But when I reach the door, there’s a piece of paper taped to its surface. Hailey Taylor Emery, it reads.
I grab the paper off the door and flip it over.
Hottie— Since you won’t text me, and I can’t ask you out on the Fetch website, will you please come inside and have dinner with me? —M.
The relief I feel is so swift and strong that I almost collapse on the rug like Rufus after a long walk.
I stand there on the carpet for a moment longer, trying to get a grip. But it’s pretty much hopeless. Matt Eriksson is on the other side of that door, and he’s waiting for me, even if I’m an idiot who can’t write him a text.
I’m terrified, but I’m going in anyway. Raising my hand, I knock on the door.
Eleven
Hanging Upside Down From a Chandelier
Matt
I feel like a teenager on prom night as I get up to open the door. Not because I’m anxiously wondering whether I’ll get laid—I got laid long before prom night—but because there’s something nerve-wracking about this whole thing. I haven’t seen or heard from Hailey since the night at the opera, and now I’m forcing her into a date I’m not sure she wants.
As I reach for the doorknob, it occurs to me that maybe she’s not even at the door anymore. Maybe she knocked, left the food on the mat, and sprinted back to the elevator. I wouldn’t blame her. I mean, what man asks a woman to pick up all the stuff for their dinner date and deliver it to him? Is that romantic as fuck, or a total dick move? Could go either way, I guess.
A breath of relief slides out when I find her on the other side of the door. She looks a bit shell-shocked as she holds up a large paper bag, all big eyes and slightly flushed.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hi,” I answer. A small smile springs up as I gesture to the bag. “Hope you got us the good stuff.”
“Everything you requested.”
We stand there for a second, eyeing each other. She must have come straight from the office, because, underneath her winter coat, she’s dressed in a white button-up and simple gray pants, similar to what she wore the day I stopped by Fetch unannounced.
“Would you like to come in?” I tip my head toward the space behind me.
After a beat, she nods. “I really would.”
In the front hall, she slips out of her coat and looks around for somewhere to put it.
“Let me take that,” I say, my voice roughened by nerves. Her dark hair looks thick and glossy under the bright hall light, and I resist the urge to slide my fingers through it. She’s damn pretty. Shorter and thinner than what I’m usually attracted to, she makes me feel like a giant. I find that I don’t mind it, though.
“WOOF!” Rufus gallops into the room. He skids to a halt when he sees who it is. And five seconds later he’s located his leash and dropped it at her feet.
“You just went for a walk!” I scold. “Leave Hailey alone. She’s here for me this time. Tough luck, pal.”
Rufus lets out a whine that makes both of us laugh.
My dog has broken the tension. I lead Hailey into the kitchen and unpack the groceries. “You didn’t text,” I say bluntly.
“I know.”
“Why’s that?”
She shifts her feet and says, “Because.”
I fight another smile. She shouldn’t be reminding me of my kids, but Junebug does the same thing sometimes—sticks out her chin and says “because.” Hailey didn’t do the chin jut, but still. “Because what?” I prompt.
But I know the answer, even as she goes quiet to contemplate her response. The opera date—or rather, the ride home—freaked Hailey out. Truth is, it freaked me out a little, too. I was hard as a rock that night, dick straining to burst out of my pants. It’s been a long time since I wanted someone that bad. But holy smokes, the dress she had on, and that fucking tattoo—I wanted to run my tongue all over it. I wanted to devour her that night.
I probably came on too strong.
So I voice that thought. “I came on too strong on our date last week,” I say with a sigh.
Hailey fixes those blue eyes on me. “No,” she assures me. “You didn’t. I had a really great time. And I, uh…enjoyed making out with you…” She trails off, and I have to swallow a laugh.
She looks so embarrassed, and it’s cute as hell. “I enjoyed making out with you, too,” I say solemnly.
“Oh. Um. Good to hear.”
Yeah, I still make her nervous. I wish I knew how to fix that, but I’m not a Hailey expert yet. I’m still just getting to know her and what makes her tick. Kara used to accuse me of being clueless about women. She expected me to know what she was thinking and feeling at all times, and when I fucked up, it was because I wasn’t trying hard enough. According to her, anyway. But I’m not a mind reader. I can’t even begin to guess what goes through a woman’s mind at any given time.
Hailey’s easier to read than Kara, though. Right now, she’s squirming and blushing, and I feel oddly proud that I’m picking up on that. I step closer and place a hand on her arm. “We probably moved too fast that night,” I admit. “So how about we slow it down? Let’s just have some dinner and go from there?”
She hesitates. Then nods again. “Sounds like a plan.”
It’s a plan that actually works.
Twenty minutes later, I’ve grilled up our steaks to perfection, Hailey’s tossed a salad, and we’re moving to the dining room table that Hailey or someone else at Fetch picked out for me. The steak is fantastic and the wine is perfect, and even though it was my black Amex that paid for the spread, I praise Hailey for her choices until she finally rolls her eyes and tells me to quit complimenting her.
Throughout dinner, I see her truly relax. I tell her about our recent string of road trips, and her eyes light up as I offer “behind the scenes” intel about my teammates and the games we’ve played. When I mention that Blake’s knee took a ding during the last game, she gasps.
“No! Will he be okay to play tomorrow night?” Hailey sets down her wine glass and vehemently shakes her head. “I knew he looked wobbly skating off to the bench after that hit!”
I grin. “You watched the game?”
“Of course,” she says haughtily. “The only way I’d miss a game is if I were lying in a full body cast in a hospital bed and couldn’t reach the remote. And even then I’d bribe the nurses to put it on TV for me.”
My grin falters slightly. I love that she’s a rabid hockey fan, but at the same time, I can’t help but wonder if that’s the only reason she’s here. Does she just want to bang Matthew Eriksson, pro hockey player? God knows I’ve encountered those women before. One of my ex-wife’s biggest draws was that she didn’t give a shit that I played hockey.
But I don’t get the sense that Hottie is only here to bag an athlete. In the first place, she’d scurried off like a frightened rabbit after making out with me. I would’ve been more than happy to drop trou for her the night of the opera. Ungh. Just thinking about her tongue in my mouth makes my dick twitch happily.
Then again, this could be part of her game—the fidgeting and stuttering and nerves. Groupies have been known to get creative to stand out from the crowd.