Page 7 of Unlikely Match

"Perfect. Let's go."

As we walk toward his car, I'm a bit disappointed. It's going to be loud in there, and we won't be able to talk. I feel like the more we talk, the more we bond.

Funny. Just a few hours ago, winning the money I so desperately need was the only thing on my mind. Now all I can think about is how to discover every single thing Alex and I have in common in the hopes that he'll ask me out again.

The thought of only having him in my life for one night is heartbreaking. Especially since it feels like he's awakened things in me that have never been fully alive before.

My parents' messy divorce taught me that love hurts people. It's temporary. Like too much candy – sweet at first, then you get a stomach ache.

My lifelong dream of being a professional artist should keep me focused on winning this contest by whatever means necessary. Yet the thought of winning Alex is taking over. The man is such a charmer. Could he possibly be…my prize?

4

ALEX

Inever feel self-conscious. But I don't want Jewel to feel embarrassed to be seen with some stuffy old guy at this band night. How odd that I haven't thought about my age in years, until I meet this younger woman who feels totally right for me.

Jewel makes me feel a lot of brand new things, like how my body aches for hers. When we kissed in the gallery, I hadn't been that hard in ages.

I park half a block from the club, and ask her to stay in the car for a minute. Luckily, I keep a gym bag in the trunk with a clean long-sleeved black t-shirt.

I change fast, hoping that nobody sees me shirtless on the street. Looking a bit more casual should help. Tossing my button-down shirt and jacket into the trunk, I go to open the door for Jewel.

From her expression, she definitely approves. "You're a secret quick-change artist? Cool!"

Her eyes glide across my shoulders and down my arms, making me wonder if the shirt is too snug. "Is this better?"

"It was good before, but…yeah." Her voice is breathy as she stares for another moment before tearing her eyes away.

We walk into the dingy club, and I pay the cover. It's a typical dive bar, with the bar at the back and the stage at the front of the room. We're given bright purple hand stamps and are told they're running an hour behind.

Jewel takes a photo of our hands with our pinky fingers hooked together showing the stamps, and the caption, "Time for some live music!"

"Crap," she mutters as she looks at the stage. "I saw these guys a few weeks ago. The vocalist sings too high for his range, and the drummer speeds up like he's trying to catch a bus."

"The band you wanted to see is on after them?"

"Yeah."

"Want to see if there's a back patio where we can hang out until then?"

"Sure."

There's a hallway leading to the fire escape, but no back patio. We head down past the washrooms, a locked door with the sign "Manager", a locked storeroom, and a final metal door. "That must be a cold storage room," I murmur, looking around behind us. There's nobody else downstairs, just the dull thumping beats coming down from overhead.

I rest my palm on the metal, and the door swings easily inward. It must not have been latched. The light goes on automatically, and I can't stifle a choked gasp. "Holy shit. A bar like this has a stash of Westvleteren 12?!"

"West-er what now?"

Stepping into the room, I point to the topmost case of beer with its distinctive yellow caps. "It's a beer made in Belgium by Trappist monks. Pretty much agreed to be the finest beer in the world, but it's really hard to get hold of, since they can only import small amounts every?—"

Click.

Spinning, I nearly bump into Jewel who is standing right behind me, with the closed door behind her.

Reaching past her arm, I check the door. Locked.

Her eyes become huge as she looks around the approximately ten by twenty foot space. It's so full of shelving and liquor bottles that we only have around four square feet to stand in.

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