Mismatch - By Nana Malone Page 0,30

I assume you and Jocelyn want to get going.”

“Well, that’s the thing. I have a meeting with Jessica today to show her my work. But you’re going to take it.”

A chill chased up Eli’s back as adrenaline kicked in. “She’s coming here to meet you. She wants to see your art.”

“And you want to see her. Besides,” Samson shrugged. “I’m not in the right frame of mind to show my work. I’m going to take a little walk with Jocelyn.” He looked Eli up and down again. “You might really want to change your clothes. She’ll never buy that you’re an artist if you’re wearing slacks on a Saturday. And do something about your hair, too. It’s too neat.” With that, Samson stalked out the back door, his sponsor in tow.

Watching his brother ride off without a helmet as the heavy fire door screeched to a close, Eli felt like he’d been hoodwinked. Samson had no intention on fixing the mix up. Ever since they were kids, his brother had taken pleasure in torturing Eli by forcing him into situations with girls. He’d thought it would cure him of his shyness and awkwardness. And it had—somewhat. But this was something different. If he didn’t fix this mix up, somebody was likely to get hurt. And he had a sickening feeling it would be him.

He wasn’t going to change his clothes. He was going to tell–except Jessica thought she was meeting Samson. She was here for business. Like it or not, she had the connections and the love of art to take his brother into the stratosphere. He’d tell her later. He’d take her to a nice dinner somewhere public, so he wouldn’t end up pawing her, and he’d tell her then.

Checking the security cameras again, he cursed. He saw her coming from half a block away. Her hair was blue today, but he knew how her body moved. That was her, all right. He climbed the stairs two at a time and dragged off his shirt, replacing it with a T-shirt out of Sam’s top drawer. He took off his slacks and laid them neatly on the bed, then scanned the room frantically. Where the hell did his brother keep his jeans? He would have picked up one of the pairs off the floor, but knowing his brother, he was uncertain of the level of cleanliness. Sam was a slob.

Eli dashed into the closet and dragged a pair of dark jeans off the hanger and yanked them on. He heard the doorbell ring and muttered, “Fuck.” He ran for the door, nearly slipping, and hopped on one foot as he dragged off his socks. Before heading down the stairs, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. Shit, he was the spitting image of Sam. Disheveled hair and everything. Thanks to the hasty dressing, his hair was mussed. And, as his brother had woken him up with his little emergency, Eli hadn’t had time to shave, so stubble dusted his jaw.

Eli sprinted down the stairs and made a mad dash for the front entry. Dragging the steel door open, he tried to calm his nerves. Easy does it. He could do this. He’d do this, and take her out some place. That would guarantee he’d see her again at least. Immediately, he calmed down, feeling instantly at ease.

“Am I too early?” She asked as soon as she saw him. “When you said to come at 8:30, I wasn’t really sure if I should believe you or not. I know how you artist types can be.”

Eli took a second to take her in and steeled himself against his body’s instant reaction.

Blue hair, feather earrings, and a lip piercing. All paired with a fifties-inspired, prim, white dress. She wore that perfume again. The one that smelled liked spiced flowers. Without thinking, he mumbled, “What perfume are you wearing?”

She blinked at him with wide eyes. “Givenchy, Play. Why?” She frowned.

He flushed as he stepped by to let her in. “It’s distinctive. I recognize it from the other night.”

Her pale skin flushed pink. “Shit, it’s back.”

He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

“The chemistry. Can’t you feel that?”

Eli watched her, hyper aware of the way she moved, light on her toes, like she might sprint out of the room at any moment. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I feel it. Best we can do is ignore it.” This was why pretending to be Samson was a bad idea. Instead of kissing her, he was