Scoring the Boss: Mr. Match Book 4

by Stewart, Delancey

  He looked at me a long minute and then nodded. "The odds of anything real coming from this are slim anyway," he said. "Not that either of us is looking for that." This part was added quickly, and I could sense Max's guard coming back up.

  I should have been glad to see him coming to his senses. But I felt a twinge of disappointment instead. "Right. I mean, if it happened, that'd be one thing, but I'm not looking for anything. And it can't be you."

  "Of course not," he said, but as he said it, he lifted a hand, pushed it into the hair at the side of my face, cupping my jaw lightly. His other hand came up to trace my bottom lip with a feather touch. "It can't be me."

  I was in his lap a second later, kissing him for all I was worth, realizing my life was as much a disastrous mess as Max's house.

  Chapter 20

  Taking Tesla’s Name in Vain

  Max

  Tate left my house just before noon. We managed to have one more round in the living room, during which we broke only one thing—a glass bowl that had been sitting on the coffee table. It wasn't anything valuable, and if it had been, it would have been worth it.

  The thing about Tate was that every time with her might be the last time with her—there was so much hanging over our heads, so many reasons why each of us assured ourselves and the other that this was wrong. Or more specifically, that it just couldn't be right.

  But once we touched, it didn't seem to matter.

  All my mathematical arguments sifted to sand when Tate's eyes held mine, when her hands slid over my skin.

  An uncomfortable pressure had begun in my chest at some point during the night, something warm and unfamiliar and not totally unpleasant. I was doing my best to ignore it, but it was the thing keeping me from being rational that morning, driving me to keep her close, to show her again and again how our bodies fit, even if our minds weren't as sure.

  I didn't know what was happening between us, only that we needed it to stop. Tate’s career was at stake, and I knew whatever we shared wouldn’t last. It was physical and fleeting, and for both our sakes, I needed to stop it.

  Only, I didn't think I could.

  "You're an idiot," Cat said when I went to the gallery that afternoon.

  "Thanks," I said. "You do remember that all my test scores were significantly higher than yours, right?"

  Cat rolled her eyes. The gallery was slow and we had a few minutes to lounge in the ridiculously comfortable blue chairs that sat near the register. "This isn't about math, Max."

  "Everything is when you boil it down." Which was why Tate and I did not make sense.

  "What you're feeling in here," she said, leaning forward to poke me in the chest. "Feelings. These things called emotions. Not governed by math. Or logic. More like chemistry."

  "Because you're an expert in chemistry."

  "Will you shut up for a minute?" Cat leaned back into the plush fabric of the chair. "You're fighting it because you don't understand it. But this is exactly how love is supposed to happen, Max. Just because you found a way to shortcut it that has worked for lots of people doesn't mean it can't still happen the old fashioned way for you."

  "I have tried that way before. In college." A flare of hot embarrassment washed through me.

  "Oh God, is this about Samantha the gymnast?"

  I scowled at her. "That was serious. And I learned a really important lesson."

  Cat sighed as if this conversation was pushing her to the limits of her patience. "Max. Has it ever occurred to you that your twenty-something raging-hormone-filled college-idiot self was just infatuated? Being ridiculously flexible and good in bed doesn't make a woman your match. You of all people should know this. That girl was not your soul mate, no matter what you thought back then. If you bumped into her today, would you have anything to talk about? Did you have anything to talk about back then?"

  "We didn't talk much." My relationship with Samantha had been largely about her flexibility. But my heart still twisted when I thought about her. "I loved her."

  "You didn't. You'd never really been in a relationship. You were learning. You might have lusted after her, maybe been caught up in the idea of love. Trust me, I've been there a million times. It's still hard when it ends, but it isn't love."

  I shook my head, even though there was something in her words that struck me as valid. The feeling I'd been having around Tate wasn't like what I'd felt for Samantha. I liked Tate's long legs, particularly when wrapped around my waist with my cock buried inside her, but even if that was off the table, I'd still be feeling something for her. I realized I wanted Tate even without the sex. But the sex was... well, it was incredible.

  "Look, it's early. Spend some time with her. Sort through what you're feeling, but don't force yourself to define it. Just get to know her. Maybe she'll say something horrible about Nikola Tesla and that will be that."

  "She wouldn't dare," I said, laughing. Tesla was a hero of mine. If Tate were to take his name in vain, it was possible things would be over between us. But I suspected even that wouldn't quash whatever growing desire I was feeling. I dropped my head into my hands. "This doesn't make any sense. I'm used to dealing in shit that makes sense." My chest ached at the thought of not holding Tate again, not getting to touch her. What was that?

  "Have you gotten her to fill out a profile yet? Maybe you're a perfect mathematical match. And then if you are, you can just relax."

  "And if we're not?" I wasn’t sure how much it mattered, but I had to stick to my guns, right?

  "Really, who cares?"

  "Cat. Do you know me at all?"

  "How about this ... just let it happen. Just see where it goes. Maybe it doesn't matter, if what you're saying about her job is true. If she isn't willing to risk it, to give things a chance romantically while she's running the show at Mr. Match, then you'll have this time to just get to know each other. When the pressure's off at work, you can figure everything out."

  "So maybe I shouldn't run the profiles until then." I could do that, I thought.

  "That makes sense to me. Just be casual. See where things go on their own."

  "So not my style," I said.

  "People change, Max."

  I left Cat's gallery feeling torn. Part of me wanted to go run our profiles immediately. Get answers to all the questions right now. But the bigger piece of me didn't want to know. Because what I'd felt this morning, with Tate next to me? That was something that might defy logical explanation, as hard as that was for me to accept or understand. And I didn't want to lose it yet.

  I knew Tate had work to do today, something about a call with her manager and some details about finalizing her position. I told myself not to bother her. She'd assured me as she left that she would call me later.

  It was going to be a very long day.

  Chapter 21

  Sex Talk with Mom. Ew

  Tate

  Mom was waiting in the back yard when I got home, sitting with a cup of coffee and Charlie at her feet.

  "You're back," she said, smiling and rising as I slid the screen open and stepped out to join her.

  Charlie leapt to his feet and smashed himself directly into me, nearly pushing me backward into the screen. I had to catch myself on the frame of the door to keep from toppling through it. "Hey, boy, calm down. I don't think the landlord would appreciate a Tate-sized hole in the screen."

  I rubbed my hands through Charlie's thick fur, and Mom laughed. "He might not mind so much."

  I forced my stomach not to lurch at Mom’s innuendo. Mom was happy. I could handle that. "So things are good?" I moved to the table and took a seat, and Charlie waited until I was seated and then dropped his big head into my lap, staring up at me with his huge adoring eyes. Even though my insides felt twisted and confused, I couldn't help but smile at Charlie's clear and open affection. Why couldn't all relationships be so simple?

  "Things are good," Mom said, though her voice wasn't as light and breezy as it had been just a second ago.

 
"Your dating life is pretty exciting suddenly," I said.

  Mom looked over at me and pressed her lips into a little frown, and then dropped her eyes as her shoulders rounded slightly. "Yes."

  "Mom?" She wouldn't meet my eye now. "Isn't that a good thing?" Worry spiked inside me, my protective instincts kicking in.

  She sniffed. "I don't know."

  "I thought you were having fun. Is everything okay?" She looked so sad suddenly, I didn't know what to do. Charlie lifted his head, and cocked it to one side, as if he was thinking about something, taking in the shift in my mother's mood. Then he shifted his position slightly and dropped his head again, into Mom's lap this time.

  "Oh!" she said, surprised by the sudden appearance of giant dog head. "Charlie!" she said, but the annoyance in her tone wasn't real, and Charlie could sense her softening toward him too. He made a little rumbling noise and stayed right where he was. After a second, Mom dropped her hands into his fur and began stroking him.

  "Everything is good, Tate," Mom said after petting Charlie for a few seconds. "It's just ... everything has changed so fast. Good changes, I think." She looked up at me, her eyes shining. "Sometimes I just miss your dad. The life we had."

  My heart twisted a little inside my chest. "Of course you do. I miss him too." I thought about the relationship they’d had, wistful both for the safety it had afforded me and for the belief I’d had in that kind of easy love.

  We sat quietly for a moment and petted the big brown dog between us, giving our silent thoughts to my dad.

  Then Mom said, "Tell me about Max."

  It was my turn to sigh, and Charlie lifted his head giving me a look that said, "Do I need to come back over there?"

  "He's a client." I wanted to be able to say that and nothing more. I wanted to feel that and nothing more, but I'd complicated things so completely I didn't know where to begin sorting through my thoughts and feelings about it all. "And I slept with him. And I have feelings for him that are not professional."

  Mom was grinning widely and bouncing in her seat.

  "Mom, that's not a good thing. My entire career—everything I've worked for—could be at risk. If anyone at work found out, I'd be ruined."

  The smile notched down a couple degrees, but didn't fade. "You're a long way from Palo Alto, Tate."

  I opened my mouth to tell her that wasn't the point, but Mom raised a hand, and Charlie looked at me again, and I swear he gave me a girl-hold-your-tongue look.

  "I wasn't done," Mom said. "Just listen. I know you have spent a lot of years building your career. And I'm so, so proud of you. You're smart and beautiful and fierce, and you've made your way in a competitive world where people told you maybe you couldn't do it." She took a breath, looked worried for a second. "But you've built yourself a little empire at work, and I don't think you're happy. You go home to an empty house, you spend your evenings working and thinking about work—"

  "I crochet and run,” I pointed out, feeling a little bit attacked.

  "Solitary pursuits, Tate. You're alone too much. I know I've pushed you in the past to try to get married again, build a family. And that's a little bit selfish of me because I'd love to be part of a family again. But it's more than that. I want you to be surrounded by love, to be with people who appreciate you and build you up, to have part of your world be something you don't have to fight so hard for all the time."

  A little pang echoed through my chest. I wanted all that too, but it wasn’t the point. "Mom, none of this has anything to do with Max, with what's happening here. I want all that too, but he's a client."

  "For now, maybe. But this is the first time in years I've seen your cheeks glow this way. It's the first time in forever that you've stayed out all night, and that's so unlike you that I know there's something to this." Mom’s words ignited a completely unwelcome flicker of hope in my heart.

  "It doesn't matter. It can't happen."

  "Not if you keep telling yourself that. What if you took off the rigid self-control for a little while, Tate? What if you just lived by feel, did what felt good, let yourself enjoy something?"

  "I think you just described chaos," I said, standing because the energy zipping around inside me wouldn't let me sit anymore. I stepped around behind my chair and looked around the perfect little grassy yard, up at the bright blue San Diego sky. "People can't just act on emotion all the time. Nothing would ever get done."

  "My point is that you never let yourself go. I think, if you and Max are enjoying each other, that it would be possible for you to just let things happen and see where they go. You're away from the office, and I know you much too well to believe that becoming involved romantically, or sexually, if that's all this is—"

  "Mom!" My cheeks heated. I couldn't look at my mother while she talked about my sex life.

  "Sorry, but we're both adults now. We can talk about sex."

  "We cannot talk about sex, Mom." I might have liked to, but I could feel myself reverting to a twelve-year old version of me who did not want to talk about anything like that with my mother. Ew.

  "Live this life, Tate. It's the only one we get." Her voice was quieter, pleading. I looked at her. "Just let yourself live, honey. If we learned anything from Dad, I hope it was that. It's all over too soon. Live before it is."

  I blew out a breath, the wild tumult inside me slowing a bit at her words as sadness welled up in me again.

  Dad had taught us that, I thought. And he had lived before he had to leave. If I died tomorrow, would I be able to say that about myself?

  I wanted to know Max better. I wanted to spend more time with him. I wanted to sleep with him again.

  And maybe ... maybe it was worth the risk.

  Chapter 22

  Big Dogs and Sweat-Covered Eleven-Year-Old Unicorns

  Max

  Tate texted me late Thursday night after I spent a day checking my phone every fifteen minutes like a unicorn-obsessed eleven-year old girl waiting to find out if a boy liked me or not. Her message was just a simple hello, asking about my day and letting me know that Monday would be the official start of her tenure as CEO. I'd responded professionally, oddly disappointed but refusing to admit it, and left it at that. I sensed maybe we both needed a little distance to figure out what exactly we felt about everything that had happened between us.

  Mostly I felt like I'd like to do it all again as soon as fucking possible.

  But I knew getting in deeper was probably a bad idea.

  We could keep things professional. At least that's what I was telling myself. And if that was what Tate decided too, then that would be that.

  I'd checked in with Megan earlier in the day, let her know I wouldn't be around the office until the following week. Friday and Saturday I'd be helping out with some of the other players up in Oceanside—there was a Stars charity tournament and Tallulah had asked if I could get a few of our guys up to volunteer.

  That night I turned in early—turns out staying up all night having sex and demolishing your house can take a lot out of a guy. I’d spent part of the day fixing the bookcase and curtains. And Friday morning had me up early on a long run.

  The marine layer hung thick over the coast that morning, and the cooler air was welcome as I hit mile eight and got close to my reward—Joe's coffee. I'd run long enough to kill my ability to think too hard about anything beyond the rhythm of my body driving ahead, the searing pull of air through my lungs, my need to fucking get there. This was my job, after all. But as Joe's came in sight, something else began to push its way into my mind.

  Someone else.

  Someone tall and lean with long legs and a huge shaggy brown dog at her side. Someone wearing running tights and a t-back tank, laughing as she tried to control the huge mass of fur at the end of her leash.

  Tate.

  I stopped before she saw me and tried to cool down, jogging lightly in place and stretching a little, never letting the woman and dog out of my sight. She was running along the water's edge, but th
e huge dog kept pulling her toward the little waves rolling onto shore. Charlie, it seemed, wanted to swim.

  I tried to pull myself together, and as soon as I could take a full breath, I turned off the path and began to cross the sand toward them. I didn't have a plan, hadn't figured out what to say. But it was like I didn't have a choice. There was no way I could have played it cool, just let them go by and pretended I didn't see them. My body was pulled toward Tate like a magnet.

  "Hey," I said, coming to a stop where Tate had stopped running and was trying to keep Charlie from barreling into the water.

  She glanced at me, wary, and then her face cleared and broke into a huge smile. "Hey."

  My heart squeezed and danced.

  Fuck. Stop it. I am not an eleven-year old girl.

  "So," I said, trying to keep it casual and mostly failing. "This must be Charlie."

  Upon hearing his name, the big dog turned his massive head and gave me an evaluative look with his huge eyes, the mouth hanging slightly open in a doggy smile. He gave one more look to the ocean, which was clearly beckoning him, and then trotted over to head butt me in the hip.

  "That's how he says hi," Tate said. "You're lucky he didn't jump on you and smash his wet face into your neck."

  Charlie must've thought that was a suggestion, because a second later, his paws were on my shoulders and his sloppy wet mouth was pressed between my shoulder and my face.

  "Oh, okay, hi," I said, taking a step back. The dog must've weighed over a hundred pounds. "He's huge," I laughed, petting him. "You weren't kidding."

  "Right?" she said. "And now he's decided we should both swim. My shoes are wrecked."