First Match (Coded for Love Book 6)

  First Match

  Copyright © Lynne Silver 2019

  Editing: Grace Bradley & Beyond the Page

  Cover Design: Dar Albert of Wicked Smart Designs

  Formatting: Champagne Book Design

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  More books by Lynne

  99.5 Summer Rockout, Maryland, 1980

  Peter pushed his way through the sweaty, writhing throng feeling as out of place as chocolate syrup on a tossed salad. All around him people roughly his age were rocking out to the beat of the band on stage, but he didn’t want to dance. The beat wasn’t something that made sense to him, and the decibel level was beyond the comfort level for his enhanced hearing.

  Attending this rock festival had seemed like a good idea a few weeks ago when he’d read about it in the newspaper. He’d fought with his parents and his commanding officer to be allowed to attend. Now that he’d won that battle, he was feeling like he’d lost the war. Alone and uncomfortable in the crowd, he was beginning to see his mother’s point. Turns out, there wasn’t much worth seeing on the outside of The Program campus, and he didn’t belong with these people. He was too different.

  “Hey, soldier, wanna hit?”

  It took Peter a moment to realize the question had been directed at him. He turned to the two girls who had called to him and tried to translate their question. “No, thank you, I’d rather not be punched.”

  The two girls, one short with long straight brown hair, the other tall with bleached blonde hair, gawked at him. He swallowed, knowing he’d said something wrong.

  “Not be hit. Take a hit,” the blonde girl said. She held out a tiny piece of graying white paper that faintly resembled the cigarettes many of the officers on campus smoked.

  “Is that cannabis?” he asked, trying to catalog the item in his impressive mental database. This was why he’d argued to be let off campus: for moments like this where he could learn about the culture of the country he’d been bred to defend. He also wanted to prolong the conversation with her. Something about her husky voice had him paying attention.

  Again his question caused raised eyebrows and smothered giggles. “Are you a narc?” the brunette asked.

  That word he recognized. “No, I am not a narcotics officer, nor am I a soldier as you called me before.” Of course he had to lie about who he actually was, but he’d decided to create a cover story for himself. On his first adventure off his secret military base, he’d created the fictional character of Peter Smith, son of farmers in rural Virginia. That way, his innocence could be explained away by his small-town childhood.

  “We didn’t think you were actually a soldier,” the blonde girl said. “I called you that because of your haircut.”

  His hand rose to run over the short bristles of his dark hair. If he’d known his hair would give him away, he would’ve grown it out or worn a hat as so many of the men here wore.

  “And yep, this is cannabis. Reefer. Pot. The old Mary J. Have a toke; it won’t hurt you, and maybe you’ll loosen up and enjoy yourself.”

  He moved closer to the blonde. “I am enjoying myself.”

  She laughed, and it was a throaty noise he felt in every inch of his skin. “Dude, you’re a terrible liar. If you were any stiffer, you could double as one of the beams holding up the stage.”

  “This is my first concert,” he confessed, deciding it wouldn’t hurt to get closer to someone who so obviously was enjoying herself.

  Her eyes widened. “For real? No way?” She shook the shoulder of her friend who’d melded in a bit more with the crowd. “Beth, get this. It’s his first concert ever. He’s a virgin.”

  Peter felt his cheeks heat as she boldly and unintentionally stated two truths about him. He’d never been to a concert, nor had sex.

  She glanced at him and started laughing harder. “Dude, relax. You’re blushing as if I announced you’re actually a virgin.”

  He had no response. If she were male and had made a physical threat, he’d know how to react. He’d eliminate the threat in seconds without breaking a sweat. As she was a beautiful girl and only a threat to his emotional equilibrium, he went for the fight or flight response, and chose flight.

  He was five feet away when she caught up and grabbed his shoulder. It was the first time he’d ever been touched by a woman who wasn’t his mother, and his whole body stiffened.

  “Wait!” The blonde had come running after him. She was breathing a little hard from her sprint, and he was tempted to tell her she should stop the illegal drugs if she wanted to be in better shape, but he kept his mouth closed and watched her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. You’ve got to chill out.”

  She wasn’t talking about lowering his body temperature, was she? Something made him blurt the words, “Will you teach me?”

  A wide smile spread her lips that were pink and glossy. He wanted to kiss those lips, even knowing the makeup would rub off on his own skin.

  “I can do that.” She held out a hand. “I’m Allison.”

  He grasped her smaller soft hand in his larger callused one. “Peter.” He didn’t want to release her hand. It was as if the skin of his palm had finally found its missing puzzle piece.

  “Nice to meet you, Pete.”

  No one called him Pete, but on her lips, he’d take it.

  “Wanna go sit?” she asked. “I brought a blanket.” She swiveled slightly to show him the woven backpack hanging over her shoulder.

  “Okay,” he agreed. He would’ve followed her anywhere she’d led.

  She led him to a grassy spot behind the large crowd. From here, the music was still loud but tolerable. They could talk without shouting. She drew out the blanket and he helped her spread it into a large square. Allison collapsed onto it, lying back, and Peter lowered himself to sit with his feet flat on the grass and his knees bent.

  “Relax, Peter.” Allison tugged him backward so he was leaning back on his elbows. His right side pressed against her left from shoulder to foot.

  Though he was lying back in a relaxed pose, his muscles remained tight and tense. He didn’t know what to say or do. Allison solved the dilemma by pressing her palm over his forearm and saying, “Listen to the music. Feel the rhythm?”

  He concentrated, tempted to tell her the ratatatat of the drum was like a jackhammer in his ear, but then the rhythm and pulse of it caught him up and his foot tapped and his head bobbed, and for a wild moment he wanted to jump up and shout or dance. It was amazing. It was primal.

  “You’re feeling it,” she laughed.

  He imitated the way she lay on her side, and he rested his head in his hand, balanced on his elbow. Daringly, he ran his left hand along her wrist. “You like the music?”

  “I looove the music,” she said. “It’s who I am. I’m a singer.”

  “In bands like this?” He gestured toward the faraway stage.

  “I wish. Someday. As soon as I save enough, I’m going to New York City. There’s a club there called CBGB. I’m going to get a job there and find a band.”

  “How old are you?” She looked a little younger than him, and way too young to tackle the city of New York by herself.

  “I’m eighteen,” she said. “I graduated high school a few weeks ago, and now I’m free. Free to do anything I want.”

  “No college?”

  She rolled on her side and her feet tangled between his ankles. His breath caught at th
e intimacy of the position. “God, you sound like my parents. Don’t be a downer. College isn’t for everyone, you know.”

  “I know,” he said. “I didn’t go to college and I have no plans to.”

  “Really?” She brightened a little and leaned up to kiss his cheek, then recoiled back. “I’m sorry. That was bold of me. This’ll sound weird, but I feel like I know you. Like we were meant to meet today. Stupid, right? I don’t even know your last name.”

  “Shepard,” he said automatically, abandoning his plan to use a false last name and false identity. His fingertips rubbed his cheek where her lips had touched. His first kiss. He wasn’t going to lie to Allison, because what she’d said about feeling close to him was exactly what he was feeling. Ten minutes ago he’d been at this concert, lonely and out of place. Now he was with a woman who made him feel like they were at the center of an organized universe. He hoped she’d be daring enough to kiss him again, this time on the lips.

  “I’m Allison Macclesfield.”

  “Hi,” he said, sitting up to offer his hand. She sat up also and giggled as they formally shook hands.

  “A pleasure to meet you,” she said, shocking the hell out of him when she released his hand and climbed into his lap. The synapses in his enhanced brain went haywire and then settled as he inhaled the scent of her mixed with the herb she’d previously been smoking. “This okay?” she asked, obviously feeling his stiffness and hesitation at the new position.

  His legs bracketed her thighs, and his arms came around her to cuddle her up against his chest. “It’s excellent,” he said. He loved feeling her body against his but wished he could see her expressive face.

  “Your hair isn’t this color naturally,” he said, observing a dark line along the part in her scalp.

  She giggled, causing a vibration against his chest. “Well, duh. No one’s hair is platinum naturally. I dyed it to look like Blondie, but I’m thinking of changing it and cutting my hair to give it more of a Pat Benatar look. What do you think?”

  He vaguely knew who Blondie and Pat Benatar were. Ever since he’d been fighting to get off campus and attend this festival, he’d been reading the newspapers and magazines. There’d been mention of both female singers. Unfortunately he’d never had the opportunity to buy one of their albums, so he couldn’t share Allison’s love of their music. “You’d be beautiful no matter what you do to your hair.”

  She swiveled slightly to smile up at him, and he nearly groaned at the sensation in his groin. “Is that a line?”

  He shook his head, wondering what a line was.

  “Cause no guy our age talks like that. ‘Beautiful no matter what I do to my hair?’” She released a breath through her nose. “What if I went punk? Would I beautiful if I had a green Mohawk?”

  He grinned, mostly at the image of bringing a woman onto The Program campus who looked like everything his commanding officers feared. They had a deep-rooted fear of hippies and now punks. “Sure. What about me? Should I dye my hair blue?”

  Her husky laugh warmed the cold lonely center of him that had longed for the ease of normal friendship like on the sitcoms he’d occasionally been allowed to watch. His life was nothing like Happy Days, but man, wouldn’t it be nice to pretend he was Chachi and Allison was his Joanie. Someday The Program would do a search and find his destined match, and he’d live happily ever after with her, but he wanted to experience a little of life before he became a breeding stud.

  “So if you’re not a college student, what do you do?” Allison asked.

  “Uh,” he stuttered, trying to come up with a new cover story on the fly, one that wouldn’t make Allison hate him if she ever learned the truth. He had a feeling that the truth would be revealed to her sooner rather than later. He’d latched onto the thing she’d said about feeling destined to meet and as if she’d known him for longer than a quarter of an hour. He was feeling it too. “I’m kind of in between things now.” Not a total lie. He’d been in military training for sixteen years, since he’d been old enough to walk and talk, but had yet to be tested on a real battleground.

  “Me too,” she said. “You could come to New York with me.”

  He smiled at her suggestion, knowing she’d said it for fun and not because she actually thought he’d move to New York with her. The true funny part was how badly he wanted to go anywhere with her. Doctor Rovinsky and Doctor Paulson didn’t have much data to go on, given that Peter was the first of his generation, but there was speculation that when you met your DNA match, there’d be an emotional connection as well as a physical one.

  He was definitely feeling a physical attraction to her, and starting to feel an emotional one. Could it be that Allison’s DNA was a good match for his? Where would she rank on Doctor Rovinsky’s scale for matching?

  There was no doubt about the physical connection. With Allison on his lap and the scent of her body in his nostrils, he’d been fighting his body’s reaction in vain. He might have been a twenty-year-old virgin, but his body knew just what to do—and wanted to go for it. “I’ve never been to New York,” he said. “What would we do there? Where would we live?”

  Her eyes were closed as she leaned back against his chest. “I’ve only been to New York once for a cousin’s wedding, but it was amazing. We’d live in Greenwich Village, and I’d sing at the club. As for you, you said you’re in between things. What did you do before?”

  “Nothing,” he said, somewhat truthfully. “I train.”

  “Train for what?” she asked.

  “The future,” he said.

  She laughed. “You’re an odd duck, Peter Shepard.”

  “You have no idea.”

  They fell into a comfortable silence and lay back under the hot summer sun with the rapid beat of the band swirling around them. His mind felt at ease, but his body was coming alive with feelings he’d suppressed for lack of an outlet. He lived on a mostly male military base, and he was expected to find his DNA match and marry her just as his father had done. There was no casual dating. Allison was literally the first girl around his age with whom he’d spent any time. So the sexual feelings that raced through his veins now? He had no idea if they’d been called to life by Allison, or if any female sitting on his lap would make him want to roll her over and mount her.

  Boy, he must have matching on the brain, because his superiors had made it clear that he was to be allowed this one adventure in the outside world and then they’d start the search for his match. No wonder he kept looking at Allison as if she could be his match, but it was too crazy. The odds of finding his match first time out were like a million to one.

  The only way to know for sure was to convince Allison to come back with him to The Program campus and let Doctor Rovinsky test their DNA compatibility.

  Unfortunately, he’d never ask that of her, because if she were his match it would mean she’d have to give up her dream to be a rock singer in New York. She’d have to join him in his isolated secret life on the sparse military base where no one danced under the stars and had rock and roll dreams.

  He’d known her less than an hour, but he wouldn’t cage her. She was a butterfly that needed to fly free.

  A poke in his stomach had him looking down. “Why so bummed, Peter? You look like my mom when Steve McQueen died.”

  “Who?”

  “Duh… The actor. You really do live under a rock, don’t you?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So spill it. Why’re you down?”

  He’d never had anyone ask about his feelings before other than his mother. Questions about his physical health? Yeah, he dealt with those constantly, but no one seemed to care about his dreams or desires. “I’m thinking about the things I want but can’t have,” he said without anticipating her reaction.

  “Like what? Everyone tells me I’m stupid for thinking I can be a professional singer. I say they’re the lame ones for not taking risks. Dare to dream, Peter. What do you want?”

  “You,” he blurted. He clam
ped his lips shut, waiting for the slap, because what he’d said to a virtual stranger was rude. Yet it was the truth.

  She sat up straight and met his gaze dead on. Then to his shock, a slow smile spread widely across her face. “Okay.”

  The world around him froze. A nuclear bomb could’ve gone off on stage, and he would’ve had no idea. Had he heard her right? Had Allison just agreed to have sex with him? “Uh…Did you just agree to what I think?”

  She started laughing. “Peter, I wish I had a mirror so you could see your face. I said okay. You’re so not my type, but for some reason I think you’re crazy sexy. What the hell? It’s an hour or two of fun, right?”

  He was glad Allison did not have her desired mirror, because he had no wish to see himself as he knew he must look right now. Deer in the headlights. He found his voice and struggled to push it out of his cottonmouth. “Remember what you said about me being a concert virgin?”

  “Yeah. What about it?”

  “Well, I’m the other kind of virgin, too. I think you should know before we do anything.”

  Instead of scaring her off, as he’d half expected, her smile spread even wider, and she climbed onto his lap facing him, her legs wrapped around his waist. “Baby, I’m totally going to rock your world.”

  Allison wrapped her body around Peter’s strong torso, and planted a couple of kisses on his neck and cheek. He smelled good, as in the best man she’d ever smelled. Considering they’d been hanging outside in the summer sun at a music festival in a field, his good scent was saying something. She was sure she smelled pretty rank. Peter didn’t seem to mind.

  His hands tentatively held her and caressed down her spine. She couldn’t believe he was a virgin. She didn’t know a single guy over the age of sixteen who’d admit to being a virgin.

  He was so cute, and it was hard to tell under his modest clothes, but it felt as if he had a whole lot of muscles going on under the cotton collared shirt. “Kiss me,” she ordered and waited for what seemed like an eternity for him to angle his face to hers and move forward enough for their lips to meet.