Thirteen

two-1

two

Thirteen left as soon as the last guy left her table.

Oak knew it because he’d come up short when he sought her out as all the participants returned to the bar. That was the portion of the evening when the daters were supposed to fill out their comment cards, stating who they’d like to see again and who rated highly and not.

MatchMate took negative feedback as well as positive and added it to members’ private notes, so that if they ever requested counselling or help from a dating advisor, they had a starting point established.

Thirteen made no notes and didn’t wait to hear who wanted to see her again. Oak checked after, almost every single one of the men wanted a follow-up date with her. But she’d never be linked to any of them if her profile didn’t state an interest.

Five days after the speed-dating event, he saw Miss. Thirteen again, standing at the bar waiting for a drink during a Friday night mixer.

“So, who are you tonight?” Oak asked as he approached.

She turned around and lost her blinking innocence as soon as she recognized him. The number on her chest stated that she was thirteen again. Odd, usually people had different numbers at every event; that was why everyone had a membership card, so their details could be taken and noted down to correspond to their new number each time they attended an event.

“My skirt isn’t short enough for me to be sexy siren tonight,” Thirteen said, scanning the room behind him. “So it’s a tossup between simpering bimbo and bitter spinster.” She took a breath that suggested she was fed-up. “I’ll decide after I’ve had my first drink.”

“Seems you don’t stick to just one style,” he said, sinking onto the stool next to where she was standing. She was shorter than he was, much shorter than he’d thought and it felt wrong to be sparring with her when his physical size dominated hers, not that she seemed to notice.

“I like to mix it up if the night starts to get stale,” she said.

“I’ll try not to be insulted that your night got stale after our date,” he said, resting an elbow on the bar.

Grinning when the bartender came over with her drink, Thirteen hissed in a breath of satisfaction. “If I don’t get a bite tonight, I’m coming back for you, sweetheart,” she said to the bartender who smiled and winked at her. “Don’t leave without me.”

“The Harley out back is mine.”

“Oh,” she said, sipping her drink and pouting. She leaned toward the bartender who was lowering to her level and admiring her cleavage while he was at it. “I’ve always been a sucker for a motorcycle. What time do you get off? Or are you going to leave that to my discretion? You get a break, right?”

“Yeah, at—”

Oak twisted to glare at the bartender. “Customers need drinks, Sy.”

“Yes, sir,” Sy said, clearing his throat and disappearing to the other end of the bar.

Thirteen huffed and tipped more alcohol into her mouth. “Oh great, you’re one of those guys.”

“Those guys?”

Spinning to pin her displeasure on him, Thirteen wasn’t feeling so flirtatious anymore. “The ones who decide that since they haven’t tasted p***y in a while no one else should be allowed the pleasure. You’re clam-jamming.”

Ducking toward her, he couldn’t believe that she was accusing him of… “I’m what?”

Exhaling, she twisted to look at the clock above the buffet and took another drink from her martini glass. “Do you want me to suck your d**k? Huh? Will that make you feel better and get you out of whatever funk you’re in? Let me guess, you’ve got a birthday coming up? Typical guy, you’re getting older, need to feel desired. Whatever. There’s a janitor’s closet between the restroom doors, just—”

“A janitor’s closet?” he asked. The last time he’d spoken to her he’d told himself not to display any kind of shock at what she said, he didn’t want to be spitting beer everywhere again. But Oak couldn’t contain his astonishment. “You have s*x with guys in the janitor’s closet?”

She lifted a quick, straight finger. “Ah, I didn’t say I’d have s*x with you, I said I’d suck you off.” Easing back, she looked him down and then up. He’d never felt so objectified. “Nope.”

“Nope what?” he asked, watching her turn back toward the bar to pick up her glass again.

“I’ve changed my mind.”

What had happened in the space of ten seconds that made her go from, “I’ll suck you off in the janitor’s closet” to “no, not interested”?

“Why?” he asked, then cursed himself for asking because it didn’t matter.

Oak hadn’t intended to sneak away into any closet with her. If they were going to hook up, he’d take her upstairs to one of the hotel rooms on the second floor. Wait, no, he wasn’t going to take her anywhere, he wasn’t going to have s*x with her… of any sort.

“I like MatchMate,” she said, leaning over the bar to check out the bartender’s a*s without any kind of modesty or shame. “I like being a member.” At least she liked something about him. “And you said you’d never stop calling if I sucked your d**k, so… yeah. If I did that, I’d have to quit MatchMate ‘cause you’d be calling and calling and calling…”

Her a*s was rising and falling as she lifted her weight onto her forearms to get a better look over the bar, probably at the bartender’s a*s. She was too short to keep her feet on the floor as she did it, so she just bobbed there, distracting his sanity and making him wonder why she’d been so adamant about not having s*x when clearly she had the rhythm down.

That wouldn’t be a bad pace to start her at, slowly, gentle, tease her, torment her a little, let her think she was going to go insane waiting for him to get down to it for real. Yeah, that would put her sweet little a*s in its place and that was what she needed, a guy with a strong hand and a stronger will than hers. She was a challenge and would be every single day.

“How can I call you when I don’t even know your name?” he muttered.

Her a*s stopped bouncing and slid downward as she found her feet and twisted toward him. “You’re telling me you didn’t check out every woman at that speed-dating thing before you went?” she said, without concealing her suspicion. “You have access to all the membership records.”

“Yeah,” he said, turning to rest his forearms on the bar. She hunched with him and their upper arms met. Damn, she was warm, and he’d never hated his shirt more. It didn’t matter that the cotton between them was thin; somehow it still felt like too much. “But checking up on my dates wouldn’t be sporting, would it? And it’s not the true MatchMate experience.”

“Is that what this is about? Having the true MatchMate experience as part of your midlife crisis?”

Tightening his fist around his bottle, Oak wondered if Thirteen had conspired with his sister to rile him. “I’m thirty-three.”

“Huh,” she said, and although he didn’t look at her, he felt her looking at him. “Shame. Forty’s my minimum.”

Spinning around, she was about to flounce off, so he grabbed her arm to hold her at the bar. “You can’t be more than twenty-six,” he said.

Members did get to set preferences on the mate they were interested in finding, such as an age range, but usually they kept the parameters as wide as they could.

“Twenty-eight,” she said and grinned as she leaned in. “I have daddy issues.”

His hand slid from her arm as she walked away toward the buffet. It didn’t take long for the first guy to move in on her and Oak saw several others watch her progress with interest. Thirteen was the kind of woman who should be snapped up quickly, even with her apparent aversion to finding love. She couldn’t have been a member for long and probably wouldn’t be.

“Isn’t this fun?”

Turning, Oak saw Taylor jumping up onto the stool beside him. “Do you want a drink?” he asked, trying his best to ignore the files she had in her arms.

“No,” she said. “I’m here for your autograph, not to distract you from finding true love.”

True love had never seemed further away.

Members were invited to their preferred locations, and they could note more than one. Some liked places closer to their work; others liked the MatchMate spots near their home. But they could pick any; some people wanted to put distance between them and their dates. They were also entitled to mix it up and could request invitation to any MatchMate get-together or buy tickets for special events anywhere.

His number one preferred locale was right here. Trouble was, this establishment was their flagship site and part of the MatchMate corporate offices. So he worked right upstairs, giving his sister this chance to descend on him in his social time. Not that he felt particularly social right now.

“Gimme,” he said, taking the folders from her and stacking them on the bar before he opened the top one. “Did you bring a pen?” Taylor’s hand slid onto his face and when she drew him around to look at her, there was concern written all over her expression. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

“Dating makes me hate myself,” he admitted. “Always has. I really suck at it.”

She smiled, a warm, reassuring smile, and brushed her thumb back and forth on his cheek. “No, you don’t. You’re just out of practice. You’ll find your groove.”

“It’s not that,” he said and tried to look at the folder, but she strengthened her hand and wouldn’t let him.

His sister’s concern hadn’t gone anywhere. “Then what?”

“I’m great at the flirting and I love a challenge, you know I do, but…” He growled. “I hate the bullshit. Why can’t a guy just say to a girl, ‘Hey, you’re hot, you’re interesting, let’s do this.’ Why can’t that be enough?”

“So what?” Taylor asked, a smile flirting with her lips. “You want to skip the fun part and jump straight into marriage?”

Lowering to her eye level, he wanted her to know that he wasn’t playing. “I don’t have time for the fun part, Tay.”

“Everyone has time for the fun part,” she said. “I was only kidding about your age; you’ve got plenty of time. You’re a guy… You can have kids in your seventies if it takes that long to find someone to love. If you have to wait until you’re fifty or a hundred to find it, wait as long as it takes.”

“Just forty apparently,” he muttered, pissed at himself for wanting a woman who seemed to be the epitome of bullshit.

“Aren’t you tired of dancing with me and Mom at all these stupid parties we go to? Wouldn’t it be nice to put your arms around a woman you feel something non-familial for? All the crap about kids aside, you need someone, Oak. Someone to talk to when you go home at night. Someone to share your worries and your dreams. You’ve taken care of me and Mom for long enough, we’re sick of seeing you throwing yourself on the pyre of self-sacrifice, doing everything you can to make sure we have good lives while yours passes you by. It’s time, Oak. You’re done. We don’t need you every minute of the day anymore. We’re all grown up.”

Taylor included their mother in that statement because for a long time after their father died the woman was a shadow of herself. It was tough. Tougher for him because he had to hold his mother up while helping to raise his sister, completing his college work, and starting MatchMate.

His mom faced some dark times, darker than Taylor could ever imagine, but he’d done whatever it took to get them through and he was proud of his family because they’d come out of the tragedy stronger and closer.

There were so many things for him to consider, the business, his full schedule, his family. How could any woman put up with his hours and his need to prioritize his family over everything else in his life? And he’d have to make compromises for whatever his woman’s priorities were and if they clashed with his…

Then she wouldn’t be the woman for him.