The Perfect Fit (Riley O'Brien & Co. #2.5) Read online

  “Want to grab a beer?” Cal asked.

  “Magnolia Brewery is pretty close,” Jake said. “Have you ever been there? They make their own beer.”

  “Sure,” he answered, partly because it had been a long, long time since he’d grabbed a beer with anyone, and partly because he had no desire to commit career suicide and ignore an invitation from an O’Brien.

  “It’s too far to walk, though,” Cal added. “Do you mind driving, Zeke? My Caddy is a bitch to park, and Jake only has his bike.”

  Zeke readily agreed, privately relieved by Cal’s suggestion. Since the IED attack, he had a hard time being a passenger in any vehicle. He preferred to be in the driver’s seat—literally and figuratively.

  During the short drive to Magnolia Brewery, Cal and Jake talked about the monthly poker game that Quinn hosted at his house in Laurel Heights. Apparently, it was a tradition that had started when Quinn and Cal lived together, and invitations to the game were highly coveted.

  A memory of playing poker with his buddies in Iraq floated through Zeke’s mind. He missed the camaraderie … the good-natured ribbing that always occurred when a group of men got together to play a card game.

  “Do you play poker?” Cal asked Zeke from his place in the backseat.

  “Yes. Badly.”

  Jake laughed. “Then you and Cal have something in common.”

  “Asshole,” Cal muttered. “I’m a fucking awesome poker player.”

  Looking over his shoulder at Cal, the young VP smirked. “Keep telling yourself that.”

  The brewery was more or less what Zeke had expected. A big bar, lots of dark wood, long tables with benches, and an old-fashioned tile floor. For a Tuesday night at eight thirty, it was quite crowded, but they managed to find some space on one end of a table near the back.

  Once Zeke was settled on the bench, he asked, “So what do you recommend?”

  “If you like IPAs, you should try the Proving Ground IPA,” Cal suggested. “It’s won a lot of awards.”

  “I like dark beers,” Jake added. “I always get the Lightning Imperial Stout when it’s on tap.”

  “Or you could get a beer flight,” Cal said. “Then you could try several different brews.”

  Zeke took Cal’s suggestion, ordering a three-beer flight when the server came by. It didn’t take long for her to return with their beers.

  Cal held up his pilsner glass of blond ale. “Here’s to not being the worst team in the softball league.”

  Laughing, Zeke and Jake tapped their own glasses against Cal’s. “Hear, hear,” they chimed.

  Zeke took a sip of his wheat beer. He’d already forgotten its name, but it was pretty good, leaving a tangy, citrusy aftertaste.

  “What branch of the military were you in?” Cal asked Zeke.

  “Army.”

  “Did you join right out of high school?”

  Zeke shook his head. “After college. I was part of the ROTC program.”

  Reserve Officers’ Training Corps had paid for his college education. In return, he had been required to commit to five years in the Army.

  “How long were you in the Army?” Jake asked.

  “Twelve years.”

  Zeke took another sip of his beer, wondering if a casual outing with colleagues was going to morph into the Spanish Inquisition. He sure as hell hoped not.

  “How long have you worked at Riley O’Brien & Co.?” he asked Jake.

  “Almost five years.”

  “Why did you leave the Army?” Cal asked.

  Obviously, Zeke’s efforts to redirect the conversation hadn’t worked.

  “I was injured.”

  He could tell Cal and Jake wanted to follow up with more questions, but his tone made it clear that they wouldn’t be answered. He didn’t talk about the IED attack, and he wasn’t going to start now.

  It was bad enough that he had to relive it in his nightmares. He didn’t want to spend his waking hours talking about it. In fact, he’d never talked about the IED attack with anyone except the counselor in Maryland who had specialized in combat injuries and PTSD.

  A lot of soldiers refused to acknowledge that they needed help to deal with their emotions, but Zeke wasn’t one of them. He’d known that he needed help, and he’d gotten it.

  The counselor had assured him that the attack hadn’t been Zeke’s fault. But the fact was, it had been his decision that put the supply convoy in harm’s way. He was the one who had insisted that they take that specific route, believing it to be safer and faster.

  Sometimes Zeke wished he couldn’t remember the attack. Most people who experienced traumatic injuries like his had no memories of what happened immediately before, during, or after.

  But his memories were so clear they were like a movie playing in IMAX—a loud, violent, stomach-churning movie.

  He remembered the lead Humvee exploding first, creating a cloud of smoke and dust. He remembered the IED hitting his vehicle with an ear-deafening boom and a bone-jarring quake.

  He remembered seeing his best friend with half his face blown off. And he remembered looking down and seeing nothing but bone and blood and charred flesh where his left leg had been.

  He carried the memory of the attack with him—emotionally and physically. It would always be with him.

  But he was alive, and he was grateful that his life had been spared when so many of his buddies lay in a grave. He hadn’t always felt that way, but he did now.

  His phone vibrated in the pocket of his sweat pants, startling him. He reached for it reflexively.

  The screen displayed a text from Margo: “How was practice? I made spinach lasagna for dinner. Have you eaten?”

  Glancing up from his phone, he asked the guys, “Are we just drinking or are we eating, too?”

  “Eating,” Cal and Jake answered simultaneously.

  Zeke replied to Margo’s text: “Practice was good. I’m the team captain. Having dinner with a couple of co-workers. Home around eleven.”

  She responded with two emojis: a baseball bat and a smiley face.

  He placed his phone on the table, facedown, and met the curious gazes of the men across from him. Cal cocked his head toward Zeke’s phone.

  “Wife?” he asked.

  Zeke shook his head. “No. I’m not married. It was my roommate. She was just checking in.”

  He realized his mistake immediately. The military had taught him to answer only the question asked and then to shut up. But he had just over-shared in a big way.

  “She?” Jake repeated. “You have a female roommate?”

  “Yeah.”

  Zeke could tell by the looks on their faces what they were thinking. For some unknown reason, he felt compelled to set the record straight.

  “She’s just my roommate. It’s completely platonic. I don’t think about her that way. She’s attractive, but I’m not attracted to her. Not even a little.”

  Cal smiled slowly, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Not even a little?” He glanced sideways at Jake. “Our man Zeke doth protest too much, methinks.”

  Jake nodded. “Methinks, too.”

  “It’s not like that,” Zeke protested.

  But then he realized that maybe, just maybe, it was like that.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Margo had paid only a hundred dollars for her evening gown, but she felt like a million bucks in it. After weeks of searching consignment boutiques around the city for the perfect dress for the Pictures & Paws Gala, she’d finally found it.

  The art auction and gala benefited the Fog City Animal Shelter, a nonprofit, no-kill shelter that served greater Marin County. Every year, the event was held at the Four Seasons San Francisco on the third Saturday in May and featured an art auction consisting of pictures by famous photographers followed by dinner and dancing.

  Margo’s veterinary clinic had sponsored two tables at the gala, and all employees had been invited to attend and bring a guest. Zeke was the only person she’d wanted to go with, and a
few days ago, she had finally worked up enough courage to ask him. She’d lied and told him that her date had canceled because of a business trip.

  She was turning into quite a liar when it came to Zeke. But she’d instinctively known that he wouldn’t have agreed to go with her unless he’d thought that she had been deserted.

  He had agreed to escort her, albeit reluctantly, and not before expressing his displeasure about wearing a tux. Apparently, he’d never worn one; in the past, he’d always worn his formal Army uniform, which he called his “mess dress.”

  She, meanwhile, had never spent so much money on a single piece of clothing. But this dress… Oh, it was totally worth it. She had immediately fallen in love with the mermaid gown, with its navy blue lace and nude underlay.

  The cap sleeves and plunging illusion V-neck kept it modest. But it was sexy, too—snug and formfitting, especially around her hips and butt. Plus, the underlay gave the impression that she was nude under the lace, and the curves of her breasts were visible through the nude material of the V-neck.

  The navy blue lace sparkled with tiny beads, making the dress shimmer when she moved, and her back was completely exposed from her nape to her waist. Her nude satin sandals—another consignment store find—added three inches to her height.

  She’d curled her hair into loose waves and pulled it up on one side with the crystal hair comb she’d splurged on. Smoky gray eyeshadow and mascara emphasized her blue eyes, and peachy-nude gloss shimmered on her lips.

  Turning to Roby, she asked, “So what do you think?”

  The Doberman, who was curled up on top of her paisley duvet cover, didn’t even open his eyes. She hoped Zeke’s response would be more encouraging.

  She wanted to make a good impression with her colleagues, but more important, she wanted Zeke to notice her. She desperately wanted him to see her … to desire her.

  Although she and Zeke had planned to drive to the Four Seasons together, he’d texted her about an hour ago to let her know that his softball game was running long. She could tell from his message that he was upset by the delay. He had apologized profusely and promised to get to the gala as soon as possible.

  She knew most women would be incensed about the change in plans, but she wasn’t. These things happened. She was just happy that Zeke was going to be at the gala with her, even for a limited time.

  Since his company softball league had started three weeks ago, they hadn’t spent much time together. She got the sense that he was avoiding her, but she didn’t know if that was reality or her overactive imagination.

  Her phone chimed with a text notifying her that the cab was waiting out front. After grabbing her diaphanous navy blue wrap and satin clutch, she left the apartment and carefully descended the front steps in her heels.

  The cab driver didn’t bother to open the car door for her, but she still felt like a princess … a very uncomfortable princess. Apparently, evening gowns were designed for standing, not sitting.

  To her relief, the drive to the Four Seasons didn’t take long. Located in the heart of the SoMa district, the luxury hotel was right across the street from Yerba Buena Gardens, an eighty-seven-acre urban garden.

  The Pictures & Paws event was being held in the Veranda Ballroom and Terrace. When she arrived on the fifth floor, the space was already packed with people, all of them garbed in colorful evening gowns or sleek tuxedos.

  She had never attended an event like this, but she squared her shoulders and reminded herself that she had just as much right to be here as anyone else, maybe more. She was educated and licensed to care for the animals everyone professed to love so much.

  Hundreds of pictures decorated the walls, a mixture of black-and-white and color images hanging from metal rods. Most of the photos featured animals. She wished she had the money to bid on and win a couple of the pictures, but she was still trying to rebuild her rainy-day fund.

  She took her time getting to the tables reserved for Bay Area Animal Care, enjoying the lively atmosphere. She had just removed her wrap and dropped it on one of the chairs when she heard her name.

  Turning, she spotted Jenny hurrying across the room, as fast as her tight red dress would allow. Her shiny black hair swung around her face, revealing glimpses of sparkly, dangly earrings.

  Jenny hugged her. “You look gorgeous,” the petite woman gushed, her almond-shaped eyes wide with obvious admiration. “Where did you get your dress?”

  “At this tiny consignment shop on Sacramento Street. I can’t remember the name of it.”

  “I can never find anything good at those kinds of shops.”

  Margo smiled wryly. She doubted Jenny had ever stepped into a consignment shop or thrift store. Her family was extremely wealthy, and her father spoiled his only daughter shamelessly. She worked at the clinic because she loved animals, not because she needed the money.

  “And I love your hair,” Jenny added. “I never see it in anything but a ponytail.”

  “That’s not true. Sometimes I wear it in a braid.”

  Her friend laughed. “I like it better this way. It’s so glamorous … like the hairstyles in the 1940s. Very Agent Carter.”

  “Thank you.” Margo frowned. “Who’s Agent Carter?”

  “You know, from the Marvel comics. World-class spy. Captain America’s girlfriend.”

  Margo nodded. “Oh, right.”

  “So, where’s your roomie? I can’t wait to meet him.”

  Margo had mentioned Zeke to Jenny a couple of times. Okay, more than a couple of times. She talked about him incessantly.

  Suddenly, a horrifying thought occurred to her. She’d never told Jenny that she had feelings for Zeke.

  What if Jenny flirted with Zeke? What if he liked it? What if her co-worker and her roommate clicked?

  Margo lightly touched the other woman’s forearm. “Jenny…” she began, but stopped when she couldn’t figure out the best way to articulate her feelings. She really wanted to say: Hands off. He’s mine.

  Jenny met Margo’s gaze, her face openly curious. After a moment, her glossy red lips curled into a smile.

  “Don’t worry, Margo. I’m not going to poach on your territory.”

  “He’s not my territory,” she admitted reluctantly.

  “But you want him to be.” Jenny smiled knowingly. “Isn’t that why you invited him tonight and wore a dress like that?”

  She nodded. “I want him to notice me as a woman, not just an androgynous roommate,” she confided.

  “Oh, he’ll definitely notice you. And he won’t be the only one, either. No guy could overlook you in that dress.” She laughed, the husky sound edged with wickedness. “This should be a very entertaining evening.”

  ****

  A third person in the Bay Area now knew that Zeke had a prosthetic limb—the tailor at Saks Fifth Avenue who had fitted him for his tuxedo. The gruff older man had felt the edges of Zeke’s molded plastic socket through the expensive wool-blend of the trousers, but he hadn’t seemed to care much. He’d been more interested in whether Zeke dressed left or right.

  As Zeke stood in the elevator in the Four Seasons, he ran his hand over his hair, searching for any unruly strands. Satisfied that everything was in order, he adjusted the French cuffs of his bright white tuxedo shirt and furtively checked his fly to make sure it was zipped.

  Never in his life had he showered, shaved, and dressed as quickly as he had tonight. He was surprised he’d nicked himself only once.

  Even though he’d driven like a maniac to get to the hotel as fast as humanly possible, he was still forty-five minutes late. He hated being late, regardless of the circumstances. But his tardiness tonight was even more unacceptable because Margo had been counting on him.

  Because of a stupid softball game, she’d had to take a taxi in an evening gown. She was probably livid, and he couldn’t blame her.

  Why hadn’t he just left the game early? Better yet, why hadn’t he declined Margo’s invitation to attend Pictures & Paws?


  He should have. But he’d hated the thought of her going to this type of event alone. And, if he were honest with himself, he would admit that he’d wanted to go with her, even if it was a monumentally bad idea.

  Being around her was torture. A couple of days ago, he’d accidently bumped into her in the kitchen, his front grazing her back. That small touch had created a big problem … behind his zipper.

  Ever since that day when he had retrieved Margo’s panties from Roby’s paws, Zeke had tried—and failed—to push her back into the roommate-only zone. But those tiny panties had already done their damage.

  Whenever they were together, he constantly thought about what she wore underneath her clothes. He even thought about it when they weren’t together.

  His dormant libido had awakened, and now the damn thing was boiling like an active volcano. It could erupt at any time.

  Zeke should be happy that his penis had returned to its normal operations. But he wasn’t. Instead, he was frustrated and edgy and hard all the fucking time.

  He didn’t understand why this was happening now. And he sure as hell didn’t understand why it was happening with Margo.

  It didn’t happen with anyone else.

  Today, during the softball game, a pretty woman on the opposing team had run into him. The force of the impact had knocked them to the ground, with her sprawled on top.

  She’d been a sweet-smelling, curvy armful. And his penis had been uninterested.

  If it could talk, it would have said, I’m bored. But around Margo, it said, Mmm, I want some of that.

  Of course, his dick didn’t care about the eleven-year age gap between them. And it didn’t care that she had her whole life ahead of her, while he had already lived a big portion of his.

  Finally, the elevator reached the fifth floor. When he stepped out, he immediately began to look for Margo. No matter where they were, her bright hair made it easy to spot her.

  After searching the area where the pictures were displayed and the ballroom where dinner would be served, he wandered onto the terrace. The huge space overlooked Yerba Buena Gardens, and the surrounding buildings provided plenty of light.