The other players were standing around watching the spectacle, and I recalled Max telling me that Johnson was sometimes hard to handle in the off season. The guy was huge—the Sharks keeper, I recalled—and he was laughing like a maniac.
“I hear he was even more rambunctious before he got engaged,” Rose said, watching the players.
That was hard to believe. I turned back to Rose, glad for the break so I could move conversation away from my family. “Rose, I’ll be honest. You don’t seem like you’d need Mr. Match to find you a guy.”
She laughed, but there wasn’t much humor in her face. “You’d be surprised.” She squinted for a moment, as if looking deep inside her mind for the next words she wanted to say. “I don’t have a lot of time to date,” she said. “And when I meet men out, at bars or at the beach, or whatever, they never seem to be quite the right type.”
“What’s the right type?” I found myself on the edge of my seat, hoping it was me. Which was ridiculous. I didn’t have time to date, either.
“I need someone who understands commitment to a goal, someone driven and focused who won’t resent me for being that way. I need a partner.” She delivered this last line, gazing squarely into my eyes again, and a thrill went through me.
Despite my complete inability to commit to anything right now, I found myself wanting Rose to ask me to commit to her. Maybe not forever, maybe just for tonight. “I get it,” I said honestly.
“But what I’m wondering,” she said. “Is why you would use a matchmaking service.”
The answer was pretty simple. “Max Winchell made me.”
“The Sharks forward?”
“Yeah.”
“Why does he care?”
I shrugged. “Honestly, I’m not sure. But we’ve been friends since elementary school, and a couple years ago he was on some kind of rampage to get everyone he knew to fill out a profile for this thing. Honestly? I think he’s got stock in the company or something.”
“Huh.”
“Yeah. Exactly. But I did it, and then I forgot about it. And I’ve never heard another word. Except for this thing tonight, which Max said was a Mr. Match event.”
“And you’re my match,” Rose said simply.
Except that Max had set this up, not Mr. Match. “I guess so,” I said, not too worried about the details now that Rose was here in front of me.
“I guess it just took a while for us to find a match,” she said, and my body thrilled at her words, even though I didn’t think I could be anyone’s match. Maybe we could be perfect for each other, but it could only be for tonight.
Chapter 5
This Tree Looks Comfy
ROSE
If you had asked me even five minutes before showing up at the ball tonight if a crab boat captain could possibly be my perfect match, I would have told you no. And I would have laughed.
But now?
A wispy thread of magic had blown in on the breeze tonight, twined itself around me, around Ash, and pulled us together. And though I didn’t believe in magic, I could feel it on my skin, in my body. The man next to me emanated a sexy confidence, along with a certain reassuring warmth. I had no doubt that he could handle anything that came across his path. I was also pretty sure there was something important in his life that he wasn’t telling me about.
But with his onyx eyes on me and a flush of hot anticipation rolling through me, I found I didn’t really care.
I’d always said I was too busy for a relationship, and that had not changed. But for the first time in a while, I found that I very much wanted to spend more time with a man. Even if it was only a few hours or a few days. It didn’t have to be forever, but I wanted to know everything there was to know about Ash. And I wanted to know every inch of his skin, too—and that was a feeling I definitely hadn’t had in a long time.
The Sharks had calmed down across the room, and Ash’s gaze was back on me. The party had filled up around us, and there were hundreds of people in formalwear glittering and sparkling beneath the glowing lights. The DJ was beginning to play, and I could feel the energy in the room ramping up.
Ash was watching me as I looked around the space. I could fee his gaze on my skin like a light shawl tracing over my shoulders, tickling my chin, and for maybe the first time in my life, I felt shy as I lifted my eyes back to his.
As soon as our eyes met, something in me locked into place, and Ash’s sexy smile lifted at the corners again.
“Do you want to dance, Rose?”
The DJ had begun to play “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.” The idea of being in Ash’s arms, pressed close to that hard broad chest was irresistible.
“Sure,” I said, slipping off the stool where I sat.
He held a hand out and I took it, warmth climbing through me the second our skin touched. As I walked with him toward the dance floor, I caught Lulu’s eyes through the crowd, and she grinned and lifted two thumbs up. I smiled back, surprised to find myself in this situation but unwilling to question it.
Ash stepped onto the dance floor and tugged my hand, pulling me into his arms. For a moment, it was awkward, my hands sliding slowly around him, tracing an unfamiliar path along the planes of muscle that made up this handsome man. But then his hand slipped around the small of my back, landing just above the curve of my ass, and the other wrapped across my shoulder, his broad palm spread across the center of my back.
We were so close I could breathe him in, and his scent was like wind across the ocean—fresh and wild, with an undercurrent of spice. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, and as he pulled me nearer, my cheek coming to rest on that broad hard chest, I closed my eyes, letting my mind free to wander.
Ash was huge, and being wrapped up in his arms made me feel small and safe, something I rarely craved. I was in charge most of the time, but I knew that with Ash, I didn’t have to be. At the same time, he didn’t seem like a guy who was threatened by my dominance—in fact, for the first time ever, I wondered if maybe I could be part of a matched pair.
“Is this okay?” he asked, loosening his grip slightly to let me move back enough to look up at his face. His dark eyes were hooded as he looked down at me, a light flush colored his neck and cheeks. Shit. He looked aroused, and the thought of it made my own body flush.
“It’s . . .” And I’d lost the ability to speak again.
He stared down at me, that sexy smile widening, and I was certain he knew exactly what I felt. His eyes dropped to my lips, and every muscle inside me coiled in anticipation. He was going to kiss me.
We weren’t dancing now, just standing on the dance floor, staring at one another as people moved around us and the music shifted to a George Michael holiday song.
I didn’t care what music played. My attention was focused on the mountain of sex standing in front of me, his hands on my body and his eyes on my lips in a predatory gaze. I pressed up onto the balls of my feet, decreasing the distance between us.
And that did it. Ash closed the distance, brushing his lips against mine in a slow exploration, asking a question I only had one answer to.
Yes.
He paused, and then he angled his mouth against mine, lightly at first and then more firmly, his arms tightening around me and that big hand on my low back dropping to brush my ass. I opened my mouth to him, and then I was lost in sensation. Tongues, breath, mouths and hands moved in a synchronized way that was half dance, half battle. This, I thought faintly, was what it was like to have a man who was your equal.
After a kiss that literally changed the way I thought about the world, Ash released me, and I stepped back, my chest heaving as I regained my breath.
The sexy smile was back, but I could see that the kiss had affected him too. He took my hand and pulled me away from the dance floor, back toward our table.
It was strange. I felt the world opening up before me, like a curtain had been lifted and revealed a realm of possibilities I never knew existed—had never even looked for. But now, suddenly,
hope filled my heart that maybe one of them could be real. I knew it was because I was suddenly considering what life might be like with a man at my side, not just any man, but my match. He might have been sixth, but Lulu was right.
It was possible that I’d met my match in Ash.
We danced off and on for another hour, talking and laughing like we’d known each other longer than just an evening. Eventually, the lights in the room dimmed a bit, and we moved back to our table, laughing.
As he pulled out the chair for me, my eyes scanned the room, and landed on a rumpled pile of boy-man half-leaning, half-lying on the wall behind him near the windows. Next to him was a very pretty young blond girl, wringing her hands and looking around with panic in her eyes. PJ and Becky.
Crap.
I glanced at Ash, and then back at PJ. The guy was a grown man. I could just leave the situation to resolve itself. God, I wanted this perfect night to go on. I wanted to see where it might end up. But PJ was my partner’s nephew. And so he was my responsibility.
And my responsibility was now vomiting into a potted evergreen tree in the corner as his date turned away, looking appalled.
“Hey, I think I have to go,” I said, standing and picking up my bag.
“You . . .?” Ash stood too, his smile faltering.
“I want to stay. I really, really do.” I squeezed his hand, trying to telegraph how completely I meant the words. “But I have a mess to attend to.” I nodded toward the mess that was PJ in the corner. “My assistant. My partner’s nephew. PJ. You met him earlier, only he was more upright then.”
Understanding cleared the concern from Ash’s face. “Ah. Right.” Ash followed me across the space to where PJ had decided to lie down beneath the tree. Becky was a loyal first date, still standing by.
“You’ve got your hands full,” I suggested, approaching her.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said, sounding a little panicky. “One minute he seemed totally sober, and then suddenly, it was like he melted!”
“It’s okay,” I told her as Ash began lifting PJ into a standing position. “I work with him. I can make sure he gets home.”
She looked unhappy, her eyes darting to PJ and then back to me. “I’m his boss,” I said, in case her concern was misplaced jealousy. “He works for me,” I emphasized.
“It’s just that . . .” More hand wringing. “Well, we didn’t exchange information yet.”
She wanted to see him again? After this? Well, good for PJ.
“Oh,” I said, understanding showing me a clear course of action. “Give me your number. I’ll text you his info and give him yours when he’s more . . . Conscious.” PJ was practically asleep, slumped against Ash.
Becky gave me her number.
“Do you have a way to get home?” I asked.
“Uber,” she shrugged, and ordered a ride.
“Okay. Well, it was nice to meet you. I’m sure I speak for PJ too.”
“So nice,” PJ slurred, surprising me.
“I’ve got it,” I told Ash, preparing myself to take PJ’s weight against my shoulder.
Ash frowned. “Let’s get your coat. I’ve got him.”
I didn’t argue, and soon we were outside, waiting for the Uber I’d called. We didn’t speak, and the cold night air worked to erase the soft sense of certainty I’d begun to feel inside. Ash was gorgeous and compelling. But he also lived in Alaska, and I wasn’t exactly going to walk away from my company. How would things even work if we pursued this?
The car pulled up and Ash helped PJ slide across the seat, the Uber driver giving me a dubious frown as I tucked PJ’s feet into the car.
“Well, I said to Ash. I guess it’s goodnight.”
He didn’t look happy, and something in his eyes made me want to press myself against him again. “You sure you have to go?”
“I can’t just send him off,” I said. “He’s my responsibility.”
Ash nodded lightly. “Okay then, Rose,” he said, and the sound of my name made me think he just wanted to hear the way it sounded from his lips, maybe test it one last time. “I really enjoyed meeting you.”
I waited for him to suggest we exchange numbers, even though I knew this couldn’t go anywhere real. All the possibility I’d imagined inside vanished in the face of reality.
“Take care of yourself in Alaska,” I said, suddenly protective of this huge man as my mind flashed through episodes of Deadliest Catch with a shudder.
“I will,” he promised.
“Boss,” PJ moaned from the backseat.
“I better go,” I said. And I was about to pull my hand from Ash’s grip when he lifted it slowly to his lips and placed one more kiss on my palm. My heart screamed at me to stay close, to not walk away.
“Good night,” I said. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” he said, and a trace of sadness in his voice wrapped around my protesting heart as I slid into the car next to PJ.
The car drifted away from the curb, away from Ash, and from a night where twinkle lights and the smell of pine and saltwater had me thinking I could be someone I was not, could have someone clearly not meant for me.
“Becky had pretty hair,” PJ slurred as he slumped over again, his head coming to rest on my lap. “You’re a nice lady,” he concluded before he began snoring.
Regret surged through me, and I had a sudden urge to turn the car around, to race back and tell Ash that of course we could figure things out, of course we should try.
But it didn’t make sense. Neither of us could step out of the lives we’d made, and neither of us wanted to. It was clear Ash wanted to stay as far from San Diego as he could get.
As I tucked PJ into my guest bed and texted my partner to let him know his nephew was safe, my heart felt strangely empty.
I was not the girl who needed a man. I wasn’t the one who wished for things that couldn’t be. I’d never been that girl.
Only now, maybe I was.
Chapter 6
Rose is Not King Kong
ASH
It wasn’t like I’d expected that Rose would come home with me tonight and then we’d spend the rest of our lives happy ever after.
Except maybe I did expect something.
Something more than a quick glance at the curb as she went home with another man.
Okay, yeah. That’s not quite fair. But she didn’t go home with me, and that burned. Deep inside me, there’d been a little kindling flame of hope, and the warmth of that tiny fire was so unfamiliar and unexpected, I’d lost myself to it for the evening. I’d forgotten who I was, and why meeting someone here in San Diego would be the worst possible scenario.
Except . . .˘would it really?
I watched Rose’s car leave, and turned, going directly to the bar inside.
Max was waiting for me.
“I watched you leave. Figured you had it buttoned up tonight.” His voce had always had just a touch of arrogance to it that was rubbing me the wrong way right then.
“Nah. Didn’t work out.”
“Right.” He ordered a scotch and as we took our drinks, we turned together, walking a bit away from the bar. “So when you had your tongue down her throat and she was practically scaling you like King Kong on the Empire State Building on the dance floor, things were not working out.”
“They were not.”
“Optical illusion, then.”
“Could be. And I don’t like Rose being King Kong in that scenario, by the way.”
“You’re a moron.” Max turned away from me, as if he was so disappointed in me he couldn’t even look at me.
And looking at me wasn’t required right then, because everyone at the party was watching Trace Johnson again, as the huge goalie cleared the dance floor for a second time. He was pushing everyone to the sides, loudly promising them it would be worth it.
“He needs to cut his alcohol intake,” I observed as Johnson handed his jacket to the woman in the silver dress, who looked exhaus
ted.
“He quit drinking in the off season. This is Johnson sober.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
The man on the dance floor was explaining to the irritated crowd that he’d been watching a lot of YouTube.
“So, like, it only looks hard, right?” he said. “Watch. You just get a little bit of a running start, and then you do like a half-split kind of thing and just whirl the other leg around.”
“Have you done a backspin before, Trace?” someone in the crowd asked.
He shook his shaggy blond head. “No, you need a big open space and it’s gotta be kinda slick, and Mags won’t let me clear out the living room. But I’ve envisioned it, worked it through in my mind the same way I visualize a match. I’ve totally got it.”
“Let’s see,” someone called out.
“I need the right music,” Trace said, looking like maybe he was rethinking the backspin he’d promised. “Like some Run DMC or something. Old school.”
The DJ delivered, and seconds later the crowd was nodding and the singing about hotels, and motels and Holiday Inns as Trace backed up a bit, preparing for his ‘running start.’
The ridiculousness of the spectacle almost took my mind off Rose leaving, but there was a little part of my mind that was working around the hurt and disappointment I felt in constant circles.
Trace took his running start and then slid to the ground, one leg out before him. As promised, the other leg followed, putting the guy on his back, but there was no spinning whatsoever. For a moment, the room was still. Then Trace tried again, lying on his back and shooting one leg into the air in a half circle. No spin. Several guffaws erupted from the crowd.
Scoring a Holiday Match (Mr. Match) Page 3
