As the girl and dog made their way down the path, the dog racing back and forth, the girl texting, Fia stood up. “Well.”
“Ready to go shopping?”
“What, right now?”
“Did you have plans?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Well, I was going to shower and then work.”
“That seems pretty dull, especially since you could be learning about the exciting world of food-pilfering, Fia. Take a risk. Come on.” He held out his hand. The sun glinted off his dark hair and his eyes sparkled, and Fia suddenly wanted nothing more than to take his hand and everything he offered.
She slid her palm into his. “Okay. Fine. But I’m pretty sure I’m going to win.”
“Take my car and I’ll drive you home?”
She nodded. “Okay.”
“D-Man! You missed poker the past three weeks, you motherfucker.” The two men engaged in a loose, back-slapping hug and smiles and something complicated with a handshake.
Fia, feeling awkward in the grocery store in her running gear and dried sweat, was second-guessing her decision to come here at all.
“Come on in. Hey, I’m Jake Adams.” Dylan’s friend stuck out his hand. “I’m the owner and manager here.”
“I’m Fia.” She smiled at him. “Nice to meet you.” She looked around the cramped office, which seemed to also be a storage room and janitor closet. She wondered if it would be okay to make jokes about the health code.
Jake’s eyes flitted from Fia to Dylan and back, and she was sure he was wondering about their status.
“So, man, Fia and I have this question for you.” Dylan sat down in a visitor’s chair. “Fia, you want to explain it?”
“No, please, you do the honors.” She waved her hand. “Just, Jake, we need you to be honest. I’m not an undercover food narc, so keep that in mind when you formulate your reply.” She leaned up against the side of Dylan’s chair without thinking, and rested her hand on his shoulder. It just felt natural, like it was not just okay, but expected.
“Not an undercover food narc.” Jake smiled. “I like that in a person. Fia, you’re cool.”
She smiled. “I try. Actually, I’ll ask the question. I’m not sure I trust him.” She emphasized the him and pointed at Dylan, who gave an exaggerated sigh and rolled his eyes, then put his hands up in a why-me-God pose. “So. Listen. We were wondering if it ever happens that employees eat some of the food that comes into the grocery store that is meant for customers? Like, produce? Berries? You don’t do that, right? I’m sure it’s against some kind of protocol.”
Jake burst out into laughter. “You’re asking me if workers sneak food?”
She flushed. “Yes.”
“They’re not allowed to do it, of course. They know they can be fired for that.”
“So the answer is no. They don’t.” She shot a triumphant gaze at Dylan. “See?”
“Except that sometimes I look the other way when it comes to produce,” added Jake. “Like in summer, when we get the berries in? Sometimes the crates are full of strawberries that are overripe and ready to rot, and if they’re tagged for go-back, I don’t mind if the guys snag a few here and there.”
Fia’s face fell. “What?”
“Like we used to do, in college. Remember?” Jake pointed at Dylan. “This man right here, he was the worst. I think he ate his weight in produce.”
“What can I say? A guy’s got to stay regular.” Dylan laughed.
“Wait, Dylan used to work at a grocery store? I never knew that. You didn’t tell me that.” She gave him a pointed stare.
“I guess it wasn’t on the intake survey.” He smirked at her. “But I win the bet. So you’re gonna have to pay up.” His voice took on a husky tone that made her feel weak and melty.
“Intake survey, haha. You guys are cute. How long have you been…” Jake circled his hand in a gesture that must have meant either “dating” or “fucking”.
“Oh, no, we’re not—” started Fia, just as Dylan said, “Fia is my pimp of choice these days. She deals in the best chicks.”
“Wait, what? Too much information!” Jake laughed. “So you’re together? Or what?”
“I’m his matchmaker,” Fia said. “On TV.”
“You lost me.” Jake blinked at her.
Dylan’s voice was taut. “The show I’m on, the morning show. We’re doing a segment on matchmaking, and Chelsea wanted me to try out two places, two matchmaking services, for her ‘Who Does It Better’ segment. So Fia is one of the matchmakers.”
“Oh, I thought maybe you met at your gall—”
Dylan cut him off. “We met on the show.”
“Oh, I totally misunderstood!” Jake looked at the both of them in turn, his face showing disbelief. “Uh, okay. I get it now. Sure.” He wrinkled his brow. “So is this part of the, ah, matching…thing?”
Fia shook her head. “We were just out running together and we started talking about grocery stores.”
“Sure, sure. That makes total sense.” Jake gave her a look. “But if it’s a bet, then I have to be totally honest and let you know that yes, people do eat food. And if it’s small enough, I don’t care. If it’s a bigger thing, I do care. So you guys do with that what you will.” He winked at Dylan.
“But he cheated! He knew the answer and pretended he didn’t,” protested Fia. “It’s not fair.”
“Life’s not fair, princess,” commented Dylan. “Time to pay up.” He stood up and looked at her, and offered his hand. “Ready to go?”
“So what did you bet, anyway?” asked Jake.
“That’s private,” said Dylan, just as Fia burst in with, “nothing” and turned red.
“Haha. I think I better start watching your show for this matchmaking thing,” said Jake. “I’m intrigued.” He glanced at his watch. “I gotta run—overseeing a delivery from a new vendor. Thanks for stopping by, man. We gotta get together for a drink. Next week?”
“Sounds good.” Dylan stepped in and the two men redid their bro-style hug and hand-clasp, and then Jake waved them off as they exited his office.
“So.” Dylan shot her a look as he gestured to his Porsche. “Get in and tell me where you want to go.” The words were innocent, but the look he gave her was hungry, and she flushed, thinking of what she wanted from him. Take me to your house. Fuck me into next week.
Instead, she slid into the seat that cupped her body and attached her seat belt, inhaling the aroma of new car and Dylan’s scent. “I’m about twenty minutes from here. Sure you don’t want to drop me at the bus?”
He laughed. “Give me your address. Trust me, I can get there in ten.”
True to his word, navigating the city streets like an Italian race-car driver, he slid into her driveway a mere ten minutes later. He left the engine running and looked at her across the seat. “You going to invite me in?”
She took a breath. “For coffee?” and gave him a wry look.
He smiled. “If that’s what you’re offering, then yes.”
“I told you that I think anything else is not a good idea.”
“With words, yes. But your eyes tell me something else, Fia.” His voice was low and persuasive, and damn it if he wasn’t right. He was reading her, and he wasn’t out of line, not with the way desire surged through her body.
“My eyes don’t speak, Dylan.” She tried to make her voice sarcastic, but he leaned in.
“No? Are you sure? Mine do. See?”
He smiled at her and looked right into her eyes. “Mine are saying that I want that kiss I earned.”
“The one you cheated your way into, you mean,” she corrected, leaning closer, mesmerized by his gaze.
He reached out and ran the side of his hand down her cheek. “Agree to disagree.”
“No way.” She shuddered slightly as he put one hand on her neck, softly, not gripping, just holding.
“It’s that or a hundred dollars, Fia. And we both know you prefer the kiss.”
“I don’
t.”
“You sure?” His voice was a drawl, low and sexy. He spread out his fingers across the back of her neck and tugged just slightly. “Real sure?”
He leaned in again so his lips were nearly touching hers. “Tell me right now to back off, and I will. But if you want the kiss after all, I can do that, too.”
“I want the kiss,” she murmured, and grabbed his shoulders, and their lips met in a rush, a clash, mouths pressing together, tongues tangling. His hands were in her hair, on her shoulders, pulling her closer, and her hands were on his abs, those fucking delicious abs, under his shirt, pressing into his hard muscles.
“Fuck,” he whispered, and brushed her breast with one hand, playing with the nipple through the fabric of her shirt and bra. “You feel so fucking good.”
“So do you.” She was frantic to touch him, more of him, all of him. She grabbed his hard thigh and pressed her palm into it, ran her hand back over his ribs and stomach. “Dylan.”
In reply, he pulled her over the console, onto his lap. It was awkward in the narrow sports car and her legs twisted up; he slid a hand down her thigh and she murmured her assent into his open mouth. The kiss deepened, Fia falling into a trance. He smelled so damn sexy, his musky odor mixed with his deodorant—maybe that shouldn’t be hot, but it fucking was. She licked along his neck and he growled, then bit her on the neck, once and then harder when she pressed her body into him.
“Can I come in?” He ran his fingers up her leg to the joint of her thighs and pressed lightly, and they both knew what he meant. She wanted it more than anything, but when she opened her eyes and remembered where they were, she pulled away, putting her hand to her mouth.
“I want to, but I can’t. I should go.” She struggled to get back into her seat, and he automatically reached to help her arrange her legs and arms until she was back in her own bucket. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to be sorry.” His voice was mild. “I’m not.”
“We can’t do this, Dylan.” She felt near tears for reasons she didn’t understand.
“You said that. But we started doing it anyway, and we both liked it.” He touched her leg. “Fia, I’m really attracted to you, and I think you feel the same way. It’s not wrong to enjoy that.”
“Not normally, but in this situation, it’s not exactly right, either. I’m finding you dates, Dylan! If we mess around, it’s just…weird.”
He gave a noncommittal shrug. “People are allowed to date more than one person at a time, Fia. I don’t think anyone at your service signs an exclusivity agreement, nor would that even be enforceable. Am I right? Do you ask your women to date nobody but the one man you choose for them?”
“Of course not.” She rubbed her lip. “No. And the men, they don’t do that either.”
“So?”
“But for me, personally, as the owner of the company? Come on, you have to admit it’s pretty inappropriate for me to actually sleep with the men I recommend to my women.”
He laughed. “Then don’t recommend me.”
“I have to. Under contract with Chelsea and the station, I have to provide you three or four dates, their choice on the number, and try to outmatch Connie.” She gave a long sigh. “And she’s got the right to film them all, and talk about the process on TV. If she even suspected that we were fooling around, she’d probably really trash-talk my business. Even if she didn’t, if people found out…then the women at my company? They’d never trust me again. Sol I have to say no to you.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“You said no, and I respect that. For the record, I don’t like it, but I respect it.” He raised one eyebrow. “So I guess I’ll see you Monday morning for the date recap.”
“I guess so.”
“So today we have more dates to review, my friends!” Chelsea strode up to the front of the small platform. “And the stakes are getting higher, people. Connie and Fia both outdid themselves this weekend trying to get Dylan the most perfect date possible. Let’s start with Connie’s date! Connie, tell us what we’re seeing here, ‘kay?”
Connie smiled. “Of course, Chelsea.” Wordless video started playing on the big screen. “So that’s Marissa, the woman I chose for Dylan for Saturday night. They’re having a romantic champagne toast during a hot air balloon ride.” The audience oohed as the woman and Dylan clinked glasses and kissed.
Fia wrapped her hands together, stopping when she realized she was pressing her fingernails too hard into her palms and was making marks.
Connie continued. “They had a great time, for sure. Lots of great conversation, according to my follow up with Marissa.”
Chelsea smiled. “Great job, Connie! You have a real knack for this. Now let’s look at the date picked out by Fia.”
The screen went blank, then a new video played, this time showing Dylan and Kellie aboard the yacht. Fia felt butterflies in her stomach. She needed to see Dylan having a good time to make her business look good.
“Look at that,” remarked Chelsea. “A dinner aboard a private dinner yacht. Very smooth! Love it! Let’s hear some of their conversation.”
Across from her, Dylan cleared his throat. When Fia looked at him, he gave her a guilty glance and looked away quickly. Fia’s stomach started to get that funny feeling, which felt worse when that fucking clown music started playing again.
“Shit,” she said under her breath as the video showed Kellie running to the rail and vomiting.
Dylan strolled over. “Seasick?” he asked her, his voice sympathetic. “I’m sorry. It happens to the best of us.”
Kellie might have appreciated the concern, but it was hard to tell, buried as her words were under a horrible retching sound. “Bleeechchch,” was all that Fia could make out.
“Probably don’t want to try the clams, then,” offered Dylan, patting Kellie on the back in a consoling way. “The garlic butter is pretty oozy right about now, sort of congealed, you know, because it’s been sitting there a while marinating? That might put you off—Oh, sorry, my bad. I’ll just be quiet now.”
Kellie, on the video, shot him a look of pure venom and hurled right onto his shoes.
The audience made an oooooh of horror and the video froze with that image, puke-spattered shoes, before going dark. Chelsea shook her head and tsked. “My, my,” she said, her voice full of apology. “That is a shame. Looks like poor Kellie gets seasick on small boats. You’d think a matchmaker would make it her business to know that. But hey, we all miss things once in a while! Right, Fia? What do you think about that?”
“I-I,” Fia had no idea what to say. Kellie hadn’t called her back this weekend even after multiple messages, but since Dylan had acted so “no big deal” about the date, she had not even considered this kind of nightmare situation. She figured Kellie was just swamped.
“You must not have known she got seasick, then?” Chelsea’s voice swam with fake sympathy.
“I’m—I had no idea she was seasick! I’m sure she didn’t, either. Many people don’t realize it. You know? It’s something that can take you by surprise. Or maybe she forgot to tell me.” She glared at Dylan. “Sometimes people should have maybe told you things, but neglected to do so, even when they had ample opportunity.” She smiled through gritted teeth. “But when I talked to Dylan, he said they had great conversation. Right, Dylan?”
“Well, let’s just take a little look-see, shall we?” Chelsea was nearly salivating with glee. The audience, already sensing that something good was on the way, engaged in a bout of anticipatory giggles that swelled and grew like ocean waves themselves—the very waves, Fia thought, that had turned Kellie from gellie into smellie.
“So this is before the unfortunate incident we just saw.”
The video played again, with sound. Or at least, Fia assumed there should have been sound, except Dylan and Kellie were not talking much. Or at all.
At least ten seconds went by with utter silence, broken only by lapping water and the
cry of a gull. Eventually Kellie spoke, her face slightly grainy in the video. “This is definitely a great boat.”
Dylan: “Sure is.”
Kellie: “Do you sail a lot?”
Dylan: “No.”
Kellie: Nothing.
Dylan: Nothing.
Kellie: Nothing.
Dylan: Still nothing.
Fia swallowed hard past a lump in her throat and forced herself not to cry. “Well,” she said brightly, “not everyone is going to be a match, and it’s important to get back out there and keep trying. You have to stay strong and just keep looking, because it’s the only way you’ll get to your perfect match. I applaud Dylan and Kellie for giving it a shot. Thanks for keeping an open mind, and I’ll try again next time.”
There was literally nothing more she could say! Twice. Twice in a row, Dylan had made her dates look like horrible messes, her service a stupid mockery.
God, what were people going to think? This wasn’t the kind of “any publicity” that was “good”. This was the kind of thing that would make people laugh and never sign up for her services. She’d be known as the Puke Date Master or something horrible!
She tried to glare at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring off camera, sort of past her.
“Now let’s hear from Dylan!” Chelsea slid over and bumped her thigh into his companionably. “Tell us about the two dates and the two women you met. I want to hear aaaaalll the deets. We want it all, right?” She turned to the audience, who wailed their agreement that yes, they wanted it all!
Dylan smiled, but to Fia it looked forced. “I was really sorry that Kellie got seasick,” he said, sounding genuine. “She was a truly lovely person and I was lucky to meet her. Marissa was great, too. So kudos to both matchmakers for finding really interesting, well-rounded dates for me.”
Chelsea narrowed her eyes. “Dylan, that’s not what I wanted. I want the juice! Don’t we want the juice?” She waved her hand as if trying to smell aromas from a cooking pot of sauce. “Audience! Help me out here!”
Perfect Match Page 9
