Well Matched (Well Met #3)(45)

“Ahh.” A smile quirked his lips. “My old girlfriend.”

“Your what?” I turned in my seat, panic forgotten.

“Taught me everything I know.” His smile became a grin as he glanced at me. “Hey, I was young. It was a big scandal, but we’ve both grown a lot as people since then.”

I blinked helplessly at him as he pulled into my driveway. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m kidding,” he confirmed. “But seriously, she’s great. One of those people who remembers every kid she’s ever had in a class.”

“She remembered Caitlin,” I said. “And she didn’t even have her in a class. Just the Ren Faire stuff.”

“See? She’s great. And she really did teach me everything I know.” He let the pause stretch out before adding, “About being a teacher. I know where your mind went. Pervert.”

I was almost able to laugh at that. I unclicked my seat belt. “You didn’t think this through. How are you getting back to the party?”

He waved his phone at me as he followed me into the house. “Uber’s a wonderful thing.”

“Point taken.” I went straight to the kitchen, and to the bottle of vodka that lived hidden away in an upper cabinet. Cider wasn’t going to touch the way I was feeling tonight. I splashed some vodka into a glass and offered the bottle to Mitch, who waved it off.

“That doesn’t look like tequila.”

“That’s because it’s not.” I tossed back the shot and poured another. I was home. I was safe. I could drink as much as I wanted to. And tonight I deserved it.

After my third shot Mitch opened the fridge, passing a can of Sprite to me across the kitchen island. “Here. Put that in there.”

“Fine.” I struggled with the pull tab on the soda can. Wow, that vodka was hitting fast. “Buzzkill,” I muttered, either to the can or to Mitch.

“Have you eaten anything tonight?” He took the can from me and cracked it open before passing it back. “Or did you go straight to that sugar punch shit?”

“Mostly the sugar punch shit.” I added more vodka to the soda I’d managed to pour into my glass. “No, wait. They had some little mushrooms, those were good. And some carrot sticks.”

“So that’s a no, then.” He started rummaging around in my fridge, and I peered at him.

“You’re not cooking for me.”

“Sure I am.” He put butter and cheese on the counter before pulling my loaf of bread off the top of the fridge. “I make excellent grilled cheese sandwiches.”

“That . . . that sounds amazing, actually.” It was probably the vodka talking, but honestly when was a grilled cheese sandwich a bad idea?

“Do you want to talk about it?” His voice was casual as he made himself at home in my kitchen, finding a skillet and putting it on to heat.

“No.” I slurped at my vodka and Sprite and wondered how this had become my life. Getting drunk in my kitchen on a Friday night while a gorgeous man who was way too young for me made me a grilled cheese sandwich. “No,” I said again. Yet I kept talking. “We were married for what, three years? Not even? I shouldn’t be that rattled seeing him again.”

“You loved him.” Mitch’s shrug was casual, belying the conversation we were having. “Marriage is supposed to be forever, right? You had Caitlin with him.”

“True.” My turn to shrug. “He didn’t want kids. I mean, to be honest, I didn’t either. Not right away, at least. But . . .”

“Accidents happen?” He glanced over his shoulder at me, brow raised. I nodded.

“A good accident, though. The best.” I took a long drink and added more soda to dilute the vodka. My tongue was loose enough, no need to make it worse. “But he didn’t think so, and that was that.” Understatement. Seeing Robert again, just from across a room like that, brought old feelings, old memories surging back. That cautious joy when I’d realized I was pregnant. The cold sting of betrayal when Robert rejected me. Rejected us. Giving birth while getting a divorce had done a number on me. It had built a brick wall around my heart so effortlessly, so quietly, that I hadn’t noticed it was happening until it was done. There were lots of reasons I hadn’t dated much as a single mom, but that was the biggest one. How was I supposed to trust someone with my heart again? Better to keep it hidden. Safe.

“He missed out.” Mitch put a plate of sandwiches on the island between us. “Your kid is great.”

“She is.” I took a sandwich—hot and crispy and slightly greasy with butter—and tugged it apart, watching the hot cheese stretch before I took a bite. I groaned in pleasure and Mitch smirked as he picked up a sandwich of his own.

“Gotta say, I love when I can put that look on your face.”

I almost dropped the sandwich. This was the first time either one of us had alluded to what had happened in that hotel room, and if I’d been sober I probably would have said something snippy and shut him down. But my limbs felt loose from the vodka and my smile came much more easily than it usually did. So what the hell. “You’re pretty good at putting that look on my face,” I said. I held his gaze with a courage I would’ve never had sober, and for once he was the first to look away, clearing his throat and going back to the fridge.