The Match: An EXTENDED edition rom-com from the author of the TikTok sensation THE CHEAT SHEET! (It

Chapter 24

Jake asked if I wanted him to come pick me up for our date, but I thought it would be silly for him to come all the way over to my place and get me, only to drive right back to his house. We went three rounds until he gave up and let me call an Uber. But he was adamant that he was going to pay for it.

The Uber pulls up in front of Jake’s magazine-worthy farmhouse, and I’m still in disbelief that I even get to go inside this home, let alone date the man who owns it. (I’m not after Jake for his money or his belongings, though—I’m after his abs.)

Charlie and I get out of the Uber, and I tug down the hem of my floral-print midi dress. I even took the time to curl my hair in long, loose waves. Sure, they’ll fall over the course of the next hour, but for now I’m feeling like a walking ad for a beachy-waves hair product, and I wonder how I got so lucky to not wake up with a zit today. Life is on my side.

Everything feels too good. I’m still waiting for that hammer to drop while also trying to be more optimistic like Jo suggested.

I ring the doorbell and count the seconds it takes for Jake to answer the door, using the frantic beats of my heart as a guide. Ten.

As he’s opening the door, my nervousness ratchets up, and I wonder if it’s too late to play ding-dong-ditch and hide in the bushes. Yes, too late. He’s seen me. And oh boy, do I see him.

“Hi.” His voice is so sultry and warm, and that one word holds so much promise. He puts the guy from the restaurant’s paltry little hi to shame. Jake is so tall and muscular, and he’s wearing a form-fitting, slate-blue shirt. A sexy day-old stubble covers his jaw. His jeans are dark and trim, and I’m sure that he has them tailored to fit him like a glove. I like this look on him. No, I love it.

“Hi yourself,” I say, and nope, sultry doesn’t sound good on me. I sound drunk and like I have a throat bubble.

I’m just considering jumping into the bushes again when Jake steps out to where I’m standing and slides his arm around my waist. He leans down and brushes my cheek with a kiss from his deliciously scratchy jaw and whispers in my ear, “You look beautiful.”

Well, okay, then. I guess I’ll stay.

He releases me to pat Charlie on the head and then takes my hand, pulling me inside. I smell herbs and spices and hear a Leon Bridges song playing softly from the speakers in the ceiling. It doesn’t escape my notice that he’s put on the very album I was listening to the night he came over.

The lights are dimmer than normal, and my body is hyperaware that Sam is not home, and this is officially Jake the Man’s house and not Jake the Dad. My nerves are humming, and buzzing, and ping-ponging with excitement, and suddenly I don’t know what to do with my hands. There are no pockets on this dress, so I’m forced to clasp them behind me.

“Come on in. I’m just finishing up a few things.” He goes into the kitchen, and I follow a few paces behind him, afraid to say anything.

Someone please tell me what to do right now! I’ve stood in this kitchen dozens of times. I’ve spent the last few weeks talking to Jake every single day. But this feels different. The air is different. It’s rich with anticipation. It’s whispering memories of the night in my apartment.

It’s been a long time since I’ve gone on a date. Even longer since I’ve been on a date with a man I liked. Or a man who looked and acted like Jake. No one should look that sexy holding a ladle and stirring a pot. He’s a safety hazard.

I decide to give in to my awkwardness and plaster myself in the farthest corner of his kitchen. The cold marble cuts through the fabric of my dress and stings at my lower back, but I don’t care. I’m not moving.

“How was Sam when you dropped her off?” Sam seems like the safest conversational avenue.

Jake taps the wooden spoon against the side of the pot and sets it down. He takes note of me standing all the way across the room and smirks. “Great. She looked so happy running in with all her friends. I’m glad I let her go.” He goes toward the fridge and pulls out a bottle of white wine. How did he know that was my favorite? “Want a glass?”

“Yes!” I didn’t mean to shout that.

He smiles and pours but stays put where he is. “Here you go.”

He holds the glass out in front of him but doesn’t take a single step toward me. I know what he’s doing. It’s a bribe to get me away from my private island, and I have no choice but to comply if I want that wine. And I do want it.

I slowly move closer, making him smile. “Why are you so afraid of me tonight?”

“I’m not,” I croak. But I am. I totally am.

My nerves are sizzling because I don’t know what to expect from the night, or what he expects. We are two adults on a first real date, and let’s face it, there’s been a lot of tension building up between us lately, and I just don’t know what he’s thinking is going to happen tonight. What do I want to happen?

When I get within arm’s reach, he slips his hand around to my lower back and pulls me closer. My hips land against his, and he grins playfully. “Fell right into my trap,” he whispers in my ear.

I like being trapped with him.

He smells so good tonight—like he used a bodywash with descriptive words on the bottle like mountain or rain. Somehow, the scent acts like a truth serum, because when he asks me to tell him what’s going on in my head, I do.

“I’m nervous.” I look up and meet his tender blue eyes.

“Me too.”

“Really?” Somehow, that surprises me because he seems so put together and sure of himself. He always seems that way. Like a sturdy tree that’s been there for hundreds of years. You know that if a strong wind blows, it won’t knock it over.

“I changed my outfit three times,” he admits with a cute, guilty look.

I grin and relax a little more into him. “You didn’t.”

“I did.” His voice is warm and rich.

Something changes between us, and I can feel the moment we both realize that we are completely alone in this house and no one will burst in and interrupt a kiss this time. Chills fly across my skin as Jake brushes my hair away from my face and neck and then leans down. But he doesn’t kiss my mouth. No, that would be way too obvious a choice for him. Instead, Jake passes right by my lips and goes to my neck, placing a light, lingering kiss right below my jaw. His lips melt against my skin, and his scruff tickles my neck where he’s placing slow, hot kisses.

I tip my head back to give him a better vantage point. His kisses are lazily moving up toward my mouth, and as much as I’m loving this slow torture, I hear a bubbling sound on the stove. “I think something is boiling, Jake.”

“Mm-hmm,” he murmurs against my cheek.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“It’s fine.” He’s in a sexy haze again.

“Are you sure? Because—” I don’t get to finish my thought.

Jake’s lips take mine, and all thoughts of dinner are behind me. In fact, I don’t think I ever need to eat again. I’ll just stay here and keep kissing Jake for the rest of my life, and I’m pretty sure that will be enough to sustain me.

He presses me back into the counter, and together, our kiss feels like a deep exhalation. Like life has turned fuzzy around the edges and nothing else matters anymore. Except, he’s too tall. I hook my arm around his neck to pull him down to me, but Jake responds to my dilemma by picking me up and setting me on the counter in front of him. He stands between my legs.

My greedy little fingers run all over the tight ridges and valleys of Jake’s shoulders. I’m making a mental map of his body, unable to believe that I’m even allowed to touch this work of art. He should be boxed up and sent off to a museum where he can be adequately appreciated. I lace my fingers in the back of his hair and breathe in his clean scent. Jake’s lips move, both soft and fierce like the tides of the ocean, and I fall into them and swim.

I can hear something on the stove bubbling into a frenzy. It perfectly mirrors our kiss. I wind my arms tightly around his neck. You’re not going anywhere. He takes a handful of my dress and tugs me closer. I slide my tongue against his lips, and just like a three-Michelin-star chef, I’m able to taste the notes of everything he’s been cooking.

Viciously possessive thoughts run through my mind. He’s mine. Only mine.

And now I’m kissing him with the intent to brand him. I want everyone to be able to look at Jake and see my kiss planted across his lips. Maybe Jake can read my thoughts because suddenly he’s slowing things down. That delicious bite of his hand is lightening up, and I can tell he’s putting on the brakes.

He slowly pulls away, and I can’t open my eyes. They are too heavy and lust-filled to function properly yet. He cups my jaw—thumb tenderly caressing my cheek.

“I still think slow is a good idea, Evie. Even if I’m struggling with it.” The way he says it, though—with a low, raspy voice—knots my breath and instantly makes me wish we were still kissing.

But with my eyes shut, I nod my head in agreement because I am in agreement. He’s been through a heck of a lot over the last year, and I respect him immensely for trying to protect himself emotionally. And if sex tangles him up too much too soon, I don’t want to press it. Honestly, I feel the same way. My heart gets attached way too quickly when physical stuff gets involved. And if he’s not sure about us yet—I don’t want to make that leap.

Lucky for me, kissing him is a top-tier experience in itself.

I open my eyes and find Jake giving me a lopsided grin. He knows the effect he’s just had on me, and he likes it.

“Slow,” I repeat back to him like English is not my first language and I’m trying to commit this new foreign word to memory.

He smiles wider and shakes his head a little, stepping back and taking his fantastic body with him. With the new, cool air comes a little bit of embarrassment. I can feel that my lips are swollen, and my cheeks are warm, and just a minute ago Jake felt the need to remind me that we should take things slow . . . which means he was aware of how much I want him. That I had my blinker on and was ready to change over to the HOV lane. Move over, slowpokes.

Then again, I felt how much he wanted me too. His blinker was definitely on. And although I’m perfectly happy taking things slow with him, I also need some clarity.

“Jake.” I catch his hand before he turns away. “What are we?” Oh gosh, it’s out there now. It wouldn’t have hurt to lead up to it a little more, Evie.

His brows pull together, and a thoughtful expression clouds his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I know this is only our first date, but . . . I guess . . . I don’t know.” A+ conversational skills are happening over here. Really top-notch stuff.

The problem is, I’m scared. I’m scared that making him define the relationship will scare him off. Not only is he wonderful, but he hasn’t seemed scared of my disability at all. Granted, he hasn’t seen an episode from me yet, but I have to think he would be tender and understanding, given how he talks about Sam and her seizures. I don’t want to spook the best man I’ve ever met.

“You want to know where this is going?” he asks, and I can’t tell if he sounds hesitant or not.

“Yeah. I guess I do.”

He bites his lips together and nods. He turns away, and I worry that maybe I’ve annoyed him. But when he shuts off the burner and takes whatever has been furiously boiling off it, I realize he’s just getting settled in. He takes both of my hands, pulling me back up against his warm, solid body. I wrap my arms around his waist. I like this. I like that I get to do this. It feels natural and new—but also like we’ve been doing this forever.

Jake eyes me and fills his broad chest with air, then sighs. “I think our title would be dating. I like you. You like me. We’re making out in the kitchen but not going too fast too soon.”

If I’m doing this, I’m really doing it. “That’s still vague. What kind of dating?” I frown in thought. “I’m asking because a guy at a restaurant asked me out earlier today, and I didn’t know if I should accept or turn him down, because I wasn’t sure what this thing between us is. I know we are dating, but are we exclusive? Are we casual? Are we seeing other people?”

Jake’s brows pull together tightly. I can’t tell if he looks upset or is just giving it a lot of thought. Guarded is probably the best description. “You got asked out?”

I nod.

His eyes are fixed on me—unrelenting and not giving away an ounce of what he’s thinking. And then all at once his expression changes to something lighter. He shrugs, and suddenly he’s never had a care in the world. “We should be non-exclusive. Casual.”

Oh.

Is it wrong that this is not where I was hoping this heart-to-heart was going?

“Casual?”

“Yeah.” He smiles softly. “Like I said, I want to take this slow with you. We should just have fun and keep things light. Date. Get to know each other. But by all means, feel free to go out with other people.” He leaves my side to pull two plates down from the cupboard.

I’m staring at him numbly, trying to decide if I’m okay with this or not. But of course he wants to be casual. He’s just come out of a long relationship, and he needs some time to explore his options. It makes sense. I support it for him. The problem is how it makes me feel.

I’m not particularly comfortable in a non-exclusive relationship. It takes a lot for me to trust and open up to people—to be vulnerable with them emotionally and physically. I’m not sure that I like the idea of growing close to a man who’s keeping his options open. Maybe this means we’re in different places in life? I thought we were both feeling the same connection, but maybe it’s just attraction on his end.

Geez, this sucks. I’m crushed even though I have no right to be. I hop off the counter, just needing to escape and have a minute to let my frown loose.

Jake is moving casually around the kitchen, looking just as cool and collected as he did at the beginning of the night, and I’m pretty sure my shoulders are dragging on the floor as I walk.

“Be right back. I need to wash my hands before we eat.” No one can argue with good hygiene.

Except I think my voice might have trembled, because Jake looks over his shoulder with an inquisitive expression. I don’t wait around for him to ask me if I’m okay. I turn on my heel and make a mad dash for the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. I lean against it and give myself the freedom to pout for a minute. Just one little indulgent pity party.

My mind bounces from that devastating kiss to his proposal of a casual relationship back to the kiss.

While I’m in here, I buy myself some more time by actually going to the bathroom. It’s when I’m seated on the porcelain throne that I realize my obnoxious and never-nice friend, Aunt Flo, has arrived early for her visit. Perfect! Just wonderful timing. Because guess what? I know for a fact that I don’t have any tampons on me because I forgot my purse at home.

I want to groan at the injustice of the last half hour. Thankfully, this isn’t my first rodeo. It’s not glamorous, but I know what to do here. I wrap toilet paper around my hand a few times until I’ve made a scratchy and uncomfortable pad for myself to tuck into my underwear until I can get home.

I don’t know if I’m relieved or disappointed that this date has to end early. On the one hand, I’m happy that I’ll have more time to think over the casual proposition, but on the other hand, I’m also sad to leave Jake. I’ve missed him this week.