Page 38 of Falling for My Matchmaker

Except my phone was dead. The charger was gone. The cabin was goddamn soundproof. And now he was telling stories with the same tone people used for favorite recipes.

The wine tasted sweet. Too sweet. Like someone trying too hard to cover something bitter.

Or maybe that was just me. Overthinking. Paranoia, stirred not shaken.

“Come sit,” Brad said, motioning toward the oversized couch. “Relax.”

I nodded and sat down—carefully. He sat beside me. Too close.

The room felt hotter than before. Or maybe I did.

My skin buzzed. My eyelids fluttered. My limbs started to float, slow and heavy.

“Sorry,” I muttered. “Little dizzy. Must’ve stood up too fast.”

“That’s okay,” he said, voice suddenly too smooth. “Just let yourself rest.”

I blinked.

The world tipped sideways.

***

When I woke up, I was cold. And chained to a chair.

And then there was Brad. Holding a cup of something—water? Blood? I wasn’t ruling anything out.

“Oh good,” he said, like I’d just come to after fainting at brunch. “You’re awake.”

I stared at him. “What. The actual. Hell.”

“Sorry about the wine,” he said. “I didn’t want you to panic. You were getting jumpy.”

“You drugged me!”

He shrugged. “Just a little. You needed to slow down. Get out of your head.”

“I liked my head.”

He tilted his head. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’M CHAINED TO A CHAIR!”

“I know,” he said, sighing. “It’s not ideal. I was hoping this wouldn’t be necessary.”

“Oh my God, you rehearsed this.”

He didn’t answer. Just walked over and crouched in front of me.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “But I’m not one of thebadguys. I just get...misunderstood. People panic before they give things a chance.”

“A chance at what? Stockholm Syndrome?”

He didn’t laugh, but he did smile. Like I was being cute.

Nope. No thanks.

“I liked you,” he said, quieter now. “I thought maybe you’d be different.”

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