Unmatchable

by Sky Corgan

  For the first time ever, I catch myself comparing us. She's tall and slender with elongated features. Elegant fingers. A blade of a nose with a perfect pointed tip. High cheekbones and large brown eyes that seem even bigger behind square-framed glasses. She has the sexy librarian look. The sophisticated doctor look. The smart look. She's a beautiful woman.

  “You were his fiance. He told me about you...and the baby. He told me what happened, that you didn't want to keep it and decided not to tell him. Considering that I already know all of that, what could you possibly want to talk to me about?”

  She lets out a short laugh. “I guess you two are closer than I thought. He's already telling you all of our secrets.”

  “It hurt him a lot, you know.”

  Her expression turns solemn. “I know it did.”

  “So what do you want to tell me?”

  She takes a deep breath. “This may sound cliché, but I promise I'm only saying it for your own good. Colton Larsen is not the man for you.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but she holds her palm out to stop me.

  “Hear me out. I am not speaking from a place of jealousy. Do I wish things hadn't ended between Colton and me? Yes. I'm not going to lie about that. I loved him greatly, but if I had to make that horrible choice all over again, I wouldn't change a thing, and here's why.

  “I know you haven't know Colton for very long. I have. He may seem sweet and giving on the outside, but he can be a very selfish man. When he wants something, he'll stop at nothing to get it. There are some things he won't compromise on.

  “I knew when I read that pregnancy test that Colton would fight me to the ends of the earth to keep that baby. Had I told him and not agreed to have it, he would have gotten the courts involved and did whatever he could to take away my rights as a woman. I know that sounds extreme, but that's just who he is. He's a family man. I knew that going in. And I wanted a family too, I just wasn't ready for it yet.

  “I'm not telling you all of this because I think the same thing will happen to you. Maybe it will, maybe it won't. I'm telling you this because you've been trying to escape a life where you were forced to do things that you didn't want to do. Colton is the type of man who will force you to do things that you don't want to do.

  “An example. The gala. Can you honestly tell me that you wanted to be there? That if he would have given you date night options, that's what you would have picked?”

  I blink at her, trying to digest everything she has said. As much as I thought this was going to be a bullshit pity party meeting, she's making a lot of sense. And I hate it. Hate that she's making so much sense. That she's actually forcing me to consider whether my relationship with Colton will be healthy for me in the long run.

  “No,” I admit hesitantly.

  “That is just one example. He will expect you to go to charity functions with him.”

  “It's not such a bad thing.” I shift my weight. “I mean, if it's important to him, then I want to do it.”

  “Have the two of you had sex yet?”

  Her question is so bold that it makes me want to squirm. It's odd to think that just a few days ago I would have been completely comfortable disclosing this information to her. Now, I don't feel like it's any of her business.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes and no.” She tilts her head from side to side.

  “Does it matter to you?” I rephrase my question.

  “This isn't about me?”

  “Oh really, because I think it kind of is.”

  She draws her hand up to her face and sighs. “I know you feel defensive right now. You've obviously taken a liking to Colton, and I know that he's precious to you because he's the first man you've trusted in a long time. But believe me when I say that I only have your best interest at heart. We've known each other for almost three years, and while I know it's purely been in a professional sense, I do care about you.”

  I back down a bit, feeling guilty. We're both in a difficult position as far as Colton is concerned. Knowing that we're all linked in some way makes me wish I never would have gone to the gala. I have to decide whether to trust Doctor Spalding as I have for these past years or take what she says with a grain of salt. That's a hard thing to do when all she has done is helped me. We've made so much progress together. She's the reason why I feel more confident today than I ever have before. She has been like the calcium that helped me rebuild my spine.

  “What do you recommend?” I ask, surrendering to the fact that I do actually care about her opinion.

  “Find someone less demanding. More willing to compromise. Someone who doesn't put their own self-interest above all others. Don't get me wrong, Colton can be a loving man. He is a loving man. But at the end of the day, he'll choose what's best for him over anything else. As your doctor and your friend, I recommend that you do the same.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  COLTON

  My phone has been woefully silent ever since the night of the gala. To be honest, seeing Nina kind of fucked me up. Not in the sense that I still want her. I've been avoiding the woman ever since our breakup, trying my best to make sure we don't attend the same charity events and parties. But seeing her at the gala walking up to me with such confidence made years worth of repressed memories come back like a whirlwind.

  For her to show up at a children's charity event, of all things. She had no right to be there. I think bitterly. The woman definitely isn't an advocate of children. That's for damn sure.

  I knew just from the nature of the event that she wouldn't be there. That's why I didn't bother calling to check the guest list. Part of me can't help but think that she showed up purposely just to fuck with me. To ruin my good time.

  Was it really a good time to begin with, though? Sure, I was happy to be there with Ember, to parade her around on my arm and show everyone there that she was mine. But she wasn't feeling the same way. Everything was strange to her.

  As I held her hand while we walked through the crowds of people, I could feel her palm sweating. And she was drinking like there was about to be a shortage of wine. She was gorgeous in her dress, but I could tell just from looking into her eyes that she was an absolute mess. Running into Nina definitely didn't help. And the way I acted afterward...there was no excuse for that.

  I spent all day Sunday staring at my phone. I must have looked at it over one hundred times. I even checked the dating app a few times.

  What has this girl done to you, Larsen? Just call her already.

  Pride kept me from it, though. Pride that slowly started to get chiseled away when Monday rolled around, and I still hadn't heard from her. By lunchtime, I couldn't resist anymore. Not speaking to Ember was driving me mad. I needed to know where we stood. One way or the other. The thought that she might not want to see me again hurt, but I would understand. I had been kind of an asshat when I left her on Saturday night.

  Colton: I miss you.

  Ember: Do you?

  Fuck, she's still mad at me.

  Colton: You seem surprised.

  Ember: I haven't heard from you since Saturday night.

  Colton: I know. I'm sorry.

  Ember: You still love her, don't you?

  Is that what this is really about?

  Colton: No.

  Ember: I don't believe you.

  I sigh, tearing my fingers through my hair in frustration. From her perspective, I can see how it probably looks that way. The mood between Nina and I was tense, and then I was completely distant after we left the gala.

  Colton: How do I prove to you that I don't still love her?

  Ember: I don't think you can. I'm also starting to think that maybe you're not good for me.

  Colton: Why? Because we ran into one of my ex-girlfriends? That hardly seems fair. Most people my age have ex's, Ember. I'm not trying to be rude, but that shouldn't be enough to scare you off.

  Ember: It's not. I just...I've been through a lot. I don't want to get hurt again.

&
nbsp; Colton: I'm not going to hurt you.

  Ember: How do you know that?

  I have to think about that for a moment. The truth is that I don't know. A million things could happen. A million things could go wrong. No one can predict the future. But I want to at least try. I want to see if this can really work.

  Colton: Because you're important to me.

  Ember: Nina was important to you too.

  Colton: You are not Nina.

  Ember: I know. She's a stronger woman than I could ever hope to be.

  Colton: That's not true.

  My phone goes silent. I wait and wait and wait for Ember to respond, but she doesn't. After thirty minutes, I type out another message to her.

  Colton: Have dinner with me tonight.

  Ember: I'd rather not.

  Colton: I'll make your favorite meal.

  Ember: You cook?

  Colton: Are you surprised?

  Ember: Yes.

  Colton: You should be. I don't really cook, but I'll make an attempt at it for you. If I burn my loft down in the process, I'll take you out for dinner instead.

  Ember: LOL You're something else.

  Colton: So is that a yes?

  I grin, thankful that it sounds like I'm starting to get through to her.

  Ember: I'll think about it.

  Colton: I suppose I can settle for that for now.

  ***

  I'm pretty sure she picked the most complicated dish on the face of the planet just to fuck with me. Maybe that's an exaggeration. Chicken parmigiana isn't that difficult to make—for someone who actually cooks. For me, it's a feat of God.

  It probably doesn't help that I'm preparing the Bobby Flay version, which means that I'm making the sauce from scratch. I wanted to impress Ember, but instead all I've done is mess up my kitchen and set off my smoke alarm...twice.

  By the time I pull the chicken parmigiana out of the oven and Ember arrives downstairs, I'm highly considering just ordering a pizza. That's still Italian food, right? Close enough to chicken parmigiana.

  Once she fixes her eyes on the monstrosity I've created, she's guaranteed to lose her appetite. The chicken is unevenly breaded and burnt on the sides. The sauce is a runny mess. The entire meal is a complete disaster. The only thing I miraculously didn't manage to fuck up was the salad. Then again, how hard is it to toss some vegetables together in a bowl.

  I buzz Ember in before taking a deep breath. The stress of cooking the meal leaves my body in a whoosh of air. Burnt chicken parmigiana is not the end of the world. I can make up for my lack of cooking skills in other ways. Ways that will leave Ember begging for more, if she'll just let me. We need to jump over the hurdle of what happened at the gala first, though. I can't get ahead of myself.

  There's a light knock on my loft door, and I quickly pat my pants and shirt clean before wiping my hands on a dishtowel and going to open the door. As soon as our eyes meet, Ember smiles, and I get the feeling that everything will be alright. All I needed to do was get her over here and show her that I'm still the man she thinks I am. The guy at the gala—that was someone else. Someone I never want to be in front of her again.

  “Welcome to my humble abode.” I gesture for her to step inside.

  “Humble? Ha! Like anything about you is humble.”

  “There's my mean-spirited girl,” I tease her.

  She sniffs the air. “Something smells burnt.”

  “That would be your chicken parmigiana.” I wrinkle my nose. “I told you I'd try to cook for you. I never promised it would be a success.”

  She turns to me, and I take her all in. She's dressed more conservatively than usual in a pair of blue skinny jeans and a white high-collar blouse with a beige jacket on top. Her hair falls over her shoulders, straight at first, though the ends are curled. It's the most casual look I've seen on her, and while there's a little too much skin covered for my taste, she's still sexy as hell. My cock twitches at the prospect of unwrapping her later, of peeling each layer off of her to get down to the core. Anticipation is half the pleasure, I remind myself.

  “This is a really nice place.” She glances around.

  “Shall I give you the grand tour, my lady?” I offer her my arm.

  “I would like that.” She grins.

  I take her on the short tour, showing her the living room, kitchen, bedroom, bathrooms, and balcony. She seems most impressed by the marble work in the master bathroom and the floor to ceiling windows in the living room. When I take her out onto the balcony, she steps up to the railing, and the wind catches her hair, blowing it back over her shoulders and making her look like a picture of perfection. The way the setting sun kisses her face makes it hard for me to resist putting my arms around her. I'm not sure she would like that, though, and I don't want to make her uncomfortable. Tonight is all about fixing what I screwed up on Saturday.

  “It's absolutely gorgeous out here.” She stares out across the Houston skyline.

  “It is.” I stand beside her, enjoying the view of her more than anything else. “This is where I spend most of my time when I'm home.”

  “I can see why.”

  “I usually pour myself some brandy and sit right there.” I point at my favorite lounge chair.

  “That sounds incredibly relaxing.”

  “It is. It's a great way to unwind.”

  “Unwind from a long day of being in charge of everything?” She smirks at me.

  “You make it sound like my job isn't stressful.” I turn around and lean against the railing.

  “I couldn't imagine if it is or isn't. I've never been in a position of power before.”

  “Sure you have. You have power over me.”

  The slightest blush claims her cheeks, and she brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, though it's a bit pointless. The wind whips it out of place in an instant.

  “I hope your chicken parmigiana doesn't taste as bad as it smells. I'm awfully hungry,” she says meekly.

  “I regret to inform you that it does. If you eat it, you might die.” I screw my face.

  “Then I suppose you should go first.”

  I gasp playfully. “Does that mean you want me to die, Miss Washington?”

  “No. But if you won't eat it, then I know I shouldn't either.”

  “Maybe I should show it to you first, and you can make that judgment for yourself.”

  We head back inside, and I unveil the chicken monstrosity. Ember sweetly offers to eat it, but I know she's just being nice. For shits and giggles, I cut a piece for each of us. While she's kind enough to swallow, I end up spitting mine into a napkin. On top of being burnt, the chicken is over-salted, and the sauce is practically flavorless. Cooking is definitely not my forte.

  “Pizza?” I ask.

  “We can eat this. There's no point in spending money that you don't have to.” She tries to hide the disgust on her face as she cuts another bite.

  I take the fork and knife from her hand. “Pizza,” I insist.

  “Yeah...pizza,” she agrees finally.

  I let her pick the toppings and then call in the order at a local pizza parlor, not wanting to settle for chain food. The least I can do is expose her to something she probably hasn't tried before. There are a lot of things that I'd like to expose her to that she probably hasn't tried before...in the bedroom.

  Get a grip, Larsen. If you keep thinking with your dick, you're just going to scare her away again.

  Once the pizza arrives, I pull some plates out of the cupboard, and we settle on the sofa in the living room to watch television while we eat.

  “What's your preference?” I ask, flipping through the channels.

  “I don't have much of one. Television really isn't my thing.” She picks up her slice of pizza and takes a bite.

  “What do you do when you're at home, then?”

  “Read, mostly.”

  “And what does Miss Washington like to read?” I smirk, already anticipating her answer. Romance. It's what all women r
ead. The kind that's sweet and naughty and all of the things they secretly crave.

  I remember getting a hold of one of my mother's Harlequin novels as a boy. The plotline was unbelievable, but so was the sex. While I'm more of a visual person, I can definitely see what women get out of reading such things.

  “A variety of things, but mostly books on psychology.”

  “Oh?”

  “You sound surprised.” She arches a brow at me.

  “I took you for more of a Nicholas Sparks kind of girl.”

  She snorts. “My life has been full of enough drama to want to read about someone else's made up bullshit drama.”

  “I suppose that makes sense. Well, if you'd rather see something real, we could watch porn.” I'm only half-joking.

  She turns to me. Literally turns her whole body to face me. “And you truly believe that's real? That people can fuck for hours straight?”

  “I don't know about them, but I can.” I wink at her.

  She rolls her eyes and snatches the remote from my hand. “I no longer trust you with this.”

  I hold my palms up to her. “I was willing to surrender a long time ago. Whatever you want to watch.”

  She flips through about fifty channels before settling on a documentary about Jerusalem. It's a tedious watch, but I'm more interested in her than what's on TV anyway.

  As I'm taking a bite of pizza, a pepperoni falls and leaves a saucy trail down the front of my shirt. I scowl at it and curse internally. It's definitely one of those nights where if it can go wrong, it has.

  I try delicately wiping the sauce off with a napkin, but that only presses it deeper into the fabric. Frustrated, I decide to set my plate down and take my shirt off. I pull it over my head and toss it aside. When I look back over at Ember to put my arm on the back of the sofa behind her, she's staring at me. Not at me, per se, but blatantly at my naked torso.

  There's a glimmer of desire behind her eyes. The second I see it, she averts her gaze, redirecting her attention to the television. I can tell she's not concentrating on it anymore, though.

  A smirk plays across my lips, but I try to temper it. Now's the time to strike. She stopped eating a while ago. And I can think of something far more fun for us to do than watching a boring documentary.