Men. What is with them having to be the boss all the time? I mean, seriously, Doc thought it was great I knew about Manho. Why couldn’t Zane do as much? Why? Because he’s a dick. And where am I going?
She walked down a hallway so quiet it unnerved her. She had to be in the wrong place, but no, up ahead shone the international symbol for a women’s bathroom. She must have wandered to an off-the-track bathroom.
By the time she washed her hands and repaired her lipstick, India had a plan. She would take her time returning to the ballroom. Instead, she’d check out the auction, and then she would go find Zane, plead fatigue and a headache from the red wine, and ask to be taken home.
India tossed the paper towel into the trash and strode out the door. These heels really did boost her confidence. Nolan looked gobsmacked at her aplomb during the hearing. It wasn’t really aplomb, though. She’d been admiring her pretty new shoes. The judge blah blah’d on about things they had already decided and signed their names to in the stacks of paperwork. The divorce had taken almost eighteen months because of the house and the reams of forms that had to be filled out, not because of any animosity on their part. Yet the judge admonished them to be nice to each other.
Whatever.
She laughed at her use of such a flippant term, even if only internally. She felt free. She felt like herself for the first time in ages, though she wasn’t exactly sure who she was. It didn’t matter. She had the rest of her life to figure it out.
The twinkle of lights caught her eye -- not Christmas lights, but city lights. The hotel’s ballroom had been partitioned off on the far side, squashing everyone into a smaller space, making attendance look higher, but it also created a sanctuary of the unused portion. She stuck her head around the edge of the paper divider, and seeing no one, crossed the space to the wall of windows. This side of the city abutted a large park, one full of trees, grassy playing fields, several lakes, and an outdoor concert venue. Though lights dotted the open area, the vast majority lay dark, swallowing the bright buzz of the city. During the day, it would fill with runners and playing children. Tonight, it sat mysterious and brooding.
She walked right up to the glass and put her forehead against it, looking down the many floors at the cars rushing by, enjoying the sensation of floating above it all.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
India jumped and smacked her head against the glass. “Ow.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She searched for the source of the voice. In the corner, where glass met wall, leaned a man, arms crossed, a slight smirk on his face.
“I didn’t realize anyone else was in here.” She rubbed her forehead.
He came to where she stood, and though the light was still minimal, she could now see his purple-blue suit. His pale skin accentuated by dark brown hair made her think of a French schoolboy.
“I’m hiding from the party.” Not a French schoolboy. A British one, judging by his accent. And now that he stood closer, she could see stubble, so he was older than he appeared at a distance.
“I’m hiding from my date.” She turned back to the window, embarrassed by her bluntness.
He gave a low chuckle. “This is a good place to hide then.” He faced the window too. “What were you doing when I startled you? Looking for your car?”
“I don’t have a car. I was just looking, but…” She felt foolish for saying it, but his open expression made her go on. “The way I was standing made me feel as if I was floating.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“How do you do it?” He moved so they were standing shoulder to shoulder, almost -- but not quite -- touching.
“Well, stand with your toes a little bit away from the glass because you don’t want them to block your view, and lean so your forehead is against the glass holding you up.” She demonstrated.
He was good at following directions, so after a moment, he gasped. “This is amazing.”
India laughed at the joy in his voice. “Yeah, it is.” She tried to focus on the tiny people below and not the handsome giant next to her, but her eyes kept sliding to his profile. Gorgeous face. Stacked body.
“I’m Matt.” He glanced at her sideways, and her heart did a strange thing. It skipped a beat.
“I’m India.” She hoped she sounded less gobsmacked than she felt.
“Nice to meet you, India.” He went back to staring at the sidewalk.
“Nice to meet you, Matt.”
They stood in silence for a while.
“Why are you avoiding your date?” This time he didn’t look at her.
“Why are you avoiding the party?” She stared at him unabashedly. Well, as unabashedly as one can sideways. His faint stubble added to rather than detracted from his looks.
His laugh held a warmth that made her think of fireplaces and cozy sweaters. “Good question.” He paused, biting his lip. “I’m just not good with people.”
His deprecation sounded genuine, not a flirtatious ploy. “You appear to have manners. At least, you haven’t bitten me yet.”
Another laugh, this coupled with a glance through his lashes that made her heart stutter. “Give me time. I might yet.”
“And you say you’re bad with people.”
Red crept up his neck. Maybe she’d gone too far. She returned to studying the passing cars.
“So, India, I see you’ve avoided telling me why you’re hiding from your date.” A flirty warmth suffused his voice. “Confess.”
“Well, he’s spent all night plying me with alcohol, and I’m the old-fashioned type who looks for more in conversation than him staring at my breasts.”
“Ooh, yeah, I can see where that might be a turnoff.” He sighed dramatically. “What a rookie mistake, and you have such nice eyes, too.”
I do? He noticed? “Thanks. Yours aren’t so bad, either.” The light green contrasted nicely with the dark of his hair.
“Why thank you. Now tell me, what’s your escape plan?”
“In a bit, I’ll tell him I’m tired from moving and feign a headache.”
“Hmm.” He stared at the ground. “Did you move today?”
“Mostly.” She couldn’t keep her eyes off his profile. “I still don’t have a sofa or a bed, but the rest got there okay.”
“No car, no bed, no sofa. Where do you live? A cardboard box?”
A genuine laugh shook her. “No, a new apartment. It’s just taking time to get it all together.”
“Well, happy moving day, and that’s a good excuse for leaving. I’d buy it.”
India shifted her gaze from the sidewalk to the distant park. Fog rose and stalked among the trees. “Look at the mist.”
“That happens a lot.”
“Oh, really?” She stole a glance.
“Yeah. There’s something about the combination of terrain and the ponds that causes it to get foggy all the time. I like to hang out in Hansford Park when I have free time. It reminds me of home.”
“Home? You live on one of those Austen style estates?”
“No.” He snorted. “I live in Milton, a town in the East Midlands that no one has heard of.”
“It was worth a shot. I mean, if I could live in a cardboard box in the city, you could be heir to a great estate.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, milady. I’m just the son of a working man.”
“Alas.”
“Bettony, what are you doing in here?” A voice she knew from somewhere shattered their repartee.
Matt jumped, hitting this head as India had not long before. “Doc!”
That was how she knew the voice.
“Why are you hiding in the dark?” Lights came on, making India shield her eyes from their fluorescent brightness. “Oh, hello, Ms. Jackson. I didn’t notice you standing there.”
“Hey, Doc.” India gave him a half-hearted wave. One look at the anxiety on Matt’s face made her realize that he might actually be in trouble.
“Bettony, you should be out there talking to people.” Doc had his hands on his hips. All he needed was a whistle dangling from his lips to complete the intimidating high school Phys Ed teacher look.
“He was talking to me.” India raised her hand, then realized what she was doing and lowered it. “Matt was just pointing out how the mist in the park reminded him of home in a not-so-subtle attempt to get me to bid on his photo in the silent auction.” God, I hope it’s his photo or that Doc doesn’t know the difference.
Matt turned and stared. “Uh, she’s right, Doc. I thought I was smoother than that, though.”
Doc snorted. “Okay then. If you’ve finished chatting her up, get out here and circulate. People are waiting to meet you.” Then he turned and stalked off.
“Chatting me up?” India shook her head.
Matt colored. “Who knows with Doc? I guess I better get out there.”
“Probably.” India’s heart sank. She’d been enjoying herself.
They made their way around the screen and stood contemplating the crowd. “It was nice talking to you.”
Matt stuck out his hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you, India Jackson.”
“Indeed, Matt Bettony.” His hand was warm and the shake firm. He hesitated before letting go, or she did. India didn’t want to analyze the moment and discover she’d clung to him.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you around.” He shrugged and pointed to the crowd.
“See you around.” She pointed to the auction but watched as he walked away. She doubted he’d even remember meeting her after a few moments, but it was nice to pretend he would.
Zane stood talking to a group of people in grey suits. Congress Critters. She didn’t want to talk to any politician -- they gave her the creeps -- and she definitely wanted to avoid Zane, so she scooted as fast as she could in heels towards the small room that held the silent auction.
In general, India didn’t like auctions, mostly because she hated to lose, but she took another look at some of the items. She understood why no one had bid on the strange Dali-esque papier mâché figure. The bulbous eyes followed her around the room.
The handmade ski hat in Spirit colors caught her eye, though she doubted Gustavsson actually knitted it like the sign claimed. Probably his wife did. Her experience with fiber told her it was worth far more than the measly sum offered, so she added twenty-five dollars to the current total.
On the far side of the room sat the picture she liked so much. It was framed in oak, highlighting the golden light that painted the edges of the morning mist. Though the landscape was partly obscured, the green grass dotted with bluebells made her wish she could walk into the picture, and in the corner in gold marker, she could just make out the initials MB.
The high bid sat far short of its worth, and that left aside the fact that it was Matt who had taken the picture. She picked up the pen and did mental math.
What am I doing? Matt was just being nice, not flirting, and even if he was, it doesn’t matter. It’s not like he asked for my number or anything. I could be his mother.
No, probably not. I could be his older sister. His waaaay older sister.
But he had made her feel alive, that sweet rush that got her heart beating. Nolan hadn’t done that in years. Zane hadn’t even been close. And anyway, she liked the picture.
Before she could stop herself, India added a hundred dollars to the top bid and scrawled her signature next to it. Then she dropped the pen and walked away, resisting the urge to go back and cross it off, resisting the urge to think about Matt’s smile, resisting the urge to overthink everything like she usually did. Thinking too much had kept her married five years too many. Besides, she had a date to end.
Zane had left the politicians and now harangued a group of women. One of them actually wore blue leggings and a shirt so short that India could see more than she desired. They appeared enthralled with his smarmy charm.
Good. They can have him. She got herself a diet soda and ensconced herself at a table, relishing being off her feet.
Matt stood out to her now that she had a name to put to the face. Across the room, he and another player chatted with women about their age. His friend animatedly waved his hands, clearly describing some exploit from the soccer pitch. Matt smiled and nodded, but didn’t seem as interested in the conversation, or maybe it was just wishful thinking on her part.
She racked her brain for information. The name Matt Bettony did ring a bell, which meant that Nolan had talked about him. All she could remember is that Matt was relatively new to the team and had not been on the field much, but Doc would have purged Matt with the others had he not seen something worthwhile. Bored, India dug her phone out of her purse and poked around for a bit.
Before she could process what was happening, the chair to her right slid back and a solid bulk filled it. “Hello, I’m Salé.” A large paw accompanied the statement.
This was the player standing with Matt. Though he was shorter than Matt by several inches, he was more solid, and his personality took up even more room.
“Hi, I’m India.” She shook his hand.
A smile lit the cordovan brown eyes. “That’s what Matt said.” He glanced up behind her.
She turned to see Matt standing behind her. A shy smile crossed his face. “Can we join you? Salé should have asked, but he has the manners of a rhinoceros.”
Salé’s laughter nearly drowned out her response. She pointed to the chair. “Sure. Have a seat. How goes the mingling?”
Matt pulled out the chair and sat instead of flopping into it, as Salé had. “It’s very interesting.” Sarcasm dripped from his words. “We’ve spoken to someone running for your congress who knows nothing about soccer, but wants us to vote for him.”
“Even though we can’t.” Salé shook his head. “We tried to tell him.”
“There was the group of older women who asked really personal questions.” Matt shook his head.
“Like whether Matt wore boxers or briefs.” Salé’s grin went from ear to ear.
Pink flared along Matt’s cheekbones. “It didn’t help that you told them what you wear.”
“Which is nothing.” Salé nudged her and winked. “Then there were the pretty girls who tried to score our digits.”
“Oh, really?” She wasn’t sure what to do with the brief flare of jealousy she felt. “How did that go? Did you give your number out?”
Salé looked scandalized. “Dios mio, no. Andrea would kick my ass.”
“And you?” She glanced at Matt.
His eyes rounded. “Of course not.”
India gave a half shrug. “Why not? There’re some rich people here. Not bad looking, either.”
He mirrored her shrug. “I’m not interested. Speaking of rich people, how’s Operation Date Exit going?”
“Zane’s not really rich. He’s here on the firm’s dime. They sponsor your half-time contests for the local kids’ teams.”
Salé looked around. “He left you alone?”
India nodded at where Zane was now head-to-head with another lawyerly looking type. Whatever they discussed was intense, judging by the scowl on Zane’s face. “No, he’s still here, and as far as Operation Date Exit goes, I haven’t had a chance to get a word in edgewise. Not that I’ve tried very hard. Anyway, I want to stay through the auction results, since the bids close soon.”
Matt glanced at his watch. “Very soon.”
“And we get to go home after that.” Salé sounded relieved.
Across the room, Zane ended his conversation with a flourish of his hands and stormed off. India watched as he stalked around the perimeter as if he searched for something.
She hoped he wasn’t looking for her, but she feared he was. “So, it looks like I just need to negotiate the ride to my place. I suppose I could take the subway.”
“Not this late.” Matt shook his head. “I mean, this part of town is safe as houses, but the trains not so much.”
“Oh well, I just live across town. I’ll take a taxi.” The thought of getting back in a car with Zane suddenly gave her the willies. “There’s bound to be a taxi stand outside the hotel, or I’ll have the concierge call one.”
“Just be safe.” Matt looked around. “Which one is Zane?”
India pointed. “The guy headed our way. You might want to leave before he corners you.”
When Zane saw who sat at the table, his scowl melted into his most lawyerly of grins that somehow managed to look feral. Does this guy have a genuine smile?
Salé went to stand, but a look passed between him and Matt, and Salé sank back into the seat.
“There you are.” Zane’s voice was too loud.
“Right where I said I’d be.” She let a smile screen her sarcasm. Matt snorted.
Zane pulled out a chair on the far side of the table, and to India’s horror, he turned it around and sat astride it, like the bad guy in an 80’s teen movie. “I see you’ve made some friends.” He rose partway and held out his hand. “Zane Warner.”
Matt glanced at India then leaned over. “Matt Bettony.”
“The team’s central midfielder.” Zane flicked a glance at India that said, See I speak soccer, too.
“One of them.” Matt didn’t return Zane’s too smooth smile.
“Zane Warner.” He directed his attention and hand in the other direction.
Salé’s massive paw swallowed Zane’s diminutive one. “Salé Reyes.”
“Nice to meet you.” Zane shook forcefully, as if asserting his tiny manhood.
A factoid bubbled up to the surface of India’s brain. “Salé is a Striker.”
Salé flashed a brilliant smile. “That I am.”
“I hope to see you both play for a change, now that Manho’s gone. Unlike Zane, I’m glad he’s been traded.”
Zane frowned, then covered it over. Matt must have caught it because another look passed between the friends.
The awkward silence that followed was broken by the sound of someone tapping a microphone. “Hi, um, hello everyone.” A stout woman about India’s age beamed at the audience. “This is a reminder to place your bids in the Silent Auction. We close bidding in three minutes.”
“We were just talking about the auction.” She waved her hand toward the room. Sure, it was far from a smooth segue, but it got everyone talking again.
While the men exchanged small talk about the items and the Children’s Hospital, India focused on her escape. So far, Zane had been respectful, if not exactly a gentleman, so she had no reason to believe he would do anything other than pout when she demanded to be taken home and left at her front door. Just to be on the safe side, she pulled out her phone and texted Mara, explaining the situation and asking her sister to check on her later.
“Is everything okay?” Matt’s green eyes reflected concern.
“Are you all right?” Zane’s concern did not seem so genuine.
India forced a smile. “Yes, it’s all fine. I just texted my sister asking her what she recommended for a headache. I’ll probably have to stop on the way home, since I don’t know where anything is in my apartment.”
“Doc’s wife might have something.” Salé patted her hand and got to his feet.
“No, I --”
But he just smiled and walked away. Matt raised his eyebrows, then stood and followed. “We’ll be right back.”
Zane had his back to the room, so he didn’t see Matt catch Salé’s arm and whisper in his ear, gesturing at India and the table. Salé’s eyes grew wide, and he said something to Matt, then the two disappeared into the crowd.
“What do you think caused the headache?”
India couldn’t read Zane’s expression or tone, and that bothered her. “Maybe the red wine. Maybe it’s just the stress of moving and, you know, going to court today.”
Zane nodded sagely. “Maybe your friends will have something to help. It’d be a shame to end our evening so early.”
Alarm bells went off in India’s mind. This is not good.
More tapping on the microphone caught their attention. The same woman stood near the entrance to the room where the auction items were held. “Bids are closed.” Her cheery voice didn’t need a microphone, but she used one anyway. “We’ll announce the winners one by one. You can go to Joyce over by the double doors to pay for your merchandise. Let’s begin with lot one.”
India tuned out. She’d only bid on two items, and those were mid-range numbers. The squeak of the chair next to her being pulled out brought her back to the moment. Matt pushed a glass of water in her direction. “Sorry, Doc’s wife didn’t have anything.”
“We tried a few people, but nothing.” Salé gave her an exaggerated wink.
“Thanks, guys.” India kept her voice low.
“No worries.” Matt stared meaningfully at Zane’s back, then raised an eyebrow. India shrugged.
“Lot Fifty-two. A hat knitted by Axel Gustavsson.” She peered at the paper. “The winner is India Jackson.”
“Oh, that’s me.” She’d forgotten bidding on the indigo and grey Fair Isle watch cap. Paying for the hat took just a few minutes, and she returned just in time for Zane to be named as the winner of a signed soccer ball.
“What do you think?” India plunked it on her head even though it would destroy her hair. She just didn’t care anymore.
“Suits you.” Matt beamed, and she couldn’t help smiling back.
“Nice.” Salé applauded. “Axel worked hard on it.”
“He really knitted this?” She tugged the hat off and admired the intricate pattern. “I thought maybe his wife did.”
“He’s not married. He lives with rest of us single international guys.” Matt pointed, warning her that Zane approached.
Matt is single. Her foolish heart leapt, though she tried to keep it in check.
“What happened to your hair?” Zane frowned as he returned to his seat.
“Nothing.” Feeling like a chastised child, she smoothed what was left of the curls.
Matt leaned forward. “You look fine.”
“Thanks.” She folded the hat, trying to calm her raging feelings. Zane was as much of a dick as Nolan, and she was grateful for Matt and Salé’s presence, but the auction would be over soon. Then she’d have to deal with Zane one on one.
I’m definitely taking a cab home. Having made the decision, she felt better.
“Lot seventy-three. A photograph taken by Matt Bettony.” More paper peering. “Won by India Jackson.”
A gasp came from her left, and she refused to look at Matt, afraid he’d be angry or appalled at her bidding on his picture, but she couldn’t avoid him on her way back. Zane stared at his phone, Salé clapped, but she couldn’t read Matt’s expression.
She laid the carefully bubble-wrapped picture on the table and took her seat, painfully aware of Matt’s silence and Salé’s gushing at how wonderful it was that India had won that picture because it was one of Matt’s favorites. She stared ahead and watched the hoopla surrounding the announcement of the largest packages up for auction. The blood pounded in her ears.
Why do I care so much what he thinks? But she hid the answer from herself out of sight and buried deep.
“Maybe this will help you get that heavy thing home.” An indigo and blue object dangled just on the edge of her peripheral vision. Joyce -- the payment taker lady -- handed her a reusable shopping bag with the Spirit logo emblazoned on it.
“Thank you.” India took the proffered gift.
“Welcome.” Joyce waved to the soccer players and left.
The auction over, the party began to break up. Some vague announcements about people sticking around until two were made, but India didn’t pay attention because now she had to leave Matt and stay with Zane. She took her time putting the picture into the bag.
“Here, let me help you.” Matt took the heavy frame from her grasp and held it while she wrested the bag into place. The one time she met his gaze, he gave her a small smile.
“Thanks.”
“Ready to go?” Zane rose on his toes and settled back.
“Zane, I --” But he grabbed her wrist and dragged her through the crowd. She tried to free herself, but couldn’t. The press of people separated them to arm’s length, and she didn’t dare shout she was taking a cab home. A small, scared part of her brain kept pointing out how tightly he held her wrist and that getting into a car with him would be a very, very bad idea, and she better not do it.
The lobby to the ballroom teemed with people waiting for one of the five elevators. Finally at a standstill, India yanked her arm hard enough to get his attention, then she dragged him off to the side where they could speak in relative privacy.
India expected Zane’s perpetual scowl, but instead confusion reigned. “What’s going on?”
She held up her arm. “Let go.” Even she was surprised at the spikes in her voice.
Zane dropped her wrist.
“Thank you very much for this evening, but I’ll be taking a taxi home.” Her tone held fewer spikes, but more disdain.
“But…” Zane’s face fell.
Perhaps this would be easier than she thought. Then the muscle in his jaw bunched and her stomach dropped. “I brought you. I will take you home.”
“That’s not necessary.” And I don’t want you knowing where I live.
“I insist.” If his jaw got any bunchier, he’d look like Popeye.
“I’m pretty certain I heard her say she was taking a taxi.” Matt’s gentle voice was now a growl.
And not just Matt, it looked like half the team had piled into the vestibule, fencing her and Zane off from the others.
“That’s what I heard.” Salé threw his arm around Zane’s shoulders. “Don’t be a carajo, man. India is a nice lady.”
“We’ll see she gets a taxi.” Matt maneuvered himself between Zane and India.
Zane looked from one to the other, then at the wall of players. “Fine.” She could see he wanted to say more. Instead, he shoved his way through the men and disappeared into the crowd.
“Wanker.” Matt shook his head.
“I imagine he is.” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Matt smile. “Thank you. Both of you.” She gestured at the Wall. “All of you. I appreciate your help.”
“No problem.”
“I hate assholes.”
“Men shouldn’t treat women like that.”
She couldn’t tell from whom the responses came, but she smiled and thanked everyone again and again as they got into the elevators. Matt put his hand on her back, then dropped it, then tried again. And she was charmed by the awkwardness of it all.
The empty hotel lobby sparkled quietly under a pall of Muzak piped in from speakers in the ceiling. For a brief moment, they stood staring at one another.
“I think the taxi stand is this way.” India pointed to the main doors. A quick discussion ensued, where everyone announced where their cars were. Half of the group had parked in the lot and half parked on the street near the hotel.
She waved at the group. “I cannot tell you how much I appreciate you coming to my rescue. Good night.” Then before the moment grew any more awkward, she strode across the lobby toward the revolving door.
“India.” Matt jogged up beside her. “Did Zane use the valet or park in the garage?”
“He parked in the -- damn.”
“What?” His brow furrowed.
“I left my jacket in his car. Oh well.” The blazer was a sacrifice she was willing to make.
“Oh, okay. That’s good. I just didn’t want you to walk out the doors and right into him.” He shoved his hands into his pockets.
“I should be fine.” Behind them, Salé stood half the way between Matt and the rest of the group of players.
“You know, I think I’ll make sure you find a hack, if that’s all right with you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Mateo, I’m gonna go home with these guys.” Salé called across the lobby. “Nice to meet you, India. I hope to see you at a game.”
“Nice to meet you. I’ll try to get to one this season.” Though she had never voluntarily gone to a game, she might this year.
Salé held up his hand and walked in the direction of the ramp to the car park.
“I appreciate you staying with me.” Since it looked like he was waiting with her, not that she minded. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“That guy… he gave me the creeps.”
“Me, too.”
Outside, the sidewalk was empty. No valet. No bellhops, and worst of all, no cabs waited near the sign proclaiming it to be the taxi stand.
“I guess the other partygoers took the taxis.” She dug in her purse. “I’ll just call a cab or rideshare, whichever is closest.” She tapped on the relevant apps.
Matt shoved his hands in his pockets again and stared at the lone vehicle making its way down Randolph Street. “India…”
“Hmm?” The nearest ride was at least fifteen minutes away. Apparently, everyone else had the same idea as she did.
“This is foolish. I’ll take you home.” He gestured across the road. “I have a car.”
“You don’t have to do that. I’ve caused you enough trouble as it is.” But I really want to say yes.
“You’re no trouble, and you said you live in the city, right?”
“I do. Near the Fashion District.” She clicked her phone off.
“C’mon. It’s no trouble.”
“If you’re sure.” She bit her lip, genuinely indecisive. He’d already gone out of his way for her.
“Come on.” He stepped off the curb and gestured across the street. “The car’s this way, and let me carry that bag for you.”
Am I really going to get into a car with a man I barely know? Why yes, yes, I am. She slid the bag off of her shoulder and held it out. “Lead on, Macduff.”