Page 12 of Matched

Chapter Five

Tony

Iwake and stretch and snuggle deeper into the blankets on Inara’s bed. It took the whole week to unpack all of ten boxes thanks to work, and my shit is scattered throughout the apartment, since I still don’t have an official room. Not that I really need one. Most of my belongings are back at home in California, and I’m not really into material things. Even after I moved to Virginia Beach, I never found the need to buy anything outside of clothes, especially with living on base and being gone so much for work.

While I’m starting to get used to my new home, I’m still bunking on the couch, though I’ve started sneaking into Inara’s room when she’s at work so I can have a few hours in an actual bed again. The sofa isn’t even a pullout, and I don’t give two shits about how stylish it is, when it’s so small my calves hang over the edge, unless I condense myself into the fetal position for the hours it takes for Inara to wake up and leave.

I don’t get it. We’ve been making progress. Like that afternoon when I made lasagna. And all the other nights I’ve cooked dinner since. We are getting closer and I figured my position on the couch would be a distant memory by now. Yet, here I am. Still contorted into unnatural positions while trying to sleep. Sucks. I mean, she signed up for the Issued Partner Program, too, right? Why sign up to get married if you don’t want to reap all the benefits?

On the one hand, I’m frustrated, but on the other, I get it. I mean, it’s probably smart for Inara to be cautious. Especially when, if things go as planned, I’ll be heading for OCS in Rhode Island in less than a year. But still. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t make the most of things while we’re together. And by most I mean, enjoying all the benefits of long-term monogamy without having to do all of the wining and dining that typically precedes it. Not that I mind cooking for Inara. In fact, I enjoy it. Who knows? Maybe if things were different, courting her would have been a fun time. But we are already hitched. So I think it’s only right that, with or without her, I’ve decided to engage in a close personal relationship with her sheets. A man needs at least a few hours a day of shut-eye where his limbs don’t threaten to fall off in protest.

And it doesn’t hurt that the sheets smell like her.

Oranges and cloves. I waste a moment promising myself I’m not going to do it, but in the end, I can’t help but press my nose to the soft cotton and inhale the scent. I fill my lungs with her and my cock tents the lilac watercolor design on the blanket. With a curse, I roll out of the bed and scowl.

I head into the bathroom and take a cold shower, hoping the chill will be enough to knock the starch from my cock. It doesn’t, but I’m more clearheaded than a few minutes ago. From the clues I’ve gathered over the last few days, Inara’s mom has no idea the Issued Partner Program is even a thing, and I haven’t even talked to my wife about her mother’s history of divorce.

I’m slipping on my shirt and simultaneously trying to ignore and get a closer peek at the strappy little red dress in the bedroom closet when the doorbell rings.

Fuck, I almost forgot they were coming over.

I take a few seconds to put the bed back the way I’d found it before hurrying down the hall to the main entrance where I find my teammate and best friend, Lucas Craiger, along with his son, Mason, on the front stoop.

“Uncle Tony!”

I brighten and after exchanging a fist bump with Craiger, I crouch down until I’m eye to eye with the little munchkin. He throws himself into my arms with such enthusiasm, it nearly knocks me backward and I push back on my heels to keep from falling onto my ass. Like his dad, Mason is all golden good looks and bright-blue eyes.

“Jesus, you’re getting big.” I groan, pretending to struggle as I rise to my feet. Mason leans back to look at me as I transfer him from my chest to one bicep, the expression on his face showing he knows I’m full of shit, even if he doesn’t have the vernacular to call me out on it. In truth, he’s a small kid—takes after his mother on that front—and he’s already starting to complain about being picked on by the other kids in his school for being the shortest one in class.

I lead Craiger past the front door and into the living room. We haven’t hung out with one another since getting back to the States and I could use a dose of the familiar after a little over a week of nonmarital bliss.

Craiger glances around the house, his gaze landing on my beer-stein collection prominently displayed on floating shelves on both sides of the television. Inara had some books she loved on the shelves—classics that were now stuffed in a box in the closet. Giving up the space was one of the first things she did. I’d expected there to be a problem, but surprisingly, she didn’t appear to mind at all.

“You’ve got an Xbox?” Mason squirms to get down and investigate the extensive game collection and console on display on the entertainment center. Another of my contributions to the décor. Inara didn’t mind that one either, since she could now access Netflix and Hulu on something other than her phone or laptop. I toss him on the couch and he giggles as he plops face-first into the pillows with all the grace of a stone sinking into the ocean.

“We got a tortoise too.” I point out the angry little weirdo that’s been stalking me for the last several days and Mason is faced with the crippling moral dilemma of which cool thing to play with first.

“That’s gonna stump him for a while.” Craiger grins and I nod, pleased with myself.

“Beer?”

He snorts. “Such a gracious host you’re turning out to be. The new missus must be a good influence on you.”

Pissed at his comment, I stomp to the kitchen. I’ve always been a gracious host—it was one of the things my mom instilled in me. For anyone to think otherwise is a blow to the chest because disappointing Mamá or her memory is the last thing I ever want to do.

Something strikes me in the face and I blink, shaking my head to clear my mind before glaring at Craiger and Mason, heads bent together and whispering. Another pillow hits the center of my chest and flops onto the ground. Mason’s high-pitched giggle and Craiger innocently eyeballing the ceiling are enough to inspire a full-fledged war. I stare down at the pillows. When was the last time I’ve been so unaware of my own surroundings? If we were out in the field, my inattention would have gotten me killed.

Shit.

What if something happens to me before the year is up? What if Inara begins to fret about my well-being and decides spending hours distressed is not the way she wants to live?

She can’t leave before the year follow-up if I want any shot at becoming an officer. Redding will just take her request for departure as evidence I didn’t give the program my all, that I don’t deserve to be an officer. That I’m not as worthy as Jim.

My lips tighten and rather than allow the thoughts free rein, I bend and toss the pillow at Craiger, like a Frisbee. It connects with his face with enough force to push his head back. Mason falls over on the couch, laughing his narrow little ass off before he lets loose a war cry that would have put Braveheart to shame.

We spend the next few minutes play fighting and whooping like warriors. My weapon of choice—a delicate, white, frilly throw pillow perfect for smacking toddlers upside the head—goes wide, and there’s a sudden hush of silence as it sails into a flower vase. The glass hits the floor with a loud crash and we gather around the remains. Mason’s eyes are wide and his mouth is hanging open. But my guts are on fire.

Inara is going to strangle me.

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