Scoring a Holiday Match (Mr. Match) by Delancey Stewart (feel good novels .txt) 📕

eyes darting to PJ and then back to me. “I’m his boss,” I said, in case her concern was misplaced jealousy. “He works for me,” I emphasized.

“It’s just that . . .” More hand wringing. “Well, we didn’t exchange information yet.”

She wanted to see him again? After this? Well, good for PJ.

“Oh,” I said, understanding showing me a clear course of action. “Give me your number. I’ll text you his info and give him yours when he’s more . . . Conscious.” PJ was practically asleep, slumped against Ash.

Becky gave me her number.

“Do you have a way to get home?” I asked.

“Uber,” she shrugged, and ordered a ride.

“Okay. Well, it was nice to meet you. I’m sure I speak for PJ too.”

“So nice,” PJ slurred, surprising me.

“I’ve got it,” I told Ash, preparing myself to take PJ’s weight against my shoulder.

Ash frowned. “Let’s get your coat. I’ve got him.”

I didn’t argue, and soon we were outside, waiting for the Uber I’d called. We didn’t speak, and the cold night air worked to erase the soft sense of certainty I’d begun to feel inside. Ash was gorgeous and compelling. But he also lived in Alaska, and I wasn’t exactly going to walk away from my company. How would things even work if we pursued this?

The car pulled up and Ash helped PJ slide across the seat, the Uber driver giving me a dubious frown as I tucked PJ’s feet into the car.

“Well, I said to Ash. I guess it’s goodnight.”

He didn’t look happy, and something in his eyes made me want to press myself against him again. “You sure you have to go?”

“I can’t just send him off,” I said. “He’s my responsibility.”

Ash nodded lightly. “Okay then, Rose,” he said, and the sound of my name made me think he just wanted to hear the way it sounded from his lips, maybe test it one last time. “I really enjoyed meeting you.”

I waited for him to suggest we exchange numbers, even though I knew this couldn’t go anywhere real. All the possibility I’d imagined inside vanished in the face of reality.

“Take care of yourself in Alaska,” I said, suddenly protective of this huge man as my mind flashed through episodes of Deadliest Catch with a shudder.

“I will,” he promised.

“Boss,” PJ moaned from the backseat.

“I better go,” I said. And I was about to pull my hand from Ash’s grip when he lifted it slowly to his lips and placed one more kiss on my palm. My heart screamed at me to stay close, to not walk away.

“Good night,” I said. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” he said, and a trace of sadness in his voice wrapped around my protesting heart as I slid into the car next to PJ.

The car drifted away from the curb, away from Ash, and from a night where twinkle lights and the smell of pine and saltwater had me thinking I could be someone I was not, could have someone clearly not meant for me.

“Becky had pretty hair,” PJ slurred as he slumped over again, his head coming to rest on my lap. “You’re a nice lady,” he concluded before he began snoring.

Regret surged through me, and I had a sudden urge to turn the car around, to race back and tell Ash that of course we could figure things out, of course we should try.

But it didn’t make sense. Neither of us could step out of the lives we’d made, and neither of us wanted to. It was clear Ash wanted to stay as far from San Diego as he could get.

As I tucked PJ into my guest bed and texted my partner to let him know his nephew was safe, my heart felt strangely empty.

I was not the girl who needed a man. I wasn’t the one who wished for things that couldn’t be. I’d never been that girl.

Only now, maybe I was.

Chapter 6

Rose is Not King Kong

ASH

It wasn’t like I’d expected that Rose would come home with me tonight and then we’d spend the rest of our lives happy ever after.

Except maybe I did expect something.

Something more than a quick glance at the curb as she went home with another man.

Okay, yeah. That’s not quite fair. But she didn’t go home with me, and that burned. Deep inside me, there’d been a little kindling flame of hope, and the warmth of that tiny fire was so unfamiliar and unexpected, I’d lost myself to it for the evening. I’d forgotten who I was, and why meeting someone here in San Diego would be the worst possible scenario.

Except . . .˘would it really?

I watched Rose’s car leave, and turned, going directly to the bar inside.

Max was waiting for me.

“I watched you leave. Figured you had it buttoned up tonight.” His voce had always had just a touch of arrogance to it that was rubbing me the wrong way right then.

“Nah. Didn’t work out.”

“Right.” He ordered a scotch and as we took our drinks, we turned together, walking a bit away from the bar. “So when you had your tongue down her throat and she was practically scaling you like King Kong on the Empire State Building on the dance floor, things were not working out.”

“They were not.”

“Optical illusion, then.”

“Could be. And I don’t like Rose being King Kong in that scenario, by the way.”

“You’re a moron.” Max turned away from me, as if he was so disappointed in me he couldn’t even look at me.

And looking at me wasn’t required right then, because everyone at the party was watching Trace Johnson again, as the huge goalie cleared the dance floor for a second time. He was pushing everyone to the sides, loudly promising them it would be worth it.

“He needs to cut his alcohol intake,” I observed as Johnson handed his jacket to the woman in the silver dress, who looked exhausted.

“He quit drinking in the off season. This is Johnson sober.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

The man on the dance floor was explaining to the irritated crowd that he’d been watching a lot of YouTube.

“So,