Miss Matched [COMPLETED]

25. Tayla

Simon has been weirdly quiet since we left the restaurant. I've tried to nudge him into conversation a few times, but unlike normal, none of my smartass comments are landing. He's distant and distracted.

He brings me a beer at his house and falls into the couch beside me. "Denise seems nice."

I laugh. "Nice and completely wrong for Aaron."

"Funny—Aaron said the same thing to me the other day when we went for coffee."

"So," I say, frowning. "Why is he with her?"

Simon's brows pull together and he shifts in his seat. "Best guess? The sex is good." He shrugs.

"God men are shallow." I slouch deeper into the couch, happy Simon is finally talking to me. I was starting to worry something was really wrong. He only gets quiet like this when something is weighing heavy on his mind. "Though I guess not all relationships are a love connection."

"Or even a good match." Simon stares at the bottle cap in his hand, pensive. "I need to talk to you about something, and I'm worried about how you're going to take it."

I frown and set my drink on the coffee table in front of us. Rex has curled around my feet, probably wondering why I didn't bring Pixie, but Sandy took her for the evening. "Okay." I swivel to face him. "Is it—is it about now or before?"

"Sort of both?" He winces and doesn't meet my gaze.

I stare up at the ceiling and try to slow my racing heart. As long as he doesn't confess to having cheated on me after all, I can probably take anything he throws at me in stride. The last three or four days have been so good it's hard to believe anything he says can ruin how I'm starting to feel. "All right." I take a deep breath and search his face. "What is it?"

"It's about GameSetMatch," he says, flipping a beer cap over his knuckles.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I press the dismiss button without looking at it. "Is this about the money?"

"Sort of." He glances at me. "The email I got from them, the one with your name in it—"

My phone buzzes again, and I let out a frustrated sigh. "I just—I should check this in case it's a vet emergency. Sorry."

Simon gives a quick nod and takes a long drink of his beer while I check my display. Ciro has called twice now, back-to-back. "I'll just call Ciro back really quick in case it's important. I won't be long." When I stand up, Simon's shoulders slump, and I almost sit back down beside him, let him continue. But then my phone lights up with a text message from Ciro asking me to call him.

I slip into Simon's bedroom, a mix of frustration and curiosity warring in me. I can't even guess at what Simon was going to say or why Ciro would be calling me repeatedly on a Monday night.

"Hey Ciro," I say when he answers. "What's up?"

"Bruno is sick, and I'm trying to figure out whether I should be freaking out. Are you busy? I hope I'm not bothering you."

"No, no." I lie. "It's fine. Give me his symptoms, and I can let you know whether we should meet at the clinic." He's never abused having my number before, and since Bruno is one of the dogs we've pegged for the therapy dog program, we need to keep track of any issues he might have. Once we've gone through his behavior, and I've given Ciro a few options to try, I ask him to email me what Bruno has been eating. Sounds like a possible allergy.

I click into my email to make sure I have Ciro's list, and another message loads. The sender isn't someone I know, but the subject catches my eye. Veterinary Exchange.