Matched

Manhattan is where her ex lives.

The jerk who broke her heart.

I thought she was over him, but I've heard a few of her girlfriends talk about how she hasn’t had a date since they split over a year ago. I was glad to see the back end of him. He wasn't good for her. I knew that from the time they met until he left her, breaking her heart in the process.

The music flares at the end of India's presentation, startling me back to the present, and there's a huge round of applause for her. She smiles and bows to the audience, then leaves the stage, her face lit up, her cheeks flushed.

She's fucking amazing.

We fist bump again. "You rocked it, girl," I say, a huge smile on my face as she steps behind the curtain, grabbing the bottle of water I have ready for her.

"I think I did," she says and opens the lid, drinking down half the bottle. "They seemed to like it."

"Listen to them," I respond. I take her by the shoulders and turn her around so she can see the audience through a crack in the curtain. I bend down so that my face is beside hers. "They loved you."

The audience is still clapping, because the presentation was a combination of technology and patriotism. It was stirring, talking about mission and performance and making the world a better place and rah rah USA.

When the applause dies down, I let go of her arms. "You deserve a cold beer."

"I deserve a fucking keg of beer," she replies, grinning up at me, a twinkle in her eyes.

That's my girl. Huge brain. Potty mouth.

I love her.

Not in that way, of course. In the brotherly, collegial, and proud CEO way.

"Let's go," she says and grabs hold of my arm, her fingers gripping my bicep. I flex it, because she's always kidding me about my workouts. I'm ripped. I work out daily – a habit I developed while in the service and I keep it up. No slacking off for me, even though I'm no longer in a combat zone.

"I'm starving," she says, gazing up at me with those eyes. "I want to stuff myself with a huge piece of steak to go along with that keg of beer."

"Your wish is my command, CTO of mine," I reply, but my mind substitutes I want you to stuff me with that huge piece of meat of yours, Jon…

I can't control that part of my mind.

Cut me some slack.

We walk out the side of the auditorium, my arm draped around her shoulder in a brotherly way. I'm no longer interested in the last speaker, so we leave the conference for a bar where we're meeting the rest of our team to talk about the conference and our latest contract. Then we'll go for dinner and I'll make sure she gets her big juicy steak.

Life is good.

Two hours later…

Life sucks.

What the fuck?

Marina Clark, India's best friend from Montessori, and from forever, is sitting with us and, as usual, she's frowning at me. She doesn't really like me. I don't know why, but she's always scowling at me like I've done something wrong. I check myself over. There's no food spilled on my crisp white shirt or silky blue tie. I run my fingers through my hair, which has a habit of falling into my eyes.

"What's your problem?"

She frowns. "You're working the poor girl to death."

"She's a big girl. She works herself hard. She's a winner."

Why Marina showed up at the bar, I'll never know. This celebration was meant for the team – not outsiders – even if she is India's best friend.

When India gets up to go to the bathroom, Marina leans closer to me.