Page 48 of Imperfect Match (Imperfect Match 1)
“I’m never wrong.” I unlock my door and push it open, needing to get away from her before I do something stupid like kiss her again. “Goodnight, Willow.”
I enter my apartment and shut the door behind me without looking back. Leo is on the couch watching an old episode of Batman and Robin and eating a burrito.
I grab the remote and turn the TV off, and he looks up at me in surprise. “Hey! I’m watching that.”
“Why did you tell Willow I was on a date?”
He takes another bite from his burrito, chews, and swallows, like I’ve got all the time in the world. “Because she needed a push, but not from you.”
“You upset her, you asshole.”
He shrugs. “This is a very upsetting situation. But the two of you are being stubborn and ridiculous, so I figured I’d step in to help.”
“Well, you didn’t. You made her cry.”
“Pretty sure you made her cry,” Leo says with his mouth full. “That’s the longest you two have gone without speaking in years. Did you talk to her?”
“Yeah, we talked.” I run a hand over my hair. “And I agree
d to go on another date with someone tomorrow night.”
Leo swallows. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I can’t say no to her. Because it made her happy. Because if I can’t be with her, I don’t really care what the hell I do with my nights.”
“And she’s picking the girl?”
“Yeah. She claims she found my perfect match.”
“Dude.” Leo shakes his head. “You guys are so fucking weird.”
The following afternoon, I get a text from Willow with details about my date.
* * *
Willow: Please be at Geja’s at 7 PM tonight. Your perfect match will be waiting for you at the table. Reservation is under your name.
* * *
Me: Fine.
* * *
Willow: Thanks, Reid. I hope she’s everything you’re looking for.
She can’t possibly be, because she’s not you, I want to text back.
But I don’t. It’s becoming increasingly clear to me that I need to give up this fight and admit I might have been wrong about her feelings.
I fucking hate being wrong.
So I’m not in a great mood when I arrive at Geja’s, a fondue restaurant in Lincoln Park I normally love. I’m kind of surprised Willow chose it for tonight, since it’s a place I’d consider ours. We always come here on our birthdays, and stuff ourselves until we’re positive we’re going to burst.
Inside the dark, candlelit restaurant, I give the hostess my name. While she’s checking for the table number, I glance around, and it occurs to me that not only do I have no idea what this girl looks like, I don’t even know her name.
Goes to show how much I care about this date, I suppose.
But when the hostess smiles and asks me to follow her, I run a hand over my hair and make an effort not to look sad or angry. It’s not this girl’s fault things are such a mess with Willow.
