Page 87 of Imperfect Match (Imperfect Match 1)
“Thanks, Mom,” I say and then sniff because I thought the same about Reid.
She heads to the door, opens it, and then looks back at me. “I’m sorry if my pushing you and Reid together caused you pain, sweetheart. I really thought that you two were going to be a perfect match.”
My eyes well with tears. “There’s no such thing as perfect. We were imperfect from the start.”
Twenty-Four
Reid
It’s been a really shitty day. Not that there’s been a good day since Willow and I broke up. Each day is just one more step down on the descent into hell. I keep waiting for it to get better, but it doesn’t.
Tonight, I had a dinner meeting that ran later than expected, not that I have any big reason to rush home, but I haven’t slept in three days and I’m fucking beat. Now, it’s almost nine and I’m just getting to the building.
The only high point is that Leo has improv class, which means I don’t have to listen to his unwelcome relationship advice. It would benefit us both if before he spoke, he remembered he lives with me thanks to his last fuck-up of a relationship, but then he wouldn’t be Leo.
I grab the mail from the box and get in the elevator, brooding as I flip through the huge stack. I asked Leo to pick up the mail this week, but clearly he ignored me.
Bill. Another bill. Oh, look, more fucking bills, and a greeting card with no return address.
I start to open the card, curious as to who the hell sent me something, when the doors start to close. Before they do, I hear someone yell and a hand reaches into the space between them. “Hold the elevator!”
And the shitty day I was having just hit rock bottom.
It’s Willow. She gets on the elevator and stands there, blond hair in a ponytail, wearing a pencil skirt, white blouse, and a pair of running shoes. The cause of all my misery, sleeplessness, anxiety.
She’s fucking beautiful.
More beautiful than my worthless mind has been recalling every goddamn minute.
She’s just … more.
“Oh.” Her soft voice squeaks as her eyes meet mine. “Sorry, I can just take the next one.”
As much as I’d like that because being trapped in a small space with her will be my equivalent of hell, I attempt a lazy smile and chuckle. “Don’t be ridiculous, Wills. We’re going to run into each other.”
She bites her lower lip and looks down. “Right. Okay. We’ll just rip the Band-Aid off now so it won’t hurt later.”
She says that as if it’s just a scrape.
That’s not what the loss of her is. No, this is a big, gaping, raw, open wound that stitches can’t hold together. It’s as though a part of my body is missing and it hurts, but I don’t tell her that. “Exactly.”
Willow leans against the wall on the opposite side. We start to climb, and I swear to God this is the slowest elevator in the city of Chicago. I don’t even think we’re moving. The silence in here is uncomfortable and you could cut the tension with a knife.
She’s right here in front of me. I could touch her if I just reached out a little. I clench my fists to keep myself from doing just that because I don’t have that right anymore. Willow Hayes isn’t mine. She wants what I can’t give her and what I don’t deserve.
Instead, I get to just look at her and hate myself a little bit more. I wish I could see her eyes, though. The way she used to look at me could be enough to hold me over for a few hours at least. Her smile might give me a whole night of peace.
I deserve at least that, right?
“So,” I say, waiting for her gaze to lift.
And it does and my chest fucking aches. “So …”
Get knocked up yet? Decide you don’t want kids and you’ll come back to me? Are you okay after that asshole you fell in love with turned out to be a douchebag?
“How’s work?” I ask.
Her lips part and she stares at me for a second. “Umm, it’s fine. What about you?”
