Chapter 8 I Love Italian Food Hailey

Chapter 8

I Love Italian Food

Hailey

“A twist!” Jenny crows the next morning, peering over my shoulder at the screen.

“The plot thickens,” I agree in a serious tone.

We stare at the photo for three more seconds, then turn to each other and burst out laughing. Between hysterical giggles, I manage to get the gist of Mr. Dick’s latest order. He’s in the market for double-sided tape so he can ensure that his neon-green Speedo doesn’t ride up. Though maybe we should be calling him Mr. Butt now, because the attached pic features a back view of him in said neon-green Speedo—and yes, it’s totally riding up. His buttocks are round, taut, and tanned. They’re kind of appealing, actually.

“Man, I could bounce quarters off that ass.” The deep voice causes both Jenny and me to jump in surprise. I swivel my head to find Matt Eriksson standing right behind us.

“Math!” I blurt out. “I mean Matt!”

Jenny snickers.

“You always call me Math when you’re nervous,” he remarks as he steps closer. “What’s up with that?”

“I’m not nervous,” I grumble. “I’m startled. You startled me!”

“Sorry about that. You guys don’t have a receptionist, so I just wandered down the hall until I saw a door with your name on it.”

Oh crap. He was just wandering around? What if someone saw him and realized he was a client? Why is he just showing up at my office?

“You shouldn’t be here,” I say uneasily. “You wanted your client profile to be anonymous.”

Matt waves a hand. “Ah, I don’t care about that anymore. So what if the world knows I use Fetch? It’s a wicked service.”

He moves even closer, leaning in to get a better look at the computer screen. Since I’m still sitting at my chair, I’m trapped between the desk and his shoulder. His very broad shoulder, which nudges mine as he bends that big sexy body of his. He smells fantastic, and I have to hold my breath so I don’t inhale his citrusy scent and get a contact high.

“So what are we looking at?” he asks curiously. “Butt porn? Your job is more fun than I thought.”

“No.” I immediately click the mouse to close the screen. “Sorry,” I say when I notice him raising a brow at me. “It’s a client request. Confidentiality and all that.”

He relaxes at the word client . Hmm. Was he a bit jealous at the thought of me browsing butt porn? Nah. Of course he wasn’t. He probably thinks I’m a weirdo.

“I got you a coffee,” Matt says as he straightens. He holds out a paper cup from Starbucks. “Black, just the way you like it.”

Jenny’s eyebrows shoot up. I can almost hear her thoughts— Just the way you like it? Tell me everything!

I avoid her intensely curious gaze and accept the cup. “Thanks,” I say, smiling at Matt.

“Anyway, I came by to…” With an awkward look, he trails off, then glances at Jenny.

She doesn’t get the hint. Or maybe she does and she’s choosing to ignore it.

Rolling my eyes, I rise from my chair and gesture to the door. “We need a minute,” I tell Jenny.

“I’ve got a minute,” she chirps.

In a firm voice, I repeat my earlier statement. “Client confidentiality.”

“Oh, fine.” Clearly disappointed, she huffs out the door, closing it behind her.

Matt props a hip against my desk. “This actually isn’t a business call,” he admits.

“Even so,” I answer wryly, “Jenny’s not great at picking up social cues.”

He smiles, and the sight warms my heart. This man is so frickin’ attractive. Like, melt-your-brain, dampen-your-panties attractive. And when he smiles, it totally short-circuits my system. My legs feel more than a little wobbly as I sit back down. I don’t think I can support my own weight in the face of this guy’s potent sex appeal.

“So what’s up?” I ask.

Matt is still leaning against the desk. His leg is about five inches from my knee. I wonder what he’d do if I reached out and stroked his thigh. Not that I’m going to. That would take me out of fangirl territory and skyrocket me into stalker land.

“I was thinking about what you said yesterday at the store,” he starts.

I furrow my brow. I said lots of things at the store. Most of them probably gibberish, because seeing Matt Eriksson in his underwear turned me into a blubbering fool.

“About how you’ve never really dated?” he prompts.

I feel my cheeks heat up. “Oh. That.”

“I don’t know. It seems kind of unfair that you’ve never been on a real date.” He pauses. “I thought I’d change that.”

My heart jumps into my throat. Oh my God. Is he asking me out? Matt Eriksson is asking me out? On a date? Matt Eriksson wants me to go on a date with him? Matt Eriksson wants to go on a date with me ? Matt Eriksson wants—

I take a deep breath and force myself out of my mental tailspin.

“And I have a fascinating first date in mind,” he finishes and then flashes me another one of those heart-stopping smiles.

“Yeah?” My pulse is racing. I should say no, right? Anxious fangirl isn’t exactly a good date candidate for this man. He needs a woman who doesn’t call him “Math” and stammer every time he’s around.

“ Rigoletto ,” he says solemnly.

I wipe my clammy hands on my jeans. “Oh, I love Italian food. I’ve never heard of that restaurant though.”

He chuckles. Low, deep, and tinged with humor. “It’s an opera,” he corrects.

I falter. “Oh. That sounds…”

“Awful?” he supplies. His lips twitch until finally another laugh slips out. “Yeah, opera is not my first date of choice either. But I can take you out for tapas first. It’s a mandatory team event, and I figured if you went with me, we could have some fun with it. We get to fancy ourselves up—I’m gonna wear that new tux you helped me pick out. We can console each other during the opera part, and then there’s a kick-ass spread afterward.” He waggles his eyebrows enticingly, adding, “Plus an open bar.”

“You want me to go to a team event with you…as your date,” I say slowly.

“Yes.” He rubs the side of his neck, looking awkward again. “Would you like to go?”

Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes!

“Yeah, sure,” I say casually. Except I sound so casual that it borders on indifference, and his slight frown tells me he’s not thrilled by the flippant response. “It sounds fun,” I assure him, injecting a dose of eagerness to my voice.

A smile curves his lips. “Awesome. It’s next Friday. Pick you up at seven?”

“Sounds good.” That gives me a week to dig up an opera-worthy dress. I have a feeling that my simple, mostly discount dresses are not going to cut it. Jenny to the rescue!

“Nice. I’m actually looking forward to this now.” There’s something very genuine about the way he’s looking at me, with warmth and anticipation.

“Because you roped a poor sucker into suffering with you?” I joke, mostly because I’m unnerved by the intensity of his gaze.

Matt’s ice-gray eyes stay locked on mine. “No, because I get to spend some real time with you.”

Oh my. I can’t turn away from those eyes. I feel like something is happening right now. Something weirdly intimate and scarily intense, yet all we’re doing is looking at each other. But there’s this strange electricity in the air. And Matt’s gaze has dropped to my mouth. His intent focus has me biting my lower lip, and a spark of heat flares in his eyes.

“Hottie.” He slowly pushes forward.

One big hand grasps mine, tugging me out of my chair and to my feet. And…oh God, I think he’s going to kiss me. His lips are parted, and his tongue comes out briefly to moisten them. I don’t know if I’m ready for this. I haven’t kissed anyone since Jackson—

“Hailey,” a voice says from the doorway. “Needed to talk to you about—oh. Hello.”

Speak of the devil.

Jackson saunters into my office without knocking, holding a file folder in one hand and a coffee mug in the other.

Matt smoothly takes a step back at my ex-husband’s appearance.

“Jackson!” I squeak.

His brow furrows. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt. I didn’t know there was anyone else in here.” Jackson studies Matt, and I can see him trying to figure out where he knows him from. Jackson and I watched lots of Toronto games together, both on television and in person, so he’s familiar with many of the players. After a few seconds, it clicks. “Wait—are you Matt Eriksson?”

Jackson’s long delay allows me to gather my composure, and my tone sounds steady and professional as I make the introductions. “Jax, Matt’s one of our clients. Matt, this is Jackson Emery, the co-owner of Fetch.”

Even if I hadn’t already told Matt that I work with my ex, the last name would have given it away. I still haven’t gotten around to dropping “Emery” and going back to just “Taylor.” I should probably do that, I know, but the idea of filing the name change paperwork feels so…final. Like it’ll make the divorce…real.

It is real.

Fuck. Yes. I know it’s real. I’m just a sappy fool, I guess.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Matt says politely. He extends a hand, and Jackson shakes it.

“Nice to meet you too.” Jackson smiles. “It’s kind of cool that our client roster has a professional hockey player on it.”

“And Hailey’s opera date,” Matt says, winking at me.

Jackson frowns.

I gulp. Oh my God. Why did Matt say that?

“You’re going to the opera together?” Jackson’s gaze slowly shifts from me to Matt and then back to me. “Since when do you enjoy the opera, Hails?”

“I don’t,” I stammer. “But…”

“I twisted her arm,” Matt finishes for me.

“I see.” Jackson pauses. When he speaks again, there’s a bite to his tone. “Melinda is actually a big fan of the opera. I should take her one of these days.”

My entire body clenches. Painfully. Did he seriously just bring up the woman he’s seeing? Something burns like acid in my throat. Anger. Or maybe a sense of betrayal? Not jealousy though. I’m not jealous that Jackson is dating someone.

But that doesn’t mean I want to hear about her.

“Anyway.” Matt sounds wary now as he looks from me to Jackson. “I’ll call you later to go over the details,” he tells me.

I manage a nod. “Okay.”

“Later, Hottie.”

Jackson frowns again.

To my disbelief, Matt smacks my butt lightly before strolling out the door.

I gape after him, unsure whether to be pissed or amused. I think he might have been trying to make Jackson jealous on purpose by calling me Hottie and touching my butt, but…why? Maybe he saw the way I flinched when Jackson mentioned Melinda?

When I turn back, I find Jackson’s eyes burning with annoyance.

“What was that?” he demands.

“I should be asking you the same thing,” I shoot back.

His jaw falls open. “Are you kidding me? What did I do?”

“We talked about this,” I bite out. “We agreed not to discuss our love lives with each other, and you brought up how your new girlfriend is a huge fan of the opera.”

“You brought up that you’re going to the opera with Matt Eriksson!”

“ He brought it up,” I grumble.

“Well, either way, it was brought up.” Jackson glowers at me. “Since when are you dating Matt Eriksson?”

“I’m not.”

His jaw tightens. “So I just imagined this entire fucking conversation?”

I flinch at his sharp words, because Jackson typically doesn’t curse. “I mean, we haven’t gone out yet,” I amend awkwardly. “The opera will be our first date. He came by today to ask me.”

“And you said yes.”

“Should I have said no?”

“Yes!” His face turns red. “He’s a client, Hails! You can’t fraternize with clients. It’s against the rules.”

“The rules we laid out are for our employees, Jax. We’re the co-owners of this company.”

“Exactly,” he snaps. “You’re the co-owner. Which means you need to lead by example. We can’t have our staff thinking it’s okay to date clients!”

“Nobody even knows Matt is a client. Only we have that information,” I answer tightly. “And me dating him doesn’t affect the business.” I’m not about to tell him which rules I’m breaking to walk Rufus though. Crap.

“What if it goes south and you break up, and then we lose him as a client?” Jackson challenges. “Did you ever think of that?”

“Matt and I are adults. Even if it doesn’t work out, we won’t lose a client.” God, I don’t think we will. “If you really think it’s a big deal, I can stop handling his requests.”

Jackson runs an agitated hand through his hair. “I don’t know. This just seems unprofessional, Hails.”

Indignation sticks in my throat. “Really? And you gushing about your girlfriend in front of a client is professional?”

“I wasn’t gushing,” he says coolly. “You’re saying you can flaunt your hockey player in my face, but I can’t mention the woman I’m seeing?”

Another arrow of pain pierces my heart.

We stare at each other for a moment.

I let out a heavy breath.

So does he.

“Jackson…” Misery hangs on to those two syllables. “What’s going on here?”

“I don’t know.” He sounds equally bleak.

After a long beat, we sit side by side on the edge of my desk, both of us staring straight ahead. God, how did this happen? Where did this distance come from? This is the boy I grew up with. The boy I fell in love with and married. Jackson and I never raised our voices at each other—not even once—during our eight-year marriage. It’s disheartening that we’re doing it now.

So many questions bite at my tongue as I peer at his handsome profile. Does he want to buy me out of the business? Stop working together? Why is it so hard to think about him with another woman? And why am I secretly happy that it bugs him to think about me with another man?

How did we get here?

Jackson clears his throat. Then he finally speaks. “I knew it was going to be rough, but I didn’t think it would be this rough,” he admits.

I swallow again. “What?”

“Dating other people. I mean, we’re divorced, but I still care about you, Hails.”

“I care about you too.”

“I…” He stops awkwardly. “I’m sorry I mentioned Melinda out of the blue like that. I was caught off guard, and it was just a knee-jerk thing.”

“I know. It’s okay. I probably overreacted a little.”

After a moment of hesitation, he puts his arm around me. I lean my head on his shoulder, and it’s such a familiar pose that my throat tightens.

His voice is thick with emotion. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

I wrinkle my forehead. “Why would I get hurt?”

“Eriksson is a professional hockey player,” Jackson points out. “Pro athletes have a certain type of reputation, you know? I don’t want him to play games with you.”

“He’s not like that, Jax.”

I can’t explain why I’m so certain of that, but I am. I saw Matt with his daughters, how gentle and loving he was with them. I know he’s home most nights when he doesn’t have a game, because that’s when he sends his Fetch requests, and he’s always there to accept deliveries. A lot of the other guys on the Toronto team are all over the internet, all the time. Like that O’Connor guy—the hockey forums constantly say how he was spotted at some nightclub on Richmond or canoodling with a model on some rooftop bar. Matt’s name, on the other hand, barely ever shows up on those sites.

“Do you want me to stop handling his account?” I offer.

“No.” Jackson sighs. “We’re friends, aren’t we, Hails?”

“Always,” I whisper.

“That’s never going to change,” he vows before planting a light kiss on the top of my head. “No matter what happens, we’ll always be friends.”

He rises to his feet, gathers up his file folder and mug, and walks out of my office.

No matter what happens? As in he’s going to try to push me out of the business? Is that what he meant?

I stare at the empty doorway, the answers eluding me. But there’s a very bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.