“Are you Callie’s brother?” he wants to know.
“No,” I say flatly and his eyes grow more confused.
“He might as well be,” Callie pipes up a little too loudly. “I’ve known Devin forever. He’s from my hometown. He’s letting me stay here until I get my own place. His brother is engaged to my sister. And his friend is dating my other sister.”
Matthew starts blinking so furiously I think his eyelids might be having seizures. I smile again and this time it’s because I’m completely amused.
“Oh,” is all he says because Callie has buried him so far under a giant pile of useless information I don’t know how he will ever find his way out.
“Later, Devin,” she says as she takes Matthew by the elbow. “Don’t wait up.”
She shuts the door with a small click and I’m left alone.
Chapter 33
Callie
As Matthew’s lips crash down on mine, I decide that I hate Sam. The little shit was right but I would rather fire him than ever admit that to him. It was bad enough I had to admit it to myself. I regret this.
This “date” with Matthew has been a disaster since the moment I opened the front door. As if Devin being there weren’t enough, Matthew had then taken me to some quaint little Italian restaurant and forced me to sit and eat and make ridiculous small talk over candles, wine and dinner. I never understood why couples did this as part of their mating ritual—just sit there and eat in front of each other and ask each other stupid questions like what music do you like or whatever. So annoying and tedious.
Finally, after dinner, I convinced him to head to the bowling alley across the street. I am not a big bowler but it would give me something to concentrate on rather than just him and his silly questions, like what is my favorite color and did I eat a lot of lobster growing up in Maine? I ordered us two beers and we rented some shoes and started a game.
With two balls he only managed to knock down three pins. We played three games and I won all of them easily. I became even more bored. No competition. I guess I have been spoiled hanging out with the Garrison brothers, who are impossibly good at every sport. On the drive back to my place he started talking about Devin again, asking why he lived in Brooklyn in such an expensive brownstone. I explained he played for the Barons.
“That’s a hockey team, right?” Matthew questioned.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t watch hockey,” he told me.
“You should. It’s awesome.”
“Maybe your buddy can get us tickets,” Matthew suggested. I tried not to scrunch my nose up at how much that thought did not appeal to me.
I just shrugged my answer and prayed he would drive faster so I could get to bed and end this day. And I had been so close to escape as he pulled up to the curb in front of Devin’s townhouse. I had my hand on the door handle and everything, but before I could get away, he grabbed the back of my neck and kissed me.
And that’s where I am now—stuck in the middle of a horrible kiss. Nothing about it makes me feel good. I don’t know why. It’s not like he’s overly sloppy or forceful or anything, but when I feel his tongue move and graze my lips I want to puke. I pull back suddenly and am out of the car before he realizes what’s happening.
“See you at work!” I call and hurry up the stairs to the front door.
The house is dark and silent. I kick off my shoes and climb the stairs. My body feels heavy and so does my mind. I’m borderline depressed, but I don’t know why. What the hell is wrong with me?
When I reach my door, I can’t help but glance over toward Devin’s room. His door is open and there’s a dim light pouring out. I can see his bare feet at the bottom of his bed, on top of the duvet. I know I probably shouldn’t, but I walk over to his room anyway. He’s sitting up wearing nothing but gray-and-white-checkered pajama bottoms and he’s reading a book. His dirty-blond hair is kind of matted down like he’d been wearing a baseball cap earlier or something. His heavy brow looks even heavier as he concentrates on whatever it is he’s reading. He must sense me standing there, because he looks up and doesn’t seem surprised. I guess he heard the front door.
“How was the date?” he wants to know, only you can tell by his voice that he really doesn’t want to know.
“Honestly?”
“Are you ever not honest with me?” he questions back. We look at each other. I don’t need to answer that because he knows I’m always brutally honest with everyone.
“It was atrocious,” I reply and run a hand through my hair, pulling it forward over my shoulder as I sigh. “The kid doesn’t watch hockey and he took me to some romantic dimly lit restaurant and he can’t bowl to save his life.”
Devin’s face bursts into a giant grin. “Bowling ability is a must for you in a mate?”
“At least an ounce of athletic ability is,” I counter and smile. “And all that combined with what I already knew were deficits—like that he has the fashion sense of a hipster douche bag—and I guess it just became one giant deal breaker.”
Devin just nods, still smiling.
