Page 32 of Unmatched

To be clear, this is JUST a meetup to fuck. No strings.

LonelyGirl8

Isn’t that the whole point?

MountainMan3

Exactly. I can’t wait to get my hands on those luscious tits.

My lip curls, and I’m about to shoot a reply when someone taps on the door. “Lydia? Are you all right?”

I lock my phone quickly. There are several voices outside, but I think that was Eva Wallace, owner of the bathroom I’m holed up in. I can’t imagine having to give her any kind of explanation when I am literally seething. But at the same time, I’ve got to figure out some way to get out of here. Home. To my dog.

“I—sorry, must’ve been something I ate.” My voice comes out convincingly ill. That wasn’t hard at all.

“Oh no. Don’t worry, hon. Someone went to find?—”

She’s interrupted by a firm knock on the door. “Lydia?”

His deep voice sends my stomach buckling, and now I’m afraid I really might throw up. I lay my hand flat on the door, glance at the tiny window behind me, and consider trying to open it and climb out.

“Sweetheart, what happened?” Anton says, trying the doorknob. And my heart nearly cracks from the very real concern in his voice.

I slump against the wood, trying to envision all the ways this could go. There aren’t many. And pretty much all of them require me to open the door and face him in front of an audience. There’s a rustle of bodies and murmurs, and suddenly I can picture my husband out there, prickling, surrounded by all those nosy clucking coworkers. His illicit sex plans interrupted by his ailing wife. For just a moment, I savor the idea of his situation being almost as torturous as mine.

And then his voice comes through the door again, right by my ear. This time firm and clear. “Lydia, come on. Let’s go home.”

I find my reflection in the mirror and manage to swallow my panic. Then I turn the knob.

I hold my hand over my mouth, keeping my eyes on the floor as I swing the door open. I try not to flinch when Anton’s arm drapes protectively around my shoulders, guiding me slowly into the hall. At the same time, I’m grateful for him shielding me from the world. The music is still playing elsewhere in the house, though it seems a bit softer now. There are still plenty of people crowded in other rooms and, to my relief, only a few fussing around us. Eva Wallace, Myra Alvarez, and a couple other women who either witnessed my dramatic flight or are just curious about what happened.

“I’ve got you,” Anton whispers, and I want to shriek in his ear that it’s the other way around, but instead I let him guide me toward the doors amid a flurry of whispers from his coworkers.

Must be sick.

Suddenly turned green.

Ran for the bathroom.

As we near the exit, I hear one voice speculate a little too loudly that I might be pregnant, and I nearly laugh out loud.

Anton turns to Eva as we leave. “Thanks, Eva. For the party, and your kindness.”

“Of course. Always nice to see you.” She lowers her voice. “I hope you feel better soon, Lydia.”

And then he’s helping me down the steps, much the way we arrived. Keeping a firm, steady arm around my waist, which is actually useful when my heels hit the gravel. We reach his truck and he opens the door, helps me in, and then he doesn’t seem to know quite what to do. He stands there, hovering, not saying anything, and it’s all I can manage not to whip out my phone, wave his messages in his face, and yell. But it seems the stomach flu ruse worked better than I expected because he leans in to feel my forehead, studying my face, looking distressed.

“What happened? Do you want to go to urgent care?” he asks in a low voice. And for a moment, I just want to sink into his arms, bury my face in his chest, and cry.

“No,” I whisper with dry lips. I buckle my seatbelt and curl into myself. “I’ll be fine. I—I just want to go home and go to bed.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Neither of us spoke on the drive home. Anton put on some low instrumental music and glanced at me, looking concerned, but otherwise left me to stare out the window. Thank goodness. I was having a hard enough time just sharing the same air. When we got home, he took Heartthrob for a walk and left me to take a bath. He was gone at least an hour, but I heard him come home and head into our room ten minutes ago. Which surprised me. I thought for sure he’d sleep out on the couch again. But maybe he’s making an effort to appear normal. Avoid suspicion. He’s doing a better job of it than me.

I sink to the edge of the tub, unlocking my phone for the first time since I saw MountainMan3’s last message. There are several notifications I’d ignored once I saw the one from Unmatched—a missed call from my mom, some texts and emails from employees, my contractor. And randomly one from Charlotte, my business lawyer, asking whether I’ve ever considered franchising my businesses.

I answer most of the messages despite the late hour, quipping to Charlotte that I’ll have to let her know if I ever get the second Pooch Park off the ground. I grant a day off to my bather and tell my contractor he has to use the non-slip flooring, but I wait on my mother. It’s too late to call, plus I’m not sure I can hold it together if she brings up my sister or her baby or anything that reminds me of my own failed marriage. I’ll see what she wants in the morning.

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