Mr. Match: The Boxed Set

by Delancey Stewart

"A bear?" Cat laughed.

  "He's a Newfie, actually. Really just a puppy, but he's giant. Max met him this morning on the beach. I'm not sure Charlie put his best foot forward since he was covered with sand."

  "He didn't put a foot forward," Max said. "He put about four hundred pounds of hairy wet dog forward. He greeted me with a hug."

  I laughed, remembering the way Charlie had put his paws up on Max's shoulders, and warmth bloomed in my stomach at the memory.

  Cat turned to Max. "You hate dogs," she said. "Did you freak?"

  "You hate dogs?" I asked, surprised.

  "Hate is a strong word," Max told us, talking as he drove, his eyes on the freeway.

  "Max has a canine history I'm sure he didn't mention to you," Cat said, smiling.

  Max sighed. "We don't need to go into that."

  My interest was piqued. "Maybe we do, actually," I said. "Tell me." I grinned at Cat encouragingly.

  "Well," Cat began. "When Max was about seven, he told all his friends we'd gotten a puppy. But we hadn't. The neighbors had."

  Max groaned and I smiled encouragingly at Cat, who went on with a smile and flash of her eyes.

  "So he asked his teacher if Mr. Peps might come with him to school for show and tell, and the teacher said it would be okay. He talked the neighbor into letting him take their puppy for the morning, and convinced Mom to provide transportation to make it all happen. By the time he had it all lined up, it was possibly the most elaborately detailed lie ever orchestrated by a first grader. He'd made up an origin story about how he'd found Mr. Peps in the road and valiantly tried to find his home, but how Mr. Peps had taken to him so completely and immediately he couldn't imagine giving him up.

  "Mom brought the dog at the appointed hour, and I was with her since I hadn't started school yet, and when it was Max's turn for show and tell, she delivered him up to Max at the front of the class. Max was trying to tell the story he'd made up about how we'd come to own Mr. Peps, about how the dog couldn't stand to be apart from him ..." Cat had to trail off here, because she was giggling.

  "The end," Max said.

  "What happened?" I asked. I was enjoying this, and I smiled encouragingly at Cat, hanging on her words.

  "Well, Mr. Peps did love Max. He especially loved his leg, if you know what I mean. So while Max was telling this story about his heroic rescue of the puppy and how the bond between boy and dog was so super strong and everything, Mr. Peps was furiously humping Max's leg. Max kept pulling him off and trying to go on with his story, but the kids were screaming with laughter and Max couldn't even finish."

  "Mr. Peps turned out to be an extremely horny dog," Max said, a smile in his voice though he was trying to sound annoyed.

  "Mom finally had to go up and pull him off of Max, and we returned him to the neighbor, who apologized profusely. From then on, any time the dog saw Max, he started getting excited and if Max got close enough, he'd attack him with his humpy love."

  I was giggling by now, though I thought maybe I kind of knew where Mr. Peps was coming from. Max was pretty hot. "What kind of dog was it?"

  "A horny mutt," Max said.

  "I think it was a poodle mix. It wasn't very big. Only up to Max's seven-year old thigh on the hump meter," Cat said, smiling.

  "That's hilarious," I said. "Have you found that you're especially attractive to any other dogs since then, Max?" I asked.

  "I've avoided dogs since then," he said. "Until Charlie."

  "If Charlie wanted to have his way with you, you'd be in trouble." I laughed, thinking how Charlie had hugged him earlier. If Charlie was feeling romantic, Max would have been on the ground.

  "I'm glad Charlie seemed content to be just friends," he said.

  A few minutes later we were pulling into a grassy field where cars were parked in long lines and men were directing the traffic. "Lots of people here," Max said.

  "Good, right?" Cat asked, hopping out as we parked.

  "Yep. Glad to see it." Max opened the door for me and we headed for the fields on the other side of the parking area. There was music playing and a huge balloon arch swaying in the wind. There was a carnival-style row of booths set up, and a huge banner over them that read "Oceanside Stars and the March of Dimes." People were everywhere, milling around, eating, laughing, and generally enjoying themselves.

  The sun had just begun to emerge from the marine layer that had hugged the coast all morning, and I was glad I'd brought a hat.

  Max and I walked side by side, and at one point he took my hand and a little thrill went through me at his touch. Cat noticed the move and a little smile flickered across her face. But when we reached the registration table for the tournament, Max let me go, greeting a small woman with a high ponytail and a boisterous voice.

  "Max! You made it! I'm so glad." She actually sprinted around the table and leapt onto him, hugging him hard. When she dismounted, she turned to me and Cat. "Cat! Hey," she said, hugging Cat slightly less enthusiastically. "And hi you," she said to me, grinning. "I'm Tallulah."

  "I'm Tatum," I told her.

  "Awesome. Cool. Well, I'm glad you guys are here. The exhibition match is in about an hour. A couple of the other Sharks have popped by," she turned to Max to explain how the match would work. "But until then, the Sharks have the dunk tank."

  "The dunk ..." Max sounded worried.

  "Yep," Tallulah grinned. "Don't worry, most of these kids have terrible aim." She skipped back around the table after pinning badges to our shirts, and waved as we walked toward the booths.

  Cat was laughing as we approached a huge booth full of water with a seat suspended above, behind a Plexiglas wall that had a target board centered on it. Max looked less excited.

  Inside the dunk booth, sitting on the chair and grinning maniacally was one of the Sharks players I recognized from watching games with Dad. "Is that Trace Johnson?"

  Max nodded and gave Trace a thumbs up. "You look dry so far," he called.

  "Not for long," a woman said. We turned to where the beanbags were being distributed to people in exchange for tickets by another player I recognized, Hamish MacEvoy. The woman holding a pile of bags was petite, with curly dark hair, and her words had carried a French accent. "I'm going to drop him," she said. "Hello Max, Cat. Hi," she said to me. Then she wound up and let a bag fly. It missed the mark, but not by much. A second later, she had another one in hand, and she released it with more force than I would have thought her capable of. It hit its target, and Trace's face was comical as the seat pulled out from beneath him. He screamed as he fell into the tank and emerged a second later, sputtering and still looking surprised.

  "Ha!" The French woman raised a fist in victory as Trace climbed back to the seat.

  "You'll pay for that later," he called to her.

  "I look forward to it," she smiled.

  "Tate, this is Magalie, Trace's fiancée." Max said, introducing us as a small boy took his place at the line to throw at Trace. "Magalie, Tatum."

  "Hi," I said, and watched Magalie look between Max and I, clearly wondering what the relationship might be. Max didn't offer more, and then Cat was hugging the woman, so any questions she might have asked were left unanswered.

  We stayed at the booth for a little while, chatting with Hamish, Magalie and some of the other Sharks who ambled up soon after we got there. Trace went in two more times while we watched, and then he climbed out of the booth and took Max's shoulders, pushing him toward the tall contraption.

  "No thanks," Max protested, but Trace already had him halfway to the booth. "I'm good," he complained.

  "Take your shoes off," Trace said. "That's my best advice."

  I laughed as Max climbed up into the booth, grumbling and frowning, and Cat went to the table to pay for beanbags. She was laughing in an evil way as she came back to the throwing line, and she handed half the bags to me. "Maybe you haven't known him long enough to want to dunk him yet, but if you do it now, it'll bring you happy memories later when he's driving you nut
s." The way Cat clearly accepted whatever relationship Max and I had made me happy, and I found myself liking her very much.

  I smiled at Max, who looked a little nervous sitting up there behind the Plexiglas. Nervous, but still so ridiculously handsome. The sun lighting his dark hair reminded me of the way he'd looked sprawled across his bed with the rays of light streaming through the window where we'd accidentally pulled down the curtains. The memory made me a little giddy, but it also sent a dark feeling rolling through me. No matter how much I liked Max, what we were doing was a bad idea. I pushed that thought away. I'd had a chance to turn down the invitation today, but here I was anyway. No point dwelling now.

  Cat didn't hit the target, and she stepped aside, waving me onto the line.

  "Tatum," Max said, his voice wary as I lined up. "Be nice."

  I gave him a thumbs up and called out, “Don’t worry!” I'd been called many things over the years. Nice was not one of them. I squinted at the target and released the bag.

  Chapter 137

  Dunked and Discovered

  MAX

  "No!" I yelled as Tate’s direct hit released the seat and he slid into the tank.

  Hamish and Trace were howling with laughter, and a news crew appeared behind Tate, capturing the entire thing.

  I climbed out of the tank and back down to the grass, shaking my head and trying to dry off before the inevitable conversation with the news crew who were staring at me.

  I moved to Tate’s side, feeling oddly protective of her suddenly. My experience with television crews hadn’t always been good, and I also wanted to make sure she didn’t accidentally say something about Mr. Match that she shouldn’t.

  "Hi there," the girl with the microphone said, us. "Beckie Arduna, News Six. We're covering the charity event here today, and wondered if we could ask just a few questions."

  "Sure," I said.

  For a few minutes, she asked me about how the Sharks were out to support the Oceanside Stars and the March of Dimes, and then a glint appeared in Beckie's eye. "Can I ask your name?" She put the mic in Tate’s face.

  "Um, okay. I'm Tatum Archer."

  "And you're here to support the Sharks and Stars, too? Are you and Max friends? Dating?"

  "Beckie," I said, a warning in my voice. I couldn’t explain Tate and me to myself, I wasn’t going to explain it to all of San Diego.

  She smiled at him and backed off a step. "That's okay," she said, winking at me. "Max, I wanted to ask you about something else actually." She turned and handed her mic off to the assistant next to the cameraman and pulled her phone from her pocket. "This photo got sent into the station a few days ago." She showed us her screen, where a picture showed Tate and I standing on the sidewalk outside the Mr. Match office.

  The girls who approached us that day must've sent it in.

  "There's been some speculation for a while, as I'm sure you know, that someone close to the Sharks organization is Mr. Match," Beckie said. "And an investigator we work with traced some documentation to this address in the picture. We think this is the Mr. Match office."

  I tried to keep my face impassive.

  "You were both there, outside what we think are the Mr. Match offices," she went on, her gaze sliding back and forth between us. "What can you tell us about your business there that day?"

  I laughed, hopefully convincingly. "Tatum and I were walking on the sidewalk and a group of girls accosted us. I took a few fan photos. We didn't pay any attention to the building that was next to us."

  Hamish had appeared at our side, and he scoffed now. "Yeah lass, I had a guy ask for my autograph when I was washing my hands in the shitter at the mall a few days back. Just because I do some solid work in there doesn't mean I run the place, ya know?"

  "Max, are you Mr. Match?" Oh shit. No one had ever asked me directly, and I hoped my face didn’t give me away. My blood iced, and I did my best to deflect.

  "No one knows who Mr. Match is. But the fact you think it's me ..." I laughed and shook my head as if this was utterly ridiculous. I felt Tate tense at my side.

  "We have it on pretty good authority that you're involved," she pressed.

  I took a deep breath. "Even if I knew who Mr. Match was, I think I'd keep his identity a secret."

  "I'm sure you would," Beckie said, and the look she gave me—and then the camera—made my stomach clench. She knew.

  Just then, Tallulah sprinted up to us, addressing everyone in our little group at once. "Game's in about ten. You guys should go warm up. And you won't want to miss it," she told the television crew. "Head to the field!" She turned and disappeared in the other direction and we all moved toward the field, leaving the television crew behind.

  As we walked, I took Tate’s arm, partially for support. "That was too close for comfort."

  "She was guessing," Tate said. "They don't really know anything."

  "They're figuring it out. I'm glad you're here to take over." Our eyes met for a moment, and then I leaned in and gave her a quick kiss before trotting off toward the locker rooms with the other players. Maybe it was stupid to kiss her where everyone could see, but I didn’t care.

  Chapter 138

  News, Noodles, and Nudity

  Tatum

  For an hour, we watched the two teams battle it out, but it was hard for me to keep my mind on the action. The news crew had been a little bit unsettling—I knew Max was worried about being outed, and it seemed like they were getting awfully close. But I was also bothered by the photo the reporter had. I didn’t know one of the girls had taken a shot of me—what if they’d captured us kissing? What if my firm saw that picture?

  And then Max had kissed me—right out here in the open. What if the television crew had caught that? I was torn. Part of me wanted people to know, felt proud of our relationship, or whatever this thing was. Max was a handsome man. I was lucky he found me attractive, right? But then again, the more people who knew, the better chance someone would find out who shouldn’t know. And my career was already at stake.

  I tried to push down these thoughts as I watched the game. I had to hand it to the Stars because they didn't back down in the face of the Cup-winning MLS team. It was only an exhibition match, and they played only one half, but the match ended in a tie, and Tallulah had scored for the Stars after a driving run in which she'd ducked and dodged around at least three of the Sharks. I was rooting for Max, of course, but it was fun to see the women's team play so spectacularly. I wished I could tell my dad about it. We'd have a new team to watch after today, I thought.

  After the match, both teams welcomed the fans to the sidelines, and they lingered another hour taking photos and signing autographs. I didn't see the news team again after they took some final shots of the match and the crowd, and I didn't think too much about the newscaster's questions as we finished up our day in the sun and drove back toward Max's place. We dropped Cat off at home and she gave me a big hug and a wink.

  And then Max turned to me. "Come to my place?"

  His question sent chills rushing through me. It wasn't a good idea. I knew it, but maybe we were past good ideas. It was late to be thinking about that. I was already in this, and the deeper I got, the less chance I had of getting out. And honestly? I didn't want out.

  "Let me just check in with Mom," I said. He drove, and I called my mother, who'd spent the day with Peter and Charlie at the house. She sounded happy, and told me Peter wanted to take her someplace local for dinner and that she'd be fine.

  "Enjoy yourself, Tatum," she said. "You deserve to be happy."

  I glanced at Max, his strong hands wrapped around the steering wheel, his dark hair glossy in the fading sunlight. Watching him play today, watching that body I'd known so intimately, had cemented my interest in him—not just in his very impressive physical appearance, but in everything about him. The impenetrable façade he showed the world, his opponents, the television camera—that steely exterior contrasted with the sweet inquisitive man I knew lay behind it. He had
me intrigued. No, that was an understatement. He had me making choices that went against my better judgment.

  Max had me risking everything.

  But when he took my hand and helped me step out of the car, pulling me into his arms and smiling just before he pressed his lips to mine, it felt worth it.

  When he opened the door for me and then shot me a wicked grin over his shoulder as he led me to the stairs, I knew logic and reason weren't part of the equation for me.

  And when he stopped us, pulling me to sit on the edge of his bed and then stripping my jeans from my legs, pulling my panties off with that seductive smile, and then dropping to his knees in front of me, I realized I was in much too deep to stop myself now.

  I gave in.

  As I stepped into the shower with Max, as he pressed himself between my legs, sending any hope of rational thinking skittering in all directions, I let myself go.

  When he pulled me onto the bed a little while later, sheathed himself and then sank into me with a satisfied groan, I wrapped myself around him, realizing we were already too tangled to try to stay safe now. My emotions, my mind, my body—it was all wrapped up and around Max Winchell. And while I knew it wasn't smart, I knew I wasn't being careful or wise.

  I let it all go as my body and my mind sank into the man in my arms. He held me close, and every part of me felt touched, wanted, seen.

  Especially my heart.

  Later, somewhere around ten, when the moon had risen outside and Max and I had tangled in his sheets for hours, we got up and went to the kitchen.

  "I don't think I ate all day," Max said, opening the refrigerator.

  I watched him lean in, his perfect round ass on display as he leaned in to find something to eat. The flannel pajama pants he'd pulled on hugged his butt and the broad muscles of his back flexed as he reached in, pulling out some plastic containers of soup.

  He glanced over his shoulder. "I don't really cook."