Page 20 of Matched

Inara and I pick our way through the debris of the house with the dumpster to the gaping hole in the wall where the front door should have been. Stud framing and blocking have been blown to smithereens in the center of the wall. Lumber lies everywhere, and the two-by-sixes on the sides that appeared to be spaced at sixteen inches on center are folded in on themselves like dominoes. Thank God the front wall wasn’t load bearing; otherwise, there wouldn’t be a second floor right now. I’m relieved that this can be repaired—even just a little bit. The inside is more organized than the outside, but 10d nails stick out at every which angle, and I adjust my posture and stance so I don’t get poked. All the furniture and personal belongings have been cleared away and volunteers are working to tear out non-load-bearing walls. Above us, another group works on the roof.

I’m not sure what I expected Bennett to be like, but the nerd Inara introduces me to isn’t it. He’s painfully thin, with thick bifocals and a shock of bright-red hair sticking out, as though he hasn’t yet been introduced to brush or barber. He reminds me of what the love child of Chucky and a mad scientist would look like. And try as I might—which I do—I can’t picture him with my mother-in-law, not until I shake his hand and see the sharp intelligence shining from behind those glasses, hear the easy calm in his voice, and watch the confident way he directs the members of his church. Then things start to make a lot more sense.

“I didn’t know you were getting married.” There’s no censure in his voice, but Inara looks away, pained and stammering.

“It... I... I mean, we...” She glances at me and I nod, slinging my arm over her shoulder and tucking her in close to my body.

I straighten and meet the man’s gaze. “It’s my fault, sir. I didn’t want to take the chance she’d change her mind. Plus, with my trainings and deployments, it’s hard to make any concrete plans.” She shoots me a grateful smile for covering for her and lays her hand over my heart. This, I could get used to.

Bennett chuckles and nods. “I remember feeling like that. The second I met Dana, I knew she was the one. I just wish it could have stuck.”

Inara tries to slide away, but I’m a lean, mean, clinging machine. After talking to her mom, all I want to do is reassure her. Which is silly, since I don’t plan on “sticking” around long-term, as Bennett phrased it. Still, I can show her that I’m here for now. I tighten my arm around her and stroke my thumb over her arm until she calms, then I lift the dessert pan Mrs. Ramirez gave me. “Flan?”

Bennett grins and takes the container before putting Inara and me to work on clearing the backyard. When the storm moved through, the heavy rains flooded this part of town and spawned a tornado that left a path of destruction. There are downed trees, broken fences, and debris in every conceivable corner and cranny. A bike is hanging upside down from a now-dead power line.

Inara takes a deep breath, absorbs the chaos for a heartbeat, and then dives in. Armed with gloves and plastic bags, we spend the first few hours gathering trash and dragging random shit to the dumpster. The sun climbs steadily and I’m sweaty enough to wring my shirt out. I strip it off and hang it over the porch railing, then glance up and meet Inara’s gaze. Her arms are laden with pots and pans that had been blown from the kitchen into the vegetable garden. I’m about to ask her if she needs some help carrying them to the front, but she isn’t looking at me.

Not in the eye anyway.

Instead, she’s studying my body, gaze dragging over my shoulders and across my chest. Dipping lower with such propriety that it’s like a physical touch. Blood surges straight to my cock and my stomach tightens with hunger. I stand still for several agonizing seconds, then she glances up at me from beneath her lashes and drags her teeth across her bottom lip.

Then she winks.

And strolls the fuck away.

Desire swims through my veins, but it isn’t enough. More than once, Inara’s gaze runs over me, each time bringing about another wave of heat.

Since I suck at focusing on my current task, I throw back on my shirt and search for Bennett to find out if there is something else I can focus on. Luckily, the house next door isn’t as damaged and when asked if I’d be willing to help retile the upstairs bathroom I jump at the opportunity. The work is backbreaking but familiar, and soon my mind goes blank as muscle memory guides my hands.

“Where’d you learn to do all that?”

A part of me has been waiting for her to come find me, the same part that recognized her light tread as she came up the now-bare wood stairs, and the sound of her voice when she sighed on the top landing. I look over my shoulder to find her covered in a fine layer of dust. I clench my fingers to resist the urge aching inside me. I want to touch her, to lay claim to all those unexplored crevices her tank top and jeans aren’t quite hiding. Despite the dust, the clean scent of her shampoo lingers in the air and my mind wanders, and I turn away before she notices the desire in my eyes.

“My dad.” I’m so intent on bringing myself back under control that I don’t consider the words.

She kneels next to me and hands me a tile. “Tell me about him?”

When I don’t respond right away, she nudges me with her shoulder. She holds another ceramic square while I measure and spread the grout. We fall into an instinctive rhythm, as if we’ve been working together our whole lives. “Come on. You know about my dad.”

“Bennett?”

“Well, technically, all of my stepdads helped raise me, but I’ve always been closest to Bennett. So, tell me something about your dad. You’ve met both of my parents. The least you can do is give me the intel on yours.”

The request isn’t outrageous, so why the hell am I ready to run for the mountains? Hell, I’ve faced enemies armed with rocket launchers. Surely I can handle a little heart-to-heart about my family. I focus on the task at hand as if placing the ceramic squares just right will somehow make the words easier to speak. “My father was a contractor. He owned his own company for a while, and I worked with him after school and during the weekends.”

“The heir to the family business.”

The disappointing heir. “Basically.”

“So, how’d you end up in Special Forces?”

I shrug and it’s awkward and jerky. “The company was always his thing, not mine.” There aren’t enough mental pep talks in the world to get me to elaborate, so I don’t. “Two of my sisters took over the company.”

Inara laughs and then pulls a face. “Mami would have killed me if I ever told her I was interested in ‘men’s work’ when I was growing up. Hell, she practically had a panic attack when she found out about search and rescue.” Her eyes are sparkling though, so it doesn’t seem like her mom’s disapproval left any lasting scars.

My heart lurches, the pain sudden and fierce. I don’t talk about my mom. Ever. I suck in a greedy lungful of breath and hope I’m not swaying from lack of oxygen to my brain.

“Tony?”

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