Page 34 of The Match

“Yeah, we never use it,” says Sam, a sad tone touching her voice.

“Never?” I’m shocked. What kind of crazy person would have a pool this glorious and never use it?

“Between work, and school, and doctors’ appointments, we just don’t have the time.”

“Then make time!” He should be put in jail for owning a pool that could be featured on a design show and not finding time to use it.

He chuckles and shakes his head a little. “It’s not that easy.”

“It really is, though.”

He’s trying to sell me adulting, and I’m not buying it. The real problem has been hovering in Jake’s and Sam’s eyes all week. They haven’t picked up the pieces of their life yet. They got hit with some tough stuff and haven’t decided to move forward. I’m about to slingshot their butts into moving on.

“Life isn’t worth it if you can’t play a little. You’ve gotta steal fun when you can,” I say as I stand up.

Jake looks up at me with a crooked smile. “Like when? What do you suggest when every day is booked solid and I can barely find time to tie my shoes?”

“Get some slip-ons.” I flash him a haughty grin. “And allow me to point out that you’re not busy right this minute.”

His smile falters ever so slightly. “I don’t have my swim trunks on.”

Oh, silly little practical Jake. As you’re about to find out, I don’t give one hill of beans if your trunks are on or not.

I smile wickedly, and then, before he has time to process the evil about to befall him, I give him a solid shove from behind and dump his practical butt in the pool.

He comes up out of the water like a cologne ad that never made it to live television because it was too sensual. His navy shirt is clinging to his chiseled body, and his hair is dripping wet before he dashes his hand through it, sending glistening water droplets through the air—and basically, I’ve never been prouder of a decision in my entire life.

Sam has dissolved into a fit of laughter beside me, and I’m pretty sure that Charlie just called Jake a ding-dong under his breath. (Obviously, he likes Jake, but I think he’s a tad bit jealous of our new friendship. He can go cry to Rachel Green.)

“Laugh it up, chuckles,” Jake says with a heart-melting smile. “You’re next.”

I see what he’s doing. He’s inching toward the edge of the pool with a smirk that says I’m coming for you. Jake is so certain that I’m going to scream and run away like the girl who just got her hair done and would rather die than ruin her blowout. He doesn’t know me very well yet, and my hair appointment is so overdue I think my hairstylist has given up on me completely.

I live by a very simple rule: if a sexy man is in a pool and smiling at me like Jake is now, I don’t waste a single moment standing on the side.

Before he has a chance to make it to the stairs, I take off running and cannonball in right beside him.

CHAPTER 16

Evie

I’m wringing out my hair from my shower and listening to Leon Bridges croon over the speakers. I have a sweet-scented candle lit on my coffee table, and everything is right with the world. It’s been a good week. A good day, especially.

I can’t put my finger on it, but something about me feels different. I’m still working my same job; I still have my same thimble-sized apartment; there is still the same chance I’ll have a seizure today as there was yesterday, but something feels different. It’s like I had a pile of books stacked on my desk, and although I can’t be certain, I think someone came in at some point and rearranged them. I’m rearranged.

Laughing in the pool tonight with Jake and Sam made me feel a sense of belonging. It scares me as much as it excites me, but I don’t want to give in to the fear. I still feel like I’m sitting up in the nosebleeds, but maybe I’m ready to walk down a few flights of stairs to get closer to the field.

I think Jake might be having these same feelings. I could try to talk myself out of it—run a fake play on my own heart and choose to believe that he’s not interested in me. But here’s the thing: I catch him looking at me a lot. And it’s not a normal look. It’s a smoldering, knock-your-socks-off-and-carry-you-to-bed kind of look. He’s at least attracted to me—I know that much.

So, what kind of dance are we doing here?

I’ve just finished squeezing the water out of my hair and neatly hanging up my towel on the drying rack (ha ha, just kidding! It’s lying in a bundle on the floor, where it will probably live for the rest of the week) when I hear a knock at my door.

“Did you order cookies again?” I ask the lazy dog lying on my bed.

He gives me a look that says stop blaming me for your poor nutritional habits and then lays his head back down. It’s a good thing he’s so cute.

I open the door and then realize I should have looked through the peephole first. I could have just opened my home to a murderer, or a thief, or—gasp—my mom. But thanks to my incredible luck in life lately, I open the door to none other than Jacob Broaden.

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