Page 40 of Imperfect Match (Imperfect Match 1)
“I know what I’m doing,” I insist, pushing past him.
But it’s not exactly true.
I text her around one that afternoon.
* * *
Me: Drink after work? My treat.
* * *
Willow: I’m meeting friends for dinner.
* * *
Is she really? Or is it an excuse not to see me because she’s worried I’m going to try to sleep with her again? I tell a fib to get her to meet with me.
Me: I’ve got dinner plans too. We can make it quick.
* * *
Willow: Oh, okay then. Where?
* * *
Me: The Kerryman? Six?
* * *
Willow: Sounds good.
I set my phone aside and concentrate on work for the rest of the day, but she’s on my mind a lot. If I close my eyes, I see her beneath me. Then I inhale, and I swear I can still smell her. I get caught doing that once, by my secretary.
“Everything okay?” she asks from the doorway of my office.
My eyes fly open and I cough. “Yes. Just … thinking deep thoughts.” Deep, penetrative thoughts.
“Okay,” she says, giving me a strange look.
At twenty to six, I leave work and walk over to the Kerryman, again feeling like the cool air will do me good. Every time I think of her, I get all hot beneath my clothes. And even though I snapped at my brother this morning, deep down I know he’s not wrong—I do have a temper, and it gets the better of me sometimes. I tend to let my emotions run roughshod over my rational thoughts. So a few deep breaths of crisp autumn air might be helpful.
When I arrive, she’s already there, sitting at the busy bar and nursing a glass of whiskey on the rocks. There are no empty seats near her.
“Hey,” I say, putting my hand on her shoulder.
“Hey.” She turns and looks at me. Her smile seems tentative. “Sorry there isn’t another stool.”
“No problem. I can stand.” The bartender comes by, and I order a pint of Guinness. “How was your day?”
“Good.” She nods a little too enthusiastically. “Yours?”
“Good.” My beer arrives, and both of us take a sip of our drinks. “I was thinking we could talk about what happened last night … and this morning.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she says quickly, dropping her eyes to the bar. “We need to forget it happened.”
“Hey. Look at me.”
When she doesn’t, I set down my beer and take her chin in my hand, forcing her to meet my eyes. “I will never forget last night, not in a million fucking years. It meant everything to me.”
