Page 29 of Match Me if You Can

I rented a car because I can’t be stuck at the house without a fucking getaway plan, but it’s not being dropped off until tomorrow.

Crucial mistake, thinking my family would play nice.

I shove the suitcase into the remaining space in the trunk, slam the tailgate down.

“Seriously what?” I mutter.

“You’re bringing that home to us?”

I bristle, even though I know I shouldn’t give two fucks about Violet.

She’s not mine, not really.

“I’d watch yourself,” I growl, moving toward him. “She’s mine and deserves to be treated with respect.”

“I know her type.” A sharp shake of his head. “Christ, I fucking married her type.”

“And you’re still married to her,” I remind him.

He slants a look at me. “Best thing I ever did was work out of the house three twenty-four hours shifts a week.”

“And pick up overtime to pay for your sons playing an expensive ass sport?”

Finally, some of the asshole cracks. “Exactly.” He punches me in the shoulder. “And now you’re taking my lines too?”

“Always gotta overshadow everyone,” I add with false lightness. “Isn’t that what Oakes says?”

“Your brother was born with a stick up his ass.”

“Don’t know where he got that,” I mutter. “Stealing his thunder?” I remind him.

He has the gall to look mildly guilty. “You know your brother is touchy.”

“I know he needs to grow up,” I say, earning another punch in the shoulder, another warning look. “Seriously, though”—I hold my dad’s eyes and get right to the point—“Don’t fuck with Vi, yeah?”

He glares at me for a long moment—like the asshole he is—but he gives in.

Like always.

Nodding sharply, grumbling, “Get your ass in the car, yeah?”

“Always so loving.”

“Fuck off with you.”

“You know, I’ve always heard that people in the Midwest are supposed to be so polite,” I say, starting for the back door, reaching for the handle.

“That went out the fucking window once I was stuck with five hooligans.”

I chuckle, shake my head.

Good ol’ American family.

The sponsors have no fucking clue. Now I just have to hope I can keep the edges of civility together for long enough to get the contract signed.

I tug open the door, immediately hearing that my mom is going full court press on Violet, who seems to be taking it in stride. I still open my mouth to intervene, to shut off the motor mouth—if nothing else, my mom fucking loves to talk—but before I can, Violet’s hand comes to my thigh.

I’m so shocked by the touch, so shocked by my reaction to her touch that I freeze, nearly taking my ankle off with the car door.