Page 97 of Elite Connections: an LGBTQ Romance Charity Anthology

Matthew’s rental car,a Maserati MC20, sits gleaming in the airport parking lot.

I try to hide how impressed I am.

I mean, I knew Matthew was uber-successful, but now it’s right in my face with the twenty-inch alloy wheels and prime leather-faux suede upholstery.

But of course, Matthew was going to make it big time. He’d been set for success since birth, blessed with smarts and a supportive family who would do anything to help him achieve his dreams. And the nerd-king has never appreciated how lucky he is.

“Nice upgrade from your PT Cruiser,” I say.

“Whatever, pickup boy.” Matthew’s attention is on his phone. Then he raises his gaze to mine. “At least my car didn’t stink like fish.”

My hackles rise. “That was a fucking low blow.”

I’d saved every cent I earned at the local pizza place to buy my first set of wheels. I’d been so proud to give rides to my friends, but a weird smell had started to permeate my pickup, reaching the point where I could only drive with the windows fully wound down.

It had taken me a week to discover the catfish under the front seat.

“I believe it was fair retaliation for your water balloon stunt,” Matthew says coolly.

We glare at each other over the roof of the car.

Fuck. It’s a bit embarrassing how quickly we’ve slipped back into the teenage versions of ourselves.

The same thought seems to have occurred to Matthew because he suddenly looks away, running a hand through his hair. “Shit. This is going to be hard. We’re going to have to put all that stuff from when we were kids behind us for today, agreed?”

“Agreed.”

When he meets my eyes again, the wariness on his face matches the feeling inside me.

Now that my initial shock at seeing him has faded, I take a moment to subtly give him a once-over.

Matthew was always a skinny kid, but he’s not as scrawny now. He’s wearing a neatly pressed polo shirt and khaki shorts that show off his new build, and his baby face from high school has been replaced with sharp cheekbones and jawline. With his messy dark hair and bright-blue eyes, he’s a mix of cute and nerdy-hot.

But looking closely, I can still see traces of the kid I couldn’t stand.

Matthew opens the door and slides into the driver’s seat.

I yank my door open and plonk myself in the front seat.

And off we go.

Matthew turns onto the road, and Hawaii’s like a postcard out the window. I’ve never been to a tropical island before, so I gape at the scenery, taking in the palm trees and the lush tropical growth.

Silence hangs between us. I’m not going to be the first to break it.

“Okay, so it’s a thirty-minute drive to the resort. I thought this would be a great chance to get to know my date.” Matthew’s voice sounds strangulated, like he’s forcing it out past resistance in his throat. “So, uh, what have you been doing for the past seven years? Since high school, I mean.”

I immediately get edgy.

“I know it’s been seven years since high school,” I say. “I can count.”

He quirks an eyebrow, and I can see he’s about to reply, probably to bring up my below-average math grades, before he stops himself.

Crap.

We’ve just promised to put everything behind us, but it’s like asking the Red Sox and the Yankees to share a locker room.

The problem is, it’s been like this from the moment I met Matthew after moving to Bainfield. We’ve always, always brought out the worst in each other.

I take a deep breath.

I’m a professional. I can do this.

Somehow, it’s even more important to show Matthew O’Conner that I can be mature and do my job properly.

“I live in San Francisco and work as a personal trainer,” I say.

I wait for Matthew to say something about not being surprised because I’ve always been a brainless gym bunny, but instead, he just nods.

“Oh, right.”

I pause. “So, what about you? What do I need to know?”

Matthew keeps his eyes on the road ahead as he gives me the lowdown on his company. It’s mostly stuff I already knew through the grapevine of small-town gossip.

While in college, he got an idea for an app that lets people rent out their parking spaces to those needing parking. It blew up, and he ended up quitting college and starting his company, ParkLink.

“So this retreat is for my senior management to plan our strategic vision for the next five years,” he says. “Partners are invited, and I didn’t want to be the only one without a partner, which is why I reached out to the agency.”

I frown. “I don’t get it. You’re the boss. Why does it matter what people think of you?”

Matthew scrapes a hand across his jaw. Then he taps his fingers on his steering wheel, taking his time before answering.

“I don’t know, maybe I care too much about what people think because of my childhood? You know, like the time when everyone else in the class was invited to a birthday party besides me?” He doesn’t look at me as he says the words.

Heat hits my face.

Yeah, I remember exactly what he’s referring to. At ten, I thought that was the ultimate in my campaign against Matthew, to invite everyone else in our class besides him to my birthday party, knowing he’d be able to hear the sounds of everyone having a good time from his house.

If I remember correctly, he got me back by exploding a homemade glitter bomb in my school bag. I had sparkles turning up in random places for months.

An awkward silence descends over the car. I stare out at the scenery—we’ve now hit the coast and the turquoise ocean expands out as far as the eye can see—but my mind is full of all the ways Matthew and I managed to torment each other over the years.

Finally, he turns into the driveway of a resort with a discreet sign: Serenity Bay Resort. I can’t help ogling out the window at the thatched-roof luxurious bungalows surrounded by palm trees. This place is really just a tropical island brochure brought to life.

“I’ll show you the villa first,” Matthew says as he pulls into a parking lot. “Then we’ll hang out by the pool for a bit, and there’s a dinner tonight, which you’ll need to attend with me.”

He glances at me, and I see a trace of vulnerability on his face. I blink because a vulnerable Matthew is something I’ve very rarely seen over the years. He’s always put on a superior I’m-so-much-smarter-than-you front around me.

I suddenly realize how important this is to him. This is his company, his people. He’s worried that I’m going to go rogue and screw things up for him.

And okay, I admit screwing things up for Matthew was my number one priority for a number of years, but I’m not a complete jerk.

“I’ve got this,” I say. “I can keep it professional, promise.”

He gives a stiff nod. “Okay. Let’s do this.”