I’ve realized my little brother needs a lot more than just a place to live.
He needs guidance. He needs a decent haircut. He needs lessons on How to Adult. I like comics just as much as he does, but my wardrobe does not consist solely of jeans and faded Marvel T-shirts with holes in the armpits.
The one thing I envy about Leo is his job—I’d like to work at Midnight Comic too, doing nothing but hanging out and talking about comic books and graphic novels and other geeky shit all day. But no. I have a real job that makes real money so I can live in a real apartment and eat real food, even if Willow does have to cook it half the time.
I wonder what she made for dinner tonight. Leo and I are watching Swamp Thing and pigging out on pizza and breadsticks, but it’s not nearly as good as Willow’s ziti. Or her chili. Or this thing she makes with eggplant and tomatoes and rice that I thought was going to be disgusting (because eggs and plants do not go together on a plate) but was actually delicious.
I look at the slice of pizza I’m holding and can’t bring myself to eat another bite. Maybe there’s leftover ziti from Friday in Willow’s fridge. Is she home from the gym yet?
“I’ll be right back,” I say to Leo, getting off the couch. “You don’t have to pause it.” Before leaving my place, I grab the spare key Willow gave me to hers. As I leave my apartment, I realize th
at I’m not going to hers only for food. I hope she’s there. I miss her.
And that conversation we had yesterday is still bothering me a little bit. I don’t like the idea of our lives moving forward in separate directions. Maybe it’s selfish, but I kind of like having her all to myself.
I knock first, but there’s no answer, so I let myself in. The living room lights are off, and it doesn’t look like she’s home. Snapping on the kitchen light, I go directly to the fridge and open it up, getting excited about what I might find. There’s some healthy-looking green leafy stuff, something that looks like it might be chicken salad with grapes in it, and a white box that looks like it might contain her lunch leftovers. I open the lid and sniff—mmmm, lemon and garlic and artichokes over lightly breaded chicken.
Graciously leaving that for her in case she was planning to eat it for dinner tonight, I move things around until I see what I’m looking for—a plastic container of ziti. I recognize it because it’s identical to the one she sent home with me Friday night, which Leo ate sometime after I went to bed despite the fact that I left a note on it that said LEO: DO NOT EAT.
I decide he doesn’t deserve any more of it, so I pull the container from the fridge and grab a fork from her drawer. Without even bothering to warm it up, I lean back against her counter and dig in. Even cold, it’s fucking delicious.
“Reid!”
I look up from the ziti in surprise and see Willow standing in the archway between the kitchen and living room wearing nothing but a towel, her hair dripping.
“Jesus, Wills! You scared me.”
“You break into my apartment and I scared you?”
“Yes.” I take another bite and try to keep my eyes in my head where they belong, but damn. I know it’s Willow and we’re just friends and all, but that towel is short and her legs are fantastic and the top of her boobs are sort of pushed up above her arms, which are folded across her chest. Plus she’s wet. She’ll have to forgive the stare.
And the twitch in my pants, if she saw it.
I try to covertly adjust myself. “I didn’t think you were home. And I didn’t break in—I used the key you gave me.”
