Chapter 19 Not the Chocolates’ Fault Matt Hailey

Chapter 19

Not the Chocolates’ Fault

Matt

I have a box of chocolates clutched in my hand, and I’m sitting on the team jet, hating them.

It’s not the chocolates’ fault though.

I cancelled another date with Hailey tonight. Third time this month. The team was supposed to get back to Toronto at six, which should have been plenty of time to make it to the bowling alley and wow her with my horrible bowling. It would have been fun.

But we were late to the Denver airport, and we lost our takeoff time. Then it started snowing in the Rockies, and the whole airport got backed up because of visibility issues. If that weren’t enough, Toronto airspace is too crowded, and now we’re actually circling, waiting to land.

All the chocolates in the world aren’t enough to make up for dating a guy who stands you up every time he says he wants to take you out to dinner.

My brooding is interrupted by a howl of victory across the aisle. Chad Lemming has just defeated Will O’Connor at whatever video game they’re obsessed with this week.

“You got owned, OC!” Blake says, peering over their seats from the row behind. “I’m up next, right?”

O’Connor gets up and sidesteps, parking himself in the empty seat beside me, allowing Blake to take his place. “What’s up with you, E?” he asks, signaling the flight attendant for a drink.

“Nothing much.” I sigh, checking the time yet again. I wonder what Hailey is doing right now. I hope she took me up on my offer to head over to my place and wait for me.

Except…ugh. Waiting. That’s the very thing my ex hated about being with me. And she let me know pretty damned frequently during the last year of our marriage.

O’Connor accepts a diet soda from the flight attendant and gives me an appraising glance. “Something wrong?”

Yeah. But I’m not whining to this youngster about it. “You and Lemming were brawling just the other day,” I point out, changing the subject. “Did you kiss and make up?”

“It was a misunderstanding,” O’Connor says, stretching his neck.

I snicker. “Lemming just misunderstood your intention to move in on his conquest?”

“Yeah, he did .” O’Connor narrows his eyes. “I took that girl home and walked her to her door. Handed her off to her parents.”

“ Parents? ” Jesus.

“Yeah. She was underage and lying about it. I saw her real driver’s license when she took out her fake ID for the bartender. Lemming didn’t believe me. He was drunk and horny. And the girl was working it hard .”

“Shit.”

“Exactly. She was a high school girl, and that’s not cool. I like to have my fun, but everybody has to be a consenting adult, you know?”

“Hell,” I say. “I’ll be retired from the league by the time my girls are dating, but I’m planning to keep up with my bench press. The first time a boy comes to take one of my girls out for a date, I’m gonna ask the kid to spot me while I bench three hundo. Just so the kid knows I can take him.”

O’Connor laughs.

“So you patched things up with Lemming?”

“Yeah.” His smile fades. “Told him he needs to be more careful. And I promised I’d be the best wingman he ever met the next time we’re out at the bars. Like, Top Gun level.”

“Ah.” I’m a little stunned at this burst of humanity from our team’s resident asshole. But I guess it’s good to know he has a heart beating in there somewhere. My phone buzzes with a text, which means the jet’s Wi-Fi is back on. “’Scuse me,” I say. “Gotta do some groveling because we’re so late getting home.”

O’Connor lifts his eyebrows, and I brace myself for another helping of his cynicism about relationships, but it doesn’t come. He tips his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes.

I unlock my phone, and the message is from Hailey. She’s responding to my profuse apologies from earlier.

Hailey: Don’t worry about it. I used the extra hours to keep my head above water at work.

I’m sure that’s true. It’s just that one of these nights, she’ll look up from her work and realize how much more fun it would be to date someone who was around more than two randomized nights a week.

Matt: And now? Are you at my place?

It takes a second until I get a response. But then my screen fills with a shot of Hailey’s bare feet crossed on my comforter. Her toenails are painted pink, and wouldn’t you know it, but Rufus’s nose is lying across her ankle.

Matt: Once again, I’m jealous of my dog. He’s not supposed to be on the bed, by the way.

Hailey: He’s good company.

Ouch.

Matt: I can’t wait to take his spot.

Hailey: :) You don’t need to sleep on my ankle though. It’s okay if you use the pillow.

Matt: You know what would be fun?

Hailey: Three straight wins in a row this week? I thought you had excellent foot speed last night, BTW. Good hustle.

Matt: Um, thank you. You know what else would be fun? If you were naked in my bed when I got there.

There is no response for a couple of minutes.

Hailey: Rufus has been relocated to the dog bed in the living room. And I made myself more comfortable.

My groin tightens with expectation.

Matt: How comfortable are you?

A photograph appears on the screen. It’s a shot of Hailey’s naked breast in profile, the nipple rosy. Holy crap. Hailey sexted me! That’s out of character for my shy girl. As I look at the photo, I harden up just imagining how much I want to put my mouth there.

Matt: That is the best sight I’ve seen in a really long time. Can’t wait to put my mouth on you.

Hailey: It’s really warm in here suddenly.

She adds a few flame emojis, and I’m grinning at my phone. Hailey is cute and sexy, and I’m getting all kinds of turned on.

Matt: I love sucking on you. Makes you so wet. I’m going to run my tongue all over your tits, honey. Just how you like it.

Hailey: Wow. They really don’t make emojis to express how I feel right now. Think: Niagara Falls.

Matt: Put your hand on your breast. Tease your nipple.

I sit there, imagining it, getting hornier by the second. And a minute later, I’m treated to another photo of her, and this time, she’s pinching that tasty little peak. Gawd. I look around to make sure nobody else can see this. But the guys sitting behind me are sleeping. Across the aisle, Blake and Lemming are still locked in battle over their video game on Lemming’s laptop. And Will O’Connor has nodded off beside me.

Fine.

I stealthily unclip my seat belt. Then I use one hand to gently tighten the wool of my trousers until the obvious bulge is easy to spot. With my other hand, I snap a quick picture on my phone.

Five seconds later, I’ve hit Send, refastened my seat belt, and put a magazine over my boner. The picture takes a while to upload.

“Dude. Did you just take a photo of your package?”

“No!” I say too quickly, even before I get a look at Will O’Connor’s evil grin. Fuck. “I was just…”

The grin widens. “The guys are gonna be very amused.”

“Christ. How much will your silence cost? I’ll buy you a beer.”

“Forget the beer.” He’s ready with another blackmail request, but it isn’t anything I’m expecting. “Tell the trainer I’ve been working hard at sprints,” he says. “They’re nagging me about my skating.”

“We all need a little technique refresher at some point. It’s easy to form bad habits.” Nothing to be ashamed of either. But a young hotshot like O’Connor might be the sort to assume he can’t afford to admit he needs the extra coaching.

Sure enough, he makes a face.

“Hey, OC!” Lemming yaps from across the aisle. “You’re up, my man.”

O’Connor takes his soda and moves seats again.

As soon as I’m alone, I open my phone again. There’s a text waiting.

Hailey: Someone misses me.

Matt: As if there was any doubt.

I hope she doesn’t doubt it. Kara always seemed to though. And I miss Hailey like crazy.

Matt: Please tell me you’re completely naked in my bed right now.

Hailey: Would you like proof?

Matt: Would I? Does the pope wear funny hats? Is hockey the best sport ever? :)

A minute later, my proof arrives, and it’s the very best kind. The photo is a black-and-white shot from above of Hailey’s naked torso, with one hand tucked demurely between her legs, covering my view of the good stuff.

Matt: Fuck, Hottie. I’ll be hard all the way over the Great Lakes, and it’s totally worth it.

Hailey: My work here is done.

Matt: And I love that you don’t include your face in these shots. Because that means I don’t have to instantly delete them in case my phone goes astray. Gonna hang on to this one, that’s for sure.

Hailey: Where’s my no-face picture of your hot self then? I’m way out on a limb here. But I find myself there a lot because of you. I never took a naked photo before. I also never did it on the kitchen counter. So thank you for checking that off my list last weekend.

Matt: Did I mention I’m dying here? In the best way. Thank you for going out on that limb for me. I’m honored to be the one who takes you there.

This is a hundred percent true. And when Hailey confides in me that way—like I matter—I’m able to feel for a few minutes like I’m not the worst boyfriend ever.

Naturally our Wi-Fi cuts out right in the middle of this sexy, heartfelt exchange. There are no more messages from Hailey, and every other player is cursing up a storm about their lost connections too.

Eventually we land in Toronto. Since I’ve spent the last hour thinking of all the things I want to do with naked Hailey, I’m stiff as a pipe as I deplane. We’ve got maybe ten minutes before our luggage arrives on the carousel, so I tuck the chocolates into my carry-on and go into the men’s room in the charter terminal to brush my teeth.

Wes and O’Connor are having a conversation at the sinks, so I duck into a stall instead. I unzip and take out my phone. Hottie was right that fair is fair. I grip the base of my aching cock and frame the shot. It’s the perfect expression of how much I’m looking forward to an hour from now when I let myself into the apartment. I depress the shutter.

And the flash blinds me.

Shit. Maybe nobody noticed.

I tuck the phone away and zip up. Then I flush the toilet casually.

“Did you just take a selfie of your dick?” O’Connor asks as I emerge.

“No.” I walk over to the sink and wash my hands.

“Then why’d the flash go off?” Wes asks, looking amused.

“No idea.”

Blake Riley emerges from a stall. “What do you call a dick selfie?” he asks, his big face frowning thoughtfully. “ Delfie is kinda awkward.”

“You ladies have a nice night,” I grumble, getting the hell out of there.

Their laughter follows me out the door.

***

An hour later, I’m tapping the code into my security system. I drop my luggage on the floor and then jump about a foot into the air as I see an unfamiliar shadow looming in the darkened corner.

Luckily I realize what it is before I give myself a coronary.

It’s a coatrack. Hailey’s coat is the only thing on it.

I laugh quietly in the dim light. She got me a coatrack, because I’m obviously too dumb to remember to source one myself.

God, I love this woman.

Usually that offhand thought with—you know—the L-word in it would freak me out. But right now, I don’t even have time to stop and worry about it. I just toss my jacket onto the new coatrack and toe off my shoes. Then I sprint toward the bedroom, still lit by warm lamplight. Rufus lifts his nose from the dog bed as I go by. But I’m in a hurry.

And…Hailey is passed out cold in my bed, face-down in the center of the bed.

Ah well.

I brush my teeth. Now that sex is off the table, my body relaxes. I yawn as I towel off my face. Dropping my suit, shirt, and tie onto the armchair, I crawl into bed, pulling Hailey’s warm body into my arms. God, it’s nice. She makes a sleepy, purring sound. My dick wakes up immediately, but her limbs are heavy. And I’m not going to pester Hailey for sex if she’s too tired after a long day.

And yet she’s pressing back against my chest, her sigh deep and soft. Mmm . I tilt my hips, pressing my cock against her very fine ass. Her body reacts, legs shifting, creamy skin seeking mine. My lips find her neck, and I’m lost to kissing her sweet skin. This woman in my bed, she’s been waiting for me. My heart beats a new rhythm. Grateful. Grateful. Thank you.

I try to turn her around, but she resists with a shake of her head.

“You want me to take you from behind?” I ask, my voice gravel.

She presses back against me in answer.

“Say it, honey.” I just want to make sure she’s awake and completely on board with the fun we’re about to have.

“It’s hard for me,” she whispers, the arch of her foot tracing my calf.

It’s very hard , my body agrees. I want her so badly. “You mean it’s hard…to say the words aloud?”

She nods, so I know she’s really awake.

“Dirty talk weirds you out a little.”

“I love it on you,” she says, and I smile in the dark.

“Well.” I lift her knee and slip my cock between her legs, just brushing her sweet pussy to tempt her. We both groan, because she’s already wet. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.” I roll her nipple between my fingertips to make the point.

“Mmm,” she whimpers. “ Fuck me. Do it right now. You have morning skate and I have work and you sent me that dick pic, you fucking tease.”

“Delfie,” I whisper, running my cockhead over her clit.

“Give. It. To. Me,” she whines.

As I am not a stupid man, I don’t make her ask again. I lift her knee high, and she gasps as I push inside her tight heat. And now I’m gasping too. We had a quick chat about birth control and health status last week, but this is our first time together since. And it’s heaven. With a groan, I start to thrust. She grips the covers and pushes back against me. We find our rhythm, and my shaking hand snakes around her hip so I can touch her. My fingertips meet soft, supple flesh, and she moans my name.

Fuck, I’m a goner. She feels so good around my aching dick. I give it to her hard and fast, and I’ll bet it’s not sixty seconds later when I feel my body gather in on itself. “Jesus, baby,” I groan into her ear. “Gotta come right now.”

She squeezes her legs together and turns her face toward mine. Our tongues touch for the first time in a week as I burst inside her, moaning and rutting like the desperate man I am. And she shivers and shudders, her pussy clenching around me as she follows me over the edge.

A minute later, she’s turned to flop onto my chest. We’re both panting like sprinters. We are sprinters tonight. I think I set a land-speed record for sex. The taxi that brought me home from the airport probably hasn’t made it out of Yorkville yet.

I start laughing, and it bounces Hailey on my chest.

“What’s so funny?” she slurs.

“Us. Quickest quickie ever.”

“Good hustle,” she says against my pec. “Good foot speed. Dick speed.”

I laugh some more. I’m totally beat but totally happy too. “Sorry we didn’t talk much this week. I hope you know it’s not because I don’t care.”

“Not exactly sitting around watching reruns here, babe. I worked twelve-hour days. Have you ever been to Niagara Falls?”

“Mmm?” I’m sleepy, and the change of subject has confused me.

“I keep forgetting you’re not from around here,” she says. “The falls are really impressive. The biggest torrent of water you’ve ever seen. That’s what business at Fetch has been like since Blake made his TV testimonial. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Her voice is sounding further and further away. “Matt?”

Sleep takes me away.

***

Hailey

Matt is in California now. That quickie we had last week was one of our few moments together. I went to his home game with Jenny, sitting in his row-D seats. But I was on call, and when two Fetchers called in sick afterward, I had to do a night shift for the first time in months.

The team is playing San Jose tomorrow night, so they’re in California already. They’re eating an early dinner somewhere gorgeous tonight, and Matt just texted me a shot of him and Wesley at a dockside restaurant, munching on shrimp and sampling wines.

I’m spending the evening with…data. Lots of data. Instead of shrimp, I have granola bars. Instead of wine, I’ve got…water. Even coffee is out of the question because I hit my caffeine limit hours ago.

It’s not glam, but I’m not bitter. I love data. I really do. It’s infinitely interesting, and it never misses your dinner reservation. It doesn’t whisper sexy things into your ear from afar but then end the call suddenly when the charter jet is about to take off.

All right. Maybe I’m just a little bitter. But not at Matt.

If I were going to blame anyone for my twelve-hour workdays, it should be Jackson. Even though we’re full-tilt right now, he’s the one who won’t let this crazy expansion idea die. He gave me a spiel about how the property was going to get snapped up if we didn’t act fast. It sounded like an infomercial. It sounded like his father, damn it.

Unfortunately, I voiced this opinion a couple of hours ago, and it didn’t go well.

“What’s the hurry?” I pressed when my ex came into my office to ask me what I thought of the idea. Again.

Jackson rubbed the back of his neck as if in pain. “He wants us to get the spot, that’s all.”

“Jax?” I asked carefully. “Does your father own that building?”

His frown deepened. “Yeah. But so what? He owns this one.” Jackson spread his arms to indicate our current office space.

“But this one is cheap,” I pointed out. “Why’s he so desperate to get us into that pricey spot?” I don’t trust that man. And worse—I don’t trust Jackson to stand up to him.

“He can’t hold it for us forever. That’s all.”

I studied Jackson, the same way I had since we were kids. He was still fussing with his neck, and he ran his fingers through his hair. He looked as jumpy as a man who had fleas.

“I’ll give you an answer by Tuesday,” I said slowly. “There’s still work to be done.”

That satisfied him. Or maybe it didn’t, but at any rate, he disappeared.

Now it’s nine p.m. and I’m rolling around in data, trying to get a handle on the question of my company’s future. Plenty of promising businesses have put themselves on a collision course with the sun by trying to grow too fast. I don’t want that to happen to this company that I love. Although a little part of me—the part that’s sitting here alone and pathetic on a Friday night—is tempted to take the half-million dollars Mr. Emery wants to give me and walk away. To let Jackson run this place into the ground.

Ack. No. That idea fills me with horror. That’s a solution for people who don’t care. But I do care, damn it.

So here I sit at my desk, building the mother of all spreadsheets. Now that we’ve been open for four years, our customer records are a treasure trove of data. I’ve decided that I need to know more about our clients before I can decide what our expansion should look like. I’ve made a density map of their locations. But then I realized I needed to know more about our best clients. Since a quarter of our active clients provide three -quarters of our revenue, those are the people I need to understand.

Unfortunately, understanding them has proven to be a tedious process. I’ve spent the last few hours opening up client files and tagging them with various attributes. We have people who use Fetch for their business needs (for document delivery, office supplies, client entertainment). Then we have what I’m calling the busy moms (diapers, organic food) and the swinging singles (wine selection and delivery, catering, and gift giving).

Someone has to think about these things, and tonight that someone is me.

I started at the front of the alphabet, and now I’m up to the Es. I smile when I click on Eriksson , but then I realize that it’s not Matt’s account. It’s Kara’s. That’s not a huge surprise now that I think about it. He told me once that he learned of Fetch from his ex, who’d grown to depend on us when the twins were younger.

Checking out her charges feels a little weird, but I have a job to do tonight, and it won’t take long.

I quickly scroll back through her lengthy list of requests and see that she belongs in the busy moms category. Lots of diaper deliveries in her early days. She also gets a tag for concierge services because she has Fetch make a lunch reservation for her every Friday, under the name of Dr. Daniel Bryant. The reservations happen exactly once a week, rain or shine. The choice of restaurants varies a great deal, but the consistency is admirable. She’s been lunching with Dr. Daniel Bryant every Friday for…I keep scrolling. For two years.

Well. Kara obviously found what she was looking for—a steady Eddie. Matt said she hated his travel. Hated the hockey wife lifestyle. She wanted a dentist to lunch with like clockwork. And she got one.

I close that account after tagging it and move on. The next one in alphabetical order is Matt’s. I don’t need any time looking at the list of charges, because I’ve seen them all before. Tagging him is tricky though. He doesn’t fit any of my tidy categories. I scroll back through the long list, wondering where to put him. The charges start eighteen months ago, but I don’t let myself pull up any of our old text messages because I’ll be here all night rereading them and missing him.

Eighteen months ago, when he was separated. I already knew the date, because he and I were leading parallel lives and didn’t know it. Our spouses asked for divorces only a couple of weeks apart.

That’s when the hair stands up on the back of my neck, and goose bumps climb my arms. Matt’s marriage ended a year and a half ago. His wife has been lunching with Dentist Dan every Friday for two years .

With a pounding heart, I open up her account again. It’s right there. Two years ago last month, she made her first Fetch reservation request—a lunch date at Sassafraz Table for two. Under the name Dr. Daniel Bryant.

There must be some mistake I’m making. Maybe that Daniel isn’t her boyfriend. Maybe it’s her dad.

But who dines at fancy restaurants with her dad every week?

I google Daniel Bryant, pediatric dentist, and he pops up immediately. His website shows a picture of him wearing scrubs with teddy bears on them. I check the hours.

His office doesn’t open until 3 p.m. on Fridays. Plenty of time for lunch and a quickie.

Holy shit.