Page 23 of The Match

Charlie whispers for me to stand firm.

“All right.” Sorry, Charlie, I never stood a chance. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Really? Thanks!” Her eyes light up, and you’d think I just told her she could eat ice cream every single meal for the rest of her life. But then I realize how badly I’ve been played when she starts pushing me toward the kitchen, where Jacob has been banging pots and pans around for the past ten minutes.

“Sam, no, not right now!” I dig my feet into the rug, but this little girl must be freaking Superwoman, because I’m no match for her. Suddenly, I’m being tossed into the kitchen, and I stumble forward as if I’ve just been shoved into battle.

Even better, Jacob saw the whole thing. The whole entire thing. My cheeks turn red under his blue gaze, and I consider doing a spin move around Sam and dashing out of the house. Screw the Bambi eyes; I’m not falling for her rotten tricks again.

But like every masterful con artist, she continues to hold the upper hand. “Hey, Dad! Evie wants to ask you something.”

I thought we were friends, Sam!

His brows sink low, and he crosses his arms. I know, without a doubt, that if I were to ask him if Sam can go to a slumber party right now, he would take me by the shoulders and shove me right out of his lovely house. I’m pretty sure that he’d also tell me just where I can stick my advice.

I can’t do that to Sam. I can’t just sabotage her chances like that. So instead, I’m Katniss Everdeen. I volunteer as tribute.

“Actually, I was hoping that maybe I could invite myself to stay for dinner.” And I was also hoping that a sinkhole could magically appear and swallow me up. “I’m . . . running low on food”—oh gosh, make it stop—“and since training went a little late today, I’ll miss dinner if I have to go all the way to the store.”

The only way I can describe how Jacob looks right now is thunderous. “Mm-hmm,” he grunts through pursed lips, and I want to grab the frying pan off the stove and bang it against his head until he learns to be nice. How dare he make me feel terrible for inviting myself! Have you no southern manners?!

I backpedal as fast as I can. “Never mind!” I laugh, and it sounds shrill. “I just remembered I have a can of soup at home.” Lie. I have a half-eaten pouch of Sour Patch Kids and an expired jug of milk in the fridge. “You guys have a good night! See you tomorrow!”

I whirl around and make a beeline for the door, grabbing Charlie’s and Daisy’s leashes in the process. Only problem is, I went the long way—out of the kitchen and through the living room toward the front door—and just as I’m about to make it to the entryway, I run smack into a hard wall. Not actually a wall.

A Jacob wall.

He took the shorter way and cut me off.

“Oof,” I grunt when my head comes in contact with his right pectoral muscle, and let me tell you, that man must work out every day, because I’m fairly certain I have a concussion now.

He grabs my shoulders to steady me, and when our eyes meet, he takes a big step back. Do I need to change to a stronger deodorant or something?

“Evie, stay for dinner,” says Jacob, but his tone reads: stay at your own risk.

“No, thanks. By your reaction back there, it’s apparent that my company would be nothing short of torture. So, I’ll just be on my way.” I try to go past him, but his hand catches my biceps before I can pass. His touch makes my stomach dip and my nerves sizzle like a drop of water on a frying pan.

His hold is tight at first, but when I freeze and look down at how his hand is wrapped completely around my arm, he loosens his grip.

Jacob lets out a long breath from his nose. “Please stay. I want you to stay.” This man is nothing short of a mystery.

I’m plucking petals off a daisy. He loves me, he hates me, he loves me, he hates me.

Which petal will we end on?

I look up to Jacob and force a smile that I don’t feel. I’m ready to give him a very polite “over my dead body” when I see the smoldering look in his eyes. He’s serious. I don’t know how I know that, but somehow I know that he really does want me to stay for dinner.

Because I’m not generally a masochist, my feet should be carrying me far away from this fickle mister as fast as humanly possible. But instead, my arm is burning wonderfully where he’s lightly holding it, and I begin dreaming of that porch swing again. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

He smiles. Actually smiles. There are crinkles beside his eyes! “Okay, good.”

We stand like that for a minute, and I’m not entirely sure what’s happening or how to breathe anymore. Charlie must sense my heightened heart rate and think that Jacob is upsetting me, because he suddenly angles his furry golden body between us and looks up at Jacob with the most human look I’ve ever seen him give. Hands off my lady.

Jacob and I both chuckle at my little chaperone, and he releases me. I miss his touch right away.

Jacob turns on his heel and disappears back into the kitchen, and I’m left wondering what in the hell just happened.

I turn around and am bending down to unclip Charlie’s and Daisy’s leashes when I catch Sam’s face across the room. She’s leaning her hip against the side of an armchair, and her arms are folded, a smug grin on her face. I pull my eyebrows together in question, and as a response she waggles hers.

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