Well Matched (Well Met #3)(34)

“This time . . . ?” The pieces all fell into place with a click. This hadn’t been about him being single at all. “You mean they always treat you like this?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t look at me; instead he leaned his hands on the window and looked out into the night. “I guess it shouldn’t be a big deal, huh? Getting that shit from them.”

“Of course it’s a big deal,” I insisted. “He shouldn’t . . . they shouldn’t . . .”

“Probably not,” he sighed. “But I’m pretty used to it. I’m nobody special in this family.”

“Nobody special?” That was the absolute last thing I’d ever expected Mitch to say about himself.

“Sure. I mean, look. I’m not the oldest grandchild. I’m not the baby. I’m not the first grandson, or the last. I’m somewhere in the middle, one of a million grandkids running around, who cares. And then we all grew up, and everyone else started getting all these fancy degrees and doing all these important things, and when I didn’t they . . .”

“Stopped respecting you completely?” The outrage I’d felt at dinner had become a banked fire, and now it roared to life all over again as I blinked away the rest of my tears. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“Yeah. It is.” He turned around then, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. “Remember when I asked you to come with me? I thought if you were here, and they could see that I’d managed to snag this . . . I mean, you’re smart, April. And you’re gorgeous, and you have your shit together . . .”

I snorted at that last bit, even though my brain skidded at that “gorgeous” comment. “I really don’t.”

But he wasn’t done. “I thought that maybe they’d take me seriously for once. Stop acting like I don’t matter.” His gaze had traveled down to his shoes, and he kicked his heel into the floor.

“Fuck them,” I said fiercely. I joined him at the window, grasping his arm. “You matter,” I said. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah.” But his smile looked forced. “I should have filled you in on my cousin the asshole. But I . . .” He broke eye contact and his gaze traveled up to the ceiling. “What was I supposed to say, ‘By the way, I’m the family meatball and they all think I’m a loser’?” The laugh he gave was hollow, and it hurt to hear. This wasn’t the Mitch I knew. For all that he said his self-esteem was fine, it was still something that could be broken. And I wasn’t going to let that happen.

“You’re not a meatball.” I shook his arm to get his attention, making him look at me again. But when he did, I wasn’t prepared. His eyes, so freaking blue. I’d seen his eyes countless times since we’d started hanging out, but right now, right here, they were mesmerizing. I wanted to crawl inside of them. I wanted to drown in that ocean of blue.

“Yeah,” he said again. He blew out a long breath and scrubbed a hand through his hair, shaking off the rest of those bad feelings. “Seriously, I see these people once, maybe twice a year. I don’t lose a lot of sleep worrying if they like me.” Now his smile was more genuine; the Mitch I knew was coming back to the surface. “I like me, and that’s what matters, right?”

I had to smile at that. Mitch’s favorite person had always been Mitch, but that self-confidence was armor, something he pasted over some deep hurt. Deeper than I’d realized. Maybe even deeper than he’d realized. “I like you too.” My voice was low, throaty.

“I know.” He stepped closer to me, crowding me a little, but in the best possible way. “And thanks. No one’s ever stuck up for me before. I usually have to stand up for myself.”

“Well, get used to it. I stand up for the people I—” I barely managed to close my mouth before I finished that dangerous sentence. This wasn’t a conversation I was used to having. I kept to myself. I was all I needed. Hell, it was only three years ago that my own sister and I had started building a relationship. And now I was here in a strange town, in a strange hotel room with . . . let’s face it, the most attractive man I could possibly be stuck in a strange hotel room with, about to tell him how I really felt about him. I was way, way out of my depth here.

“I know. Hey . . .” His voice was low, and there was a rasp to it that I’d never heard before. He moved his arm, letting my hand slide down his forearm, over his wrist, until he caught my hand in his. “I know.”

He looked at our joined hands, then back up at me. The air between us had become charged, and I knew what was about to happen. I could stop it. I should stop it. I should drop his hand, step back, and make a snarky joke. I shouldn’t want this.

But I did. So when his other hand came up to cup my cheek I moved even closer, into his space this time. He caught his breath when I did. “You’re not skipping brunch tomorrow.” The rasp in his voice became gravel, and it sent a prickle of heat down my spine.

“Are you sure?” I wasn’t even paying attention to what I was saying. All my senses were caught up in Mitch, in how close he was. How solid. How warm.

He nodded and leaned into me, his eyebrows rising in a silent question. I nodded back, answering, and we weren’t talking about brunch anymore. We weren’t talking at all. My name was a whisper of breath a moment before his mouth closed over mine. Tentative, gentle. Warm. Confident, but not aggressive. He was testing me. Letting me make the decision. I knew that even now, if I changed my mind, said no, he would have backed off without complaint.