19. The Math Isn’t Mathing
Chapter nineteen
The Math Isn’t Mathing
Melina
My heart races as Matt and I walk through the entrance of the Dallas Convention Center.
The grand ballroom opens like a scene from a Hollywood movie—chandeliers casting golden light over navy and emerald drapery, a bold nod to the military.
Round tables dressed in linen are topped with towering arrangements of white roses and lush greenery, threads of gold shimmering in the petals.
The air is filled with the scent of fresh blooms and perfume, candles flickering against crystal and china until everything shines.
I tighten my hold on Matt’s hand as the hum of conversation shifts around us. A string quartet plays, its classical melodies threading beneath the chatter and clinking glasses, wrapping the room in warmth and quiet sophistication.
It feels like stepping into another world—one of power, wealth, and respect. But all I notice are the countless eyes turning our direction. My confidence falters into vulnerability, stripping me bare.
Matt tenses beside me, jaw set, a protective fire igniting in his gaze. I shift closer, brushing my arm against his in silent reassurance. He exhales, forcing himself to ease.
As we weave deeper into the crowd, I look at Matt—broad shoulders squared, his presence commanding attention even as he tries to deflect it.
Women glance his way with lingering smiles, trailing over him longer than I prefer.
A sharp flare of jealousy sparks in my chest. So, this is what it's like for him.
I lean in, subtle but deliberate, staking my claim.
Matt guides me to our table, hand at the small of my back. Relief flickers when I see Steele and Bishop already seated—Steele’s bow tie crooked, sleeves shoved up, mischief in his grin; Bishop the opposite, precise down to his crimson pocket square.
Steele’s eyes go wide, his jaw dropping. “Melina, you look good enough to—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Matt cuts in, shooting him a glare.
Steele grins, hands raised. “Beautiful. You look beautiful, Melina.”
“Thank you,” I say, laughter tugging at me despite myself.
Bishop stands to greet me. To my surprise, he leans in and kisses my cheek. Heat floods my face.
Matt stares at him, incredulous. “Bro? Seriously?”
Bishop shrugs. “Piss off, Mason. She’s clearly yours.” His wink makes me laugh, warmed by their camaraderie.
A man with a commanding but approachable presence rises. “Callahan,” he starts, “very nice to meet you.”
I shake his hand firmly. “Likewise. Mason’s told me a lot about you.”
He chuckles. “Only the best parts, I hope.” There’s a steadiness about him that reminds me of my favorite uncle, Lance.
Matt starts the introductions. “Mel, this is Brooks,” he says, nodding toward a quiet, dark-skinned man with kind eyes. “And this is Diego—or Demo—and his fiancée, Anna. Over here is Hale with his better half, Emily.”
Anna, fierce and radiant in emerald, beams as she reaches across the table. “Diego says Mason won’t shut up about you—the woman who broke the unbreakable.”
Instantly, I know she’s going to be trouble, in the best way.
Emily is quieter, her navy gown soft against her gentle smile. “Welcome.”
“Pleasure meeting you both.”
Finally, Callahan introduces me to his wife, Tessa, glowing in gold. “I love your dress. It’s stunning.”
“Thank you! Yours is gorgeous. The color suits you.”
Anna flashes a wicked grin. “Let’s be real. We’re the hottest table here. The guys should be counting their blessings.”
I can’t help but smile. It feels good to be welcomed like this, surrounded by strong, vibrant women and the men who clearly adore them. The nerves settle into something warmer. Belonging.
A waiter circles, filling glasses with champagne. When he reaches Emily, she hesitates, then quietly asks for tea instead.
Matt stiffens beside me, his gaze flicking to the untouched flute.
“Well, I’ll be damned, Hale,” he says, leaning forward. “Congrats, man.”
The table goes quiet for a beat before Matt’s comment registers.
Emily laughs softly, resting a hand on her stomach. “Guess we’re not as subtle as we thought.”
A round of congratulations moves through the group. “Is it your first?” I ask.
Emily nods, glowing. “It is. We’re really excited.” Then she looks at me. “Do you have children?”
“Three,” I say, pride slipping into my smile.
“They’re incredible,” Matt adds without hesitation.
“Best kids I’ve met,” Steele remarks, Bishop offering a nod of agreement.
Steele turns to me, “How’s Arrow?”
My smile fades. “Recovering—slow, but I’m hopeful.”
Bishop leans in, voice steady. “We’ll get the bastard who did this, Melina. Mark my words.”
Laughter and easy banter ripple around the room, the heaviness from moments ago giving way to warmth. For the first time in a long time, I feel at home.
Waiters weave between tables, taking orders with practiced ease. When one stops next to us, Matt barely glances at the menu. “Salmon, please.”
I skim mine quickly. “Filet, medium rare.”
Steele’s brows lift, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Red meat—nice. Knew I liked you.”
Matt shifts closer, his breath brushing my ear. “You do look good enough to eat, by the way.”
Heat floods my cheeks as I give him a bashful smile. Steele leans across the table with a mock-scandalized expression. “Whispering sweet nothings, Mason? Man, you’ve gone soft.”
Matt stares at him, half glare, half grin. “Don’t be jealous because you’re stuck with Bishop now.”
“Please,” Bishop deadpans. “At least he didn’t ditch me the second someone prettier walked in.”
“Hey! I’m pretty.” Steele protests.
“Yeah,” Matt says dryly. “Pretty annoying.”
As we eat, the MC takes the stage, announcing the charity auction.
Across the table, Steele’s eyes widen as he scans his pamphlet. “Holy shit—Cowboys helmet signed by Emmitt Smith!”
He slaps Bishop’s arm. “This is mine.”
Bishop smirks. “You realize you’ll have to outbid half of Texas for that thing.”
Steele grins confidently. “Watch me.”
Brooks cuts in. “Watch it. Last time you bid on something, you almost had to sell your truck.”
Steele shoots him a look. “Worth it. It’s Emmitt fucking Smith.”
Hale shakes his head. “You Cowboys fans are a different breed.”
Emily laughs softly, nudging Hale. “Says the guy who’d sell his soul for Astros tickets.”
Hale chuckles, unbothered. “Point taken.”
Callahan wins a golf package with quiet satisfaction, earning an indulgent grin from Tessa.
The MC announces a luxury Bahamas vacation—five nights at a beachfront resort, first-class flights, spa treatments, private dining. Matt’s locks onto me, a spark igniting. His paddle goes up without hesitation, immediately met by an older man on the other side of the room.
“It’s on now,” Steele teases. “Don’t let grandpa win.”
Matt smirks, upping the bid again. The gentleman matches him, their duel climbing past $10,000 before Matt calls, firm and steady, “$12,500.”
The man concedes with a good-natured laugh. Matt leans back, victorious.
I move closer, whispering, “So, a tropical paradise, huh?”
His eyes catch my gaze, mischief sparking. “I just wanna watch you strut around in a bikini for five days.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks, but I smile coyly. “Careful, soldier. I might hold you to that.”
Matt’s grin spreads, his fingers sliding between mine under the table. “I’m counting on it.”
Across from us, Steele groans loudly. “Oh, for fuck’s sake—get a room.”
Bishop laughs. “Pretty sure that’s what the trip is for.”
Emily smiles. “They’re sweet.”
“Yeah,” Brooks adds with a rare pull at his mouth. “Don’t ruin it, Steele.”
Hale lifts his glass with a smirk. “Let ’em have their moment. God knows they’ve earned it after putting up with you all night.”
As plates are cleared and conversation lingers, the lights dim, casting the room in a softer glow. The quartet shifts into something warmer, coaxing couples onto the dance floor.
Matt rises, extending his hand with a charm that steals my breath. “Would you do me the honor?”
My heart flutters as I place my palm in his. “Of course.”
He leads me out, arm slipping around my waist as my palm settles on his shoulder. Our bodies align as the opening notes of All of Me wrap around us like a vow.
He moves with effortless confidence, guiding me with a touch, both strong and tender. His fingertips graze the bare skin at my back, sending heat rushing through me.
“Where’d you learn how to dance?”
He chuckles. “My mom. Never thought it’d come in handy until now.”
I close my eyes briefly, savoring the sensation of his lips brushing against my ear as he speaks. The tempo changes, pulsing faster. Matt spins me, then tugs me against his chest, his grip sliding lower on my hip.
“Do you have any idea what this dress is doing to me?” he murmurs roughly against my neck, voice dark with need.
I smile wickedly, grinding my hips into him, feeling the unmistakable hardness pressing into my ass. “I think I have some idea,” I tease softly.
His breath hisses sharply, his hands clutching, possessive. “Careful,” he warns, “keep that up, and I’ll have you in a bathroom—or against the nearest wall—before anyone notices we’re gone.”
“Promises, promises,” I whisper, turning in his arms, fingers finding the hair at his nape.
His gaze darkens, burning with intensity as he holds me tight. His mouth grazes mine in a feather-light touch that makes my knees weak. “Don’t tempt me,” he growls.
But beneath the fire, I sense something else—a tension that isn’t purely desire. I tilt my head, searching his face. “You okay?”
Matt exhales, pulling away just enough to look at me. “I’m nervous about my speech,” he admits, lust giving way to a deeper emotion.
Surprise flickers through me. “You? Nervous?”
“Public speaking isn’t exactly my thing.”
“My mom always told me if you get nervous, picture everyone in their underwear.”
A low laugh rumbles from him, some of the stress easing. “That’s your advice?”
I nod, grinning wider. “Works every time.”