Page 53 of Unmatched

Jessica: But let me tell you something important—you can be a master of the entire fucking Kama Sutra, hold the title of G-Spot King, but it will get you nowhere if you don’t first understand desire...

I take off my headphones at the end of my run, stopping to do some stretching on our front porch. It’s the pattern I’ve been following all week—listening to the podcast while I jog, or at the gym after work. I stumbled on Jess and Izzy purely by accident after Lydia and I awkwardly agreed to give our relationship thirty more days and it felt like a clock immediately started ticking.

I never expected to find a whole beautifully produced podcast explaining all the subtleties of how to touch a woman, how to turn her on, how to get her aroused and bring her to climax. Granted, I haven’t had the opportunity to try any of it yet, but I feel like I’ve learned so much—about blood flow, erogenous zones, nipple stimulation, clitoral orgasm vs. penetration—things I have to admit I had been pretty clueless about. I wouldn’t say I had no idea what I’ve been doing the last ten years, but I feel like I have the chance to do so much better now.

If I can just work myself up to approach Lydia.

But every night, she’s stayed firmly over on her side of the bed, and I’ve been hesitant to stray from mine. And every time I think about leaning in for a goodnight kiss or even just a hug, I second-guess why she hasn’t—she’s the one who pushed to keep trying, who insisted she wanted to be with me.

Did she change her mind?

Her Toyota pulls into the driveway just as I open the door to head inside. We wave at each other, and I wait as she parks and lets Heartthrob out of the back seat. He zooms across the yard, and I greet him with his favorite squeaky octopus.

“Hi,” I say as Lydia follows him inside, and when she smiles in response, I am sure this is the moment—I could kiss her cheek, maybe even pull her into an embrace.

But I hesitate too long.

“I picked up stuff for nachos,” she says, carrying a grocery bag into the kitchen. “But I think I’ll jump in the shower first—avoid dog hair in the cheese.”

I nod. The black shirt she’s wearing is plastered with white hair, but while her face is tired, she doesn’t avoid my eyes. “Sounds good,” I say, taking the bag as Heartthrob spins in front of me. “I’ll feed this guy and start the oven.”

Lydia gives me another smile, plugs her phone into the charger on the counter, and disappears.

I mix up food for the dog, then start searching for something to make nachos in. Down the hall, I hear the bathroom door close and the water come on, and because everything feels desperate, I immediately picture Lydia in there naked. This is torture. Maybe I should just take the plunge tonight with some of Jess and Izzy’s tips. But is it worth the risk?

I locate the pan I’m looking for and set it on the counter next to Lydia’s phone, only just as I do, a notification lights up her screen.

[email protected]

FWD: Till Unmatched Do Us Part—Six Married Denver Men, Busted

Hey Lyd, thanks again for your help on the article. It’s live now on the site. See below...

My skin goes cold. I step back, nearly falling over a chair as I pull my own phone from my pocket. I hadn’t really considered how Lydia found my Unmatched profile—the fact that she had was such a nightmare, it didn’t seem important. But of course Caprice was the one doing the digging. She’s a freaking reporter. Was all that stuff Lydia said about giving it another try just to string me along until they could shame me publicly?

I punch in the web address for Denver Editorial, and seconds later, I’m staring at the headline right on the main page. My thumb hovers over the screen. But I’m not sure I’m ready to read this. Watch myself get dragged through the mud in front of my boss, coworkers, Lydia’s family, our friends and neighbors, the entire city. Down the hall, the water shuts off in the bathroom, and my heart begins to race. I forward the article to my brother and shove the phone back into my pocket. I can suffer the details with Seth later. Right now, I just want to be gone.

I close myself in our bedroom, grab my duffle from under the bed, and start emptying drawers. Underwear, socks, then workout clothes. I don’t pay much attention.

The bag is nearly full when I hear a light tap on the door. “Anton?”

I grunt, moving to the closet when I remember I need work clothes.

“Hey, um, are you decent?” she calls. Because God forbid she walk in on her own husband naked, I guess.

I’m exiting our closet with a pile of pants and shirts as she turns the knob and peeks in.

“Oh, hey—” She stops abruptly in the doorway, watching me lay clothes into a garment bag. “What are you doing?”

I zip too many things inside, then grab a pair of shoes. “What I should’ve done two weeks ago.”

Her figure fills the narrow doorway, and even now, my eyes can’t help tracing along the edge of the towel she clutches around her body, still dripping from the shower. She frowns, peering at my face. “Did something happen?”

“Why don’t you go ask one of the neighbors? Or my boss?” My lip curls. “Maybe they’ve had a chance to read the news.”

“News?” Her brows draw together, her gaze drifting toward the kitchen where she left her phone.

I duck into the second bedroom as she steps away. I’ll need my laptop and chargers, but I can come back later for books and furniture. Unless the gloves are completely off now and she decides to dump them on the curb. Heartthrob follows behind me, squeaking his stuffed octopus, unaware of the domestic upheaval. I throw the toy for him as I head for the front door, trying not to think about leaving him behind.

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