Page 9 of Grudge Match

“I was home over Christmas. Were you there too?” I ask, already knowing the answer. I ran into his mother at the grocery store while with my nana, and she told everyone who would listen that neither of her boys were coming home over the holidays.

Mrs. LeBlanc has always been sweet to me. She’s the town’s only dance teacher, and before I dated her son, I had frequented many of her classes. Tango was my favorite.

Deacon shakes his head once as he searches the wine menu for something to drink with dinner. I’m happy with iced tea. I can’t be trusted. As good as he looks under the warm light of the chandeliers, a little more liquid courage might make me admit something I’ll regret. And there are too many fantasies swirling around in my mind to risk it.

“I had an important case play out through the holidays. With only twenty-four hours off, there wasn’t enough time to make the trip. I’ll spend some time there over the summer. It’s been a while, and I miss it,” he answers. Then, he calls a nearby server to bring him a glass of cabernet, checking in again to see if I’ve changed my mind about having wine.

“No, thank you. I’m a bit of a lightweight when it comes to alcohol and have already had more than my limit,” I mutter nervously while I butter a roll and stuff half of it into my mouth. It feels strange sitting across from someone I’ve disliked for so long. Yes, I found Deacon attractive and would sometimes dream of his touch, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven him for past transgressions.

He was unnecessarily rude to a teenage girl who only wanted her boyfriend’s brother to like her. Although I was heartbroken when Devon ended things the day before he left for college, a part of me knew it was coming. It took some time to bounce back from his rejection, but I’m happy things didn’t go as far as he would have liked. The betrayal would have been bigger. His indifference might have shattered me.

“I don’t drink much either,” he says unconvincingly while chugging his goblet of wine. “But you make me nervous.”

His confession shocks me. “Nervous?” I look from side to side, scanning through happy faces, blissfully dining on Chateaubriand and chocolate souffle, and wonder if he’s afraid to be seen with me. We’re nobodies. Unless someone takes a photo of a celebrity and catches us in the blurry background, no one would concern themselves with two Vermonters playing dress-up in New York.

“Are you concerned Devon will find out?” I murmur while fidgeting with the napkin on my lap. I don’t have any siblings, but if I did, I’m pretty sure I would consider their exes off-limits. “We can take this to go if you like.”

Deacon’s eyes widen with surprise and his lips fall open. He takes a deep breath and exhales in a breathy sigh, like he’s holding back anger he’s uncomfortable showing. “I don’t give a fuck what Devon thinks. Yes, he’s my younger brother and I love him, but truth be told, I don’t like him very much. He never deserved you.” His hands clench into fists and gather the tablecloth beneath his fingers. “Please, tell me the truth. Do you want to take this go? Are you uncomfortable being here with me?”

I shake my head and place my hand over my racing heart, hoping to catch my breath. “I’m not uncomfortable. Not anymore. Why aren’t you? If I recall correctly, you didn’t like me very much. You called me—” I pause to swallow the lump in my throat, but Deacon finishes my sentence.

“I called you a brat.” Deacon hangs his head and flattens his hands on the wrinkled tablecloth, trying to smooth it out with his fingers. “Please accept my apology for every rude thing I ever said to you. I was such an asshole, and you didn’t deserve any of it.”

My eyes flash to his, and a wave of melancholy floods my heart. I’m not sad about what he said. On the contrary, his apology is long overdue. I feel sorry for the young girl I once was, falling desperately in love with an unattainable man and living for every moment I got to be in his presence—only to wind up crying myself to sleep when he sneered in my direction. I never felt the same way about Devon. Sometimes, I think Deacon was the main reason I never had sex with his brother. A part of me felt like I was supposed to save myself for him.

“Then why? I don’t understand why you were so mean to me,” I whisper, fighting tears that threaten to expose me. I hate my stubborn heart. Why haven’t I been able to let this ridiculous dream go? Some things are just not meant to be.

Deacon extends his arm across the table and covers my hand with his. “Please, don’t freak out or leave or back out of tomorrow’s date because I want to spend time with you.”

“What do you mean?” I’m genuinely confused and look to him for clarification.

“I like you, Elodie. I’ve liked you since the day we met. You have no idea how hard I fell and how deep my heart sank when I realized you and Devon were more than friends. As soon as he saw me eyeballing you, he told our mother I was trying to steal his girlfriend. They made me feel like shit, and I had to convince them and myself that I felt nothing for you. It was childish and rude, but I didn’t know what to do or how to stop thinking about you.” Deacon’s voice breaks as he unburdens his soul across the dinner table.

Typically, such a confession would make things awkward, and I’d have one eye on the door, but this feels different.

“You thought of me?” I blink away tears, then hurriedly wipe them before the tables nearby believe we’re in the middle of a breakup.

“Of course I did. I do. You’re my Roman Empire. I think of you endlessly.” Deacon’s blue eyes meet mine, and my heart detonates like dynamite in my chest.

“But what about Devon?” I pout, checking in once again to see if brotherly love could pose a problem for us in the future. I can’t invest my heart into something this big without some guarantee.

“Fuck Devon. He had his chance and blew it. It’s my turn to make you fall in love with me.”

Chapter Ten

Sundays have always been my happy day. When I was a kid, Sundays were family days. It was the one day of the week when my parents were off work, and my brother and I were free of all athletic obligations. After mass, the four of us would head to the Bull Moose Diner and eat apple cider pancakes with fresh maple syrup. Depending on the season, we’d go hiking, biking, or skiing, spending time outdoors whenever possible.

I broke those Sunday traditions when I moved to New York. Leisure became a luxury that only came once a month, if I was lucky enough to be between exams or cases. So, you can imagine my surprise when Elodie suggested we start today with ice skating in Central Park. I couldn’t hide my excitement and agreed before she could finish her sentence. It’s been ages since I’ve skated, and I’m looking forward to getting back on the ice.

As I turn into the parking garage, I spot Elodie stepping out from the 59th Street Metro Station. She looks hotter than the surface of the sun and yet too adorable for words wearing skintight leggings that highlight the perfect shape of her curvaceous ass, Dr. Martens boots, a snug pink turtleneck sweater, and a skullcap with a pom-pom on top. I can’t believe I get to spend the day with her. And if I play my cards right, I may spend an entire week with her next month.

There are no ifs. Things will go right today. I don’t care what I need to do, say, give, take, or buy. If begging is involved, so be it. I’m taking that girl out of the country and making her mine for good. I didn't think I'd ever say this, but that Match Queen is a fucking genius.

Stuck in line, I stare with lecherous eyes at the sway of her hips and the bounce of her breasts as she stops at a food truck near the corner of 5th Avenue. I want to be with her now. I can’t believe I’m ten minutes early, and she’s beaten me here. Although I’m not technically tardy, it feels that way when I keep her waiting. Eager to reach her, I turn towards the valet stand and hand them my keys. A man dressed in red gives me a ticket, and I sprint across the street into the park.

“Hello, Beautiful.” I lean forward and step into her line of sight to ensure she doesn’t mistake me for a creep. “Let me get that for you.” I give the barista my card and order a latte.

Elodie smiles and holds the coffee beside her chest, letting the steam warm her gorgeous face. When she lets out an exaggerated shiver, I question whether skating is a good idea. New York’s February air has nothing on northern Vermont, but after a few years in New York, she may have become acclimated to warmer weather.

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