Page 7 of Imperfect Match (Imperfect Match 1)
The elevator dings at our floor and the door opens. “Fine, Reid. You agree to go at this match thing with an open mind, and I will put off my appointment at the fertility clinic.”
“And rethink that plan,” I add as we walk down the hall toward our apartments. “I can’t even believe your mother is okay with it.”
“My mother wants grandkids, and it’s as clear to her as it is to me that it’s not going to happen the usual way.” She pulls her keys from her bag. “Why can’t you just support me?”
“I can. I do. I just …” How can I explain it to her without sounding like a possessive asshole? I’m not even sure why I hate the idea so much. I love Willow and I want her to be happy. If having a baby on her own will make her happy, why can’t I just shut up and support her? We reach our doors, and I grab her arm before she puts her key in the lock. “Look, I’m sorry. But you know I can’t keep my mouth shut when I have something to say, especially when it pertains to you.”
She snorts. “True story.”
“So do we have a deal? I go on some dates with whoever you choose and you hold off on the intergalactic insemination?”
A smile tugs her lips. “Intrauterine insemination.”
“Whatever.”
“Yes, we have a deal. But while you and the future Mrs. Fortino are planning your wedding, I will be moving forward at the fertility clinic, and I’ll expect your full support.”
My stomach heaves, but I hold out my hand and we shake on it.
Although there is no way in hell I am letting any of that shit go down.
Three
Willow
He shook on it!
I sort of can’t believe it. Reid can be mouthy and obnoxious and way too cocky for his own good, but I’ve never known him to break a promise or renege on a deal. Success—and a brand new purpose in life—would be mine.
All I have to do is find Reid a match.
“Hey, what are you doing later? You want to come over and watch Netflix or something? Get some food?” I ask him as I’m unlocking my door. The more time I can spend secretly probing his brain, the closer I’ll be able to get to his ideal woman.
“Sure. I don’t have any plans tonight.”
I grin at him over my shoulder. “There’s a shock.”
He pokes me in the ribs. “Like your dance card is so full these days? When’s the last time you even went on a date?”
“Why should I bother with dates when I have vodka and This Is Us right here at home? My night would end exactly the same, but this way I can cry on my couch without having to put on my skinny jeans first.”
He shakes his head. “I am not watching any more of that show.”
“Then I’m not feeding you. And you’ll be sad because I’m making one of your favorites.”
His eyes light up. “The ziti?”
“The ziti,” I confirm.
“Damn.” He frowns, and I can see him weighing a giant plateful of baked ziti against suffering through my favorite Friday night show. “Okay, fine. I’ll come.”
I give him a satisfied smile and opened my door. “I knew you would. Come over in an hour.”
Scowling like a little boy, he grumbles something I don’t catch, and I shut the door in his face.
I’m still smiling after I’ve changed out of my work clothes into plaid flannel pants and a big, sloppy gray sweatshirt. Nothing better than getting out of heels and a bra at the end of the day. I toss my hair into a messy bun and head for the kitchen, where I put the ziti together.
While I work, I put MSNBC on my iPad, which is propped on my cookbook easel, but I don’t really pay attention to the news. I’m carefully cataloging everything I know about Reid Fortino, and trying to see him in a different light. A romantic light.
