Page 23 of Imperfect Match (Imperfect Match 1)
“Kandace.”
“Yeah. Kandace. Good old Kandy. Remind me to make sure she can cook. I can’t let my intergalactic godbaby starve.” He shoves a bite into his mouth. “What’s she look like, anyway?”
“She’s very pretty. I can show you a picture after dinner.” I poke at my casserole while a small part of me wishes I’d chosen someone slightly less beautiful.
I’m not hungry at all anymore.
There’s a weird lump of something in my stomach the next day when I pick up the phone to call Kandace McMillan. It’s not dread, exactly—I have no reason to think this won’t go well. After dinner last night, I showed Reid her profile and he agreed she was pretty and sounded interesting. “A hot physical therapist who enjoys baking, craft cocktails, and reading graphic novels?” He nodded enthusiastically. “I might actually like this one.”
I stare at her photograph. She’s pretty, but is she really hot? I wonder. I mean, she has freckles dusting her nose and cheeks, just like I do. I’ve always hated my freckles—the curse of fair skin. That’s not hot, is it? And yes, she has long, thick, honey-colored hair, but maybe Aspen was right about her eyes. They do look a little glazed, although they’re a stunning shade of blue. And her mouth is full and soft.
Without thinking, I pull a compact from my desk drawer and analyze my face. Are my brown eyes less alluring? Are my freckles more noticeable? More homely? Is my blond hair too ashy? I smile ghoulishly at my reflection. Are my teeth as white? As straight? Are my lips as plush and inviting? If they were, would he have kissed me the other night?
Angry with myself, I snap the compact shut and pick up the phone. This isn’t about you, I tell myself. Get a grip.
Kandace doesn’t answer, so I leave a message. “Hello, this is Willow from My Heart’s Desire, and I’m thrilled to tell you I’ve found a fantastic potential match for you. He’s a smart, funny, handsome ad executive, and he’d love to meet you for a drink Thursday after work. Can I set that up? Give me a call back and let me know. Hope you’re having a great day!”
I end the call and set my phone down, noting that the lump has grown bigger. Determined to ignore it, I busy myself with other work tasks—clearing my email inbox, reviewing new profiles, checking on our social media ads. About an hour later, Kandace calls back.
“Wow, he sounds great,” she gushes. “I’d love to meet him. What’s his name?”
“Reid,” I tell her, placing a hand over my belly, where that stupid blob of anxiety is still lodged. “Reid Fortino.”
“Reid Fortino,” she says dreamily, like she’s already picturing herself signing checks as Kandace Fortino.
“Can you meet at The Darling at six?” I ask her, naming a quiet, classy place that’s perfect for craft cocktails and conversation. “I’ll make a reservation for you in the library there.”
“Ooooh, I’ve been wanting to go there. Yes, that sounds perfect.”
“Great. I’m sending you a link to his profile now, so you’ll know him when you see him. He’ll be sent yours as well.”
“Thank you so much, Willow. I’m so excited.” She giggles. “I haven’t even met him yet and I’ve got a great feeling about this!”
“Me too,” I say, and it isn’t exactly a lie. I do have a great feeling about them. On paper, they’re a perfect match. In person, I have no doubt they’ll find each other attractive. She seems outgoing and genuine, and he’ll probably charm the pants off her right from the get-go.
So why am I hoping Thursday never arrives?
Seven
Reid
“Where’s that white shirt you bought on Saturday? The one I liked with the camel sweater.” Willow rummages around in my closet while I watch from my bed.
“I don’t know. I might not have even taken that stuff out of the bags yet.” I’m lying on my side, one hand propped under my ear, trying not to stare. She’s in a shitty mood today, but she looks adorable. She’s wearing some kind of fuzzy sweater that’s also a dress, and even though it’s baggy as fuck, it’s nice and short.
“Reid!” She turns around and parks her hands on her hips. “They’re probably all wrinkled now.”
“So I’ll iron them. I’ve got almost two hours before I’m meeting what’s-her-face.” Ironing is the only domestic skill I have, but right now I really don’t feel like doing anything but watch her stomp around my room, muttering to herself about what a hopeless case I am.
“Kandace, her name is Kandace.”
I shrug because it doesn’t really matter what her name is, it’s not going to last past the first date anyway. So instead of arguing with Willow, I just go back to watching her. She’s wearing these tall boots I like. They cover up a lot of her legs, but there’s just enough thigh showing between the tops of the boots and the bottom of the dress to drive me a little crazy. When she finds the bags of new clothes in the corner of my room, she bends over to grab them, giving me an even better view.
I’m probably going to hell, but ever since Sunday night, when I tackled her in her bedroom, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about getting my hands on her. And my mouth. And various other body parts. I’ve jerked off to the memory of us on the floor a stupid number of times since then.
My fantasies end differently though. Instead of coming to my senses and going home, I tear that towel off her with my teeth and fuck her senseless right there on the rug. I give her the best orgasm she’s ever had, and I know it for a fact because afterward she says to me in this breathy voice, “Oh, Reid, that was the best orgasm I’ve ever had. Your dick is just amazing.”
Alas. Real life is a little less sexy.
