Page 62 of Miss Matched

Zac

I’mnotsurewhat I expected showing up to Kennedy’s office unannounced, but finding her shut down and asking to hear about my date with Jasmine wasn’t it.

After Kennedy stayed at my penthouse for two days, I almost canceled the date altogether. But bailing last minute would have been rude, and no doubt it would have set off red flags about how not-casual this whole thing with Kennedy is starting to feel.

Casual. The only thing I’ve ever wanted from a woman.

Until her.

If only my body would get the message that I can’t have Kennedy. No amount of distance is enough for the thoughts taking up residence in my head. Us alone in her quiet and empty office, our closeness on the drive to the restaurant, her coconut scent filling every square inch of the air between us. My palms hurt where crescent imprints from my fingernails dig into them in an attempt to stop myself from ripping her out of that blush-colored blouse and pencil skirt.

What the fuck was I thinking showing up at her office to take her to lunch? I wasn’t in the neighborhood like I told her, not even nearby. But I was tired of the radio silence since she left my place and had to do something about it. Driving thirty minutes across the city to end our battle of silence sounded like a good idea at the time. But now that I’m here, I realize it wasn’t the best idea to show up on her doorstep fresh off a date. Whether she set it up or not.

Kennedy’s gray eyes dart between me and her menu, and there’s enough detachment in them that I realize when she said just for tonight, she meant it.

“Southwest chicken sandwich with a side of fries,” she orders, handing the waitress her menu.

I opt for the burger with all the fixings.

The waitress disappears, and Kennedy takes a drink of water, ice crashing against her lips with her sip, and all I can think is how I’d like to run that ice cube over her naked body while she calls out my name.

Get it together, Zac. She made it clear: strictly business.

I’ve never been hung up on a woman like this. Sex is always just a good time. Releasing tension. Mutual pleasure. I never stick around for long after—I certainly don’t spend two whole days locked away in my penthouse, taking her every way possible. And then there’s the moments in between. Being too tired to move and out of breath. Tangled bodies, hearts flayed open while we spill secrets. At some point letting the ocean swallow the lines in the sand.

“So, how was the date?” Kennedy asks, taking another big drink of water and looking away so I can’t read her face.

“Good. Dinner. Drinks. The usual.”

It shouldn’t feel this awkward, having the same conversation over and over. But it does.

“You went to The Spicy Sanchez, right?”

I nod. “Good taco platter.”

“The best,” she agrees.

“You’ve been there?”

She dips her chin the slightest, and I want to ask her if it was with a man, but I know I don’t have the right to.

“And you got the taco platter?”

She gives me a curious look. “It’s their staple; what else would I get?”

“Point taken,” I tell her. “I appreciate a woman who orders real food.”

Kennedy chuckles, and it shakes her honey brown curls around her shoulders. “You’ve been hanging around the wrong kind of women, Mr. Vincent.”

God, don’t I know it.

“And what did Jasmine get?” she asks. “I’d hate to marry you off to a woman who would rather waste away than share a steak.”

Marry me off? She might as well have picked up her butter knife and stabbed me in the heart with it.

“Cheese enchiladas with a side of their cilantro lime rice,” I say.

Kennedy nods in approval as our own food arrives, and she stuffs a fry in her mouth before the waitress has a chance to ask if we need anything else.

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