Page 70 of Miss Matched

I slip my tongue across the seam of her lips, and she opens for me, giving me a taste of what I’ve been craving since she left my penthouse.

Kennedy’s body grinds against mine. And when I press my hips into her, she moans, rubbing her core against my erection. I push harder, wanting her to know how impossibly firm and insatiable she makes me.

I run my hand up to the base of her throat, and her heartbeat tells me all she doesn’t say. It’s messy, frustrated, with panic raging through her body. It’s spreading like a wildfire, and I don’t want it to stop. I hold her tighter and wish this kiss could pull everything I need to hear from her lips—her secrets, her stories, her pain. I wish it could take away her doubt and make her see what’s right in front of her.

By the time we finally pull apart, her lips are pink and puffy, and her eyes are swimming with a look too close to regret. She dips back through the window and into the house without saying anything further. But even in her absence, I’m left with something I didn’t have a few hours ago—hope.

Dad gets up on shaky legs to give me a hug goodbye, and I’m not happy that he won’t come back to the city and stay with me for a while. Even if I manage to get out here every week, it’s clearly not enough. We settle on him agreeing to daily check-ins from someone who can make sure he’s moving around okay and doesn’t need anything.

It’s a quiet drive back as Kennedy stares out the window, and my dad’s whisper of goodbye rattles around in my head.

She’s a good one, son. Don’t fuck it up.

I’m not sure I’m capable of not fucking it up—everything I do seems to be wrong. Giving her space drives a wedge, but getting too close makes her anxious. If it’s possible to have and miss someone at the same time, that’s how I feel every time I’m around her.

“Want to grab a bite to eat?” I say, my stomach barely relieved by the sandwich I had a couple hours ago.

She squeezes her thighs with her hands. “I think I’d rather just get home.”

My stomach sinks, but I understand. It’s been a long day in more ways than one. And it’s possible my admission messed up everything. Why did I tell her what was really going on with Jasmine? I didn’t mean for her to feel like she’s not good at her job, but at the same time, I needed her to know.

My car slides into a spot on the curb near her building, and her hand goes straight for the door, pausing just before she hops out. She turns to me.

“I am hungry though,” she says with careful smile. “We could order pizza, if you want to come up.”

I’m out of the car before she can change her mind and it makes her laugh.

Kennedy’s apartment feels like her. It’s a studio two floors from the roof. Small but not tight, and no clutter. The rich oak floors are contrasted with exposed pipes on the ceiling, giving it an industrial feel that is still warm and inviting. When we walk in, her kitchen is to the left, with a long bar top for eating. There’s a couch and TV in one opposite corner, and then a bed in the other, calling out to me like a heartbeat.

“This is it,” she says, dropping her purse down onto a side table and waving her arms around. “Not as grand as you’re used to, but it’s home.”

I walk toward her and tangle my hand with hers. “It’s perfect,” I say.

You’re perfect.

Kennedy gives me a lopsided grin and pulls away. It’s like a game of cat and mouse, and for the life of me, I can’t stop chasing.

She drops down onto the couch, and I look down, realizing how dirty my clothes are from working on my dad’s house, first fixing his roof, then crawling beneath it to check on an issue with his router. I should have gone home to clean up, but I couldn’t risk Kennedy changing her mind.

“Odd question,” I say, and she gives me a curious look. “Mind if I take a quick shower?”

Her eyes scan me from head to toe, and she tips her head to a door on the left.

“Towels are in the cabinet under the sink. I’ll order the pizza. Pepperoni okay?” She’s already dialing a number into her phone. “Where do you stand on pineapples, anti or pro?”

“On pizza?”

She nods, and I shake my head in response.

“Good to know.” She smiles, wrapping her hand around her hair and pulling it to one side of her neck, exposing a perfectly soft trail of skin as she starts talking into the phone.

I have to pull myself into the bathroom before I do something I might regret. Because I’m definitely starving, but it’s not for pizza.

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