22. Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty
Steven
Scarlett’s lying on her stomach, legs kicking slowly back and forth while chewing on a pencil. Running my hands up and down my pants, I can see her mind working on the current problem.
Me.
Specifically me not giving her any information on what I think about the women looking for their forever person.
And that’s because all of this compatibility talk has me thinking about us, and just how compatible we are.
She’s good at matchmaking. Really good. And that’s the reason I don’t understand how she can see everyone else’s possibilities except ours.
A piece of hair drapes across Scarlett’s face and she blows out a breath in an attempt to push it out of the way. Leaning across the coffee table, I sweep it behind her ear, surprised when she talks to me.
“Did you hear me, Steven?”
My hand freezes against her warm skin, and my gaze whips to hers. The gleam in her eyes tells me she knows my focus was definitely not on the question she just asked.
But doesn’t seem to register what subject they were contemplating.
My attention started waning over an hour ago, after we finished talking about Millie and Declan.
A slow smile spreads across my face, and I shrug.
“You’re usually a ton of help with this.” She scoots up into a sitting position, legs crossed, elbows resting against the coffee table. My hand is left hanging in the air. “Am I boring you?”
She’s definitely not boring me. But the ‘what do you think of this one?’ definitely is.
She’s brought up five different women. Five. And no, there isn’t anything wrong with any of them, except one thing.
They aren’t her.
Scarlett’s eyes follow my hand as I pull it away, then rest my elbow on the arm of the couch. “I think talking about Declan and his compatibility meter threw me off my game.”
Her brows shoot up. “It’s been almost an hour since we talked about Declan and Millie. Have you heard anything about any of the girls I’ve gone over?”
“Some.” I pick up a piece of paper and skim through the answers to ‘Emma’s’ questions. “I’m just not really finding any of them standing out.”
“Not even the one who likes to travel all over the world?” Her eyes twinkle as she rests her head on her folded arms, looking through her lashes, watching me.
“She was fascinating. But even you know that would never work, between my game schedule and her life choices.”
“True.” She shrugs a shoulder, eyes never leaving me. “I think you’re intentionally trying to make this difficult for me.”
“You’re the matchmaker. I’m the one who needs to be matched.” She tilts her head, studying me. “Asking your ‘clients’ what they think of potential matches isn’t how you do things. Maybe that’s why you’re getting stuck.”
She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, and my gaze follows the movement. “I didn’t think it would be so hard, honestly.”
Swallowing past the lump that's suddenly stuck in my throat, my gaze shifts to hers. “Didn’t think what would be so hard?”
“Finding someone for you.” She runs a hand through her hair and sighs. “I know you better than anyone. Finding you a match should be the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”
Yes. Scarlett! It should be. Except you’re looking at all the wrong people.
Running a hand over her eyes, she groans. Then turns toward me. When her eyes meet mine, my breath hitches.
Is she finally going to tell me she feels this too? All she has to do is say the words, and we can stop all this pretending.
Her eyes flit to the left of me before meeting my gaze again. She opens her mouth, exhales, and then presses her lips together.
“Maybe you just need a break?” When she pinches the bridge of her nose, I gently touch her wrist. “Or we could start looking at some of the guys who reached out. I’m sure there’s at least one other match, besides Dec and Millie, you could make tonight.”
Letting out a heavy exhale. Her shoulders fall, her whole body collapsing in.
This promise she made is heavy, and I can see how much it’s weighing on her. Which in some sadistic way makes me feel better, because if she didn’t have feelings for me, she’d be setting me up left and right without a care in the world.
Moving back to her position on the floor, she flips through the papers in front of her. But the excitement she normally has about this process seems to have been sucked out of her.
“Scarlett?” She turns her head, an unusually dim gaze meeting mine. “You’re not letting anyone down. You’ll figure my match out at some point. It doesn’t have to be right this moment. I’m not going anywhere.”
Again she stares at me, that same look on her face, the one where it’s like she wants to say something but doesn’t know how, or if, to say it.
But instead of saying anything, she just nods, turning back to the paper in her hand. My gut pitches.
Looking at the time, I stand up.
“Are you leaving?” She shoots up from her place on the floor, suddenly standing in front of me.
All I’d need to do to touch her is just lift my hand. My palms itch, but I rest them against my jeans, forcing them at my side.
“Yeah.” I grip the back of my neck and roll it from side to side. “I have workouts, and then a team scrimmage tomorrow afternoon. I need to get ready for bed.”
“Can you stay just a little bit longer?” The warmth from her body reaches out to me. I’m pretty sure she’s aware of the step she just took closer.
And the beseeching look in her eyes would have me saying yes to anything she wanted. But if I stay, I’ll give in to the urge that’s been driving me all night.
And I said that I wouldn’t kiss her again until she asked.
And that isn’t what she asked.
“I really can’t.” Resting my hands on her upper arms, I lean in and press my lips to the top of her head. When her head falls against my chest, my breath hitches and I step back. Her head falls forward. “Do you think you’ll be able to make it to the scrimmage tomorrow?”
She looks up at me, an overly bright smile on her face, and internally I sigh, knowing it’s because of me.
“What time is it?” She turns and starts picking up her papers before heading over to her desk, placing them on a pile.
“It’s early in the afternoon.”
“I don’t think I’ll be able to make it. I have a few things I need to get done for this weekend’s town event. A few new treats I’m going to bake.”
My brows knit together.
“The fundraiser for the old clock tower.”
“That’s right. I think my mother mentioned it the other night at dinner. It’s a huge deal.” I head for the door, Scarlett behind me. Resting my hand on the doorknob, I pause. “Will you need any help at your booth?”
The smile that lights her face has my abdomen tightening. “I would love that! You’ll be the draw of the town in your ‘Duncan’s Donuts for Dogs’ apron.”
The aprons are a bright shade of neon pink, and yes, I’m secure enough in my masculinity to wear a pink apron, but it doesn’t mean I’ll like it.
“I’ll call you for the details tomorrow.”
Pulling open the door, I make my way down the stairs. Scarlett is leaning against the door frame watching me, the weight of her gaze burning a hole through my shirt.
“Steven?” She calls just as my hand touches the doorknob.
When I turn to look at her, her forehead is pulled, and her mouth is slightly open.
“Yeah?”
My hand grips the handle, hoping she’ll just be honest with both of us.
“Thank you for dinner and your help. I always appreciate it.”
My hand loosens, and I turn the doorknob, pulling the door open.
“You know I’m here for you whenever you need me.” She gives me a tight smile. “Sleep well, Scar. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Her goodnight follows me out, just as a breeze slams the door shut behind me. A shiver runs through me. Running up my stairs, something heavier than tired muscles drags at me.