The Matchmaker's Playbook (6 page)

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT

“You’re going to want to see this,” Lex yelled the minute I walked into our shared house a few miles off campus. We had a sick view of Puget Sound, thanks to the house that my wealthy parents had left me when they died. Rather than paying Lex for his services, I let him live with me for free. Not that he really needed it. He already worked for Apple and was basically able to name his price for all hacking activities done on the side.

Selfishly, I kept wishing Microsoft would come knocking so he’d stay local. We’d been inseparable since we were kids, and the last thing I wanted was to retrain a best friend.

But in his words, “Working for Bill Gates would be like working for the enemy,” and he viewed using Windows as the equivalent of spitting on Steve Jobs’s grave.

Our two-story house was a relic from the fifties, but it had been completely gutted and remodeled before we moved in last semester, so while the outside still had old-home character, complete with a front porch and white-framed windows, the inside was an HGTV dream home.

Each bedroom was its own master suite, complete with a fireplace and balcony. We had an extra two thousand square feet of outdoor living area that had a kick-ass barbecue, a fire pit, and a bar that overlooked Lake Union.

Another reason we didn’t mix business with pleasure: we were pretty sure that if we let any girl see our man cave, they’d never leave. And then we’d find sparkly toothbrushes, tampons, and homemade cookies in all the wrong places. I shuddered at the thought as I tossed my keys onto the granite countertop and made my way to the living room, where Lex was working.

“In all my time with Wingmen Inc.”—Lex didn’t take his gaze away from the screen—“I’ve never seen one of the clients answer questions like this.”

“Which one?”

He snorted. “Which do you think?”

“Our little athlete who wears Adidas flip-flops like it’s still 1992. I bet she named her first pet Slim Shady.”

Lex burst out laughing. “Close. Eminem.”

“Damn it.”

“I know you pride yourself in taking less than a week for a client to gain true love’s kiss, but damn, man, she’s . . . a piece of work.”

“She can’t be worse than Tara.”

We both shuddered.

Tara had been one of our very first clients. Never kissed a guy, sported a unibrow, and when Lex tried to tutor her, she started crying midkiss because she was afraid he was going to bite her.

When he asked her why she would think that, she said it was because her daddy told her all boys bite.

I’m assuming what was meant to be a warning against teen pregnancy ended up making it so that Lex got punched in the face and I had to finish the kissing lesson.

It was horrible.

When she finally managed to figure out that kissing could be special, personal, and romantic, she latched on to me and Lex emotionally, making it nearly impossible for us to get her to follow any rule.

Hell, she was the reason we had rules and why we never made exceptions. The last thing we needed was another Tara.

Lex chuckled. “On that note, I’ve rearranged your schedule and taken on two of your clients to free up some time for”—he motioned to the screen—“this.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“No,” Lex said. “Actually, it’s worse.”

“You mean she’s a little virgin who’s never kissed a man, can’t spell the word “orgasm,” blushes when people talk about sex, and believes in love at first sight?”

Lex remained silent.

“Shit,” I muttered. “Did you print off the questionnaire?”

He thrust a stack of papers in my face. “Check out number fifteen.”

My eyes roamed across the questions until I found fifteen through twenty, which pertained to relationships:
What would you wear on a first date?
Her answer:
Something comfortable. I tend to sweat when I’m nervous, so maybe a baggy sweatshirt? Or a hat. Hats are good because they look mysterious.
I had a sudden vision of Blake in a giant pink hoodie and a Yankees hat that flattened her ears.

“Number sixteen’s my favorite.” Lex smirked, putting his hands behind his head as he watched me read.

My first kiss was . . .
Her answer:
Hopefully it will be great!
She had typed in a smiley face with a heart emoji. This did not bode well for my workload. I barely managed to keep myself from groaning out loud.

I sighed. “No wonder she kissed my cheek.”

“She what?” Lex nearly fell out of his chair. “She kissed you . . . where?”

I pointed to my left cheek.

Lex stared hard, like he was still having a hard time believing it. “No shit?”

“She grew up in some faraway town named Riggins.”

“Dude, need I remind you that my grandparents had a ranch in Montana with about fifty thousand head of cattle. There are no excuses for that.”

“I’m meeting with her tonight.” I sat on the couch next to Lex, my eyes furiously reading over her answers. “Did you want to do the rest of the testing with her, or—?”

“Oh, no.” Laughing, Lex threw his hands into the air. “That’s all you, bro. I just took two of your clients, meaning my schedule’s about to get just as shitty as yours. I won’t have time to do the dirty work anymore.”

The dirty work always included a quick kissing test followed by a few very personal questions involving sex.

Lex had never minded it before.

And I sure as hell didn’t want to sit in front of Blake with a freaking diagram of the human body and ask her to point to erogenous zones.

“Hey.” Lex slapped me on the back. “Look at the positive side.”

“Which is?”

“Marissa called.” He stood. “She wants a little TLC, and according to your schedule, you’ve got around two hours to kill before you’re balls-deep in Sex Ed 101.”

“Remind me who Marissa is?”

“Red tank top. Last week at Dante’s, she tried to grope you. I intervened. She was too drunk and sloppy. Gave her your phone number.”

I shook my head. I seriously didn’t remember her.

Lex sighed. “Big boobs?”

I frowned.

“Her jeans were painted onto her body, and she was wearing brown cowboy boots.”

“Ohhh.” I nodded slowly. “Damn. I remember the boots, because they made her ass look huge, in a very inviting please-spend-some-quality-time-with-me way.”

Lex laughed and slapped a piece of paper in my hand. “Cell number, e-mail, and the usual background check. She’s clean, but be careful. According to her Facebook profile, her only goal in life is to save the wolves.”

“Well.” I grinned shamelessly. “We do need saving.”

“That we do.” He joined me in laughter while I quickly dialed her number.

“Hello?” She picked up on the first ring. Rookie mistake. Did no girl understand? Third ring.
Always
wait until the third ring. If you answered on the first, it meant you were desperate. The second basically said the same thing and gave the guy the idea that you were sitting around stalking his Instagram just waiting for him to call.

“Marissa,” I rasped out. “It’s Ian.”

“Hi!”
I pulled the phone from my ear. I’d already had enough shrieking for the day. “How are you?”

“Free. You?”

She let out a throaty laugh. “As free as you want me to be.”

“Where do you live?”

“Why can’t we go to your place?”

“Sorry.” I winced. “It’s getting remodeled. Crazy, but a wolf actually got loose from the zoo and somehow made its way into my home. I saved it from getting shot, using my own tranq gun, but the damage to the floor was already done. They have such sharp claws, you know?”

I could almost feel her nodding her head in agreement while I snatched my keys from the counter and walked out into the rainy weather.

“I just love wolves.”

“Aren’t they the greatest?” I said as I rolled my eyes. “Now, what did you say your address was, sweetheart?” Shit, I’d already forgotten her name. Melissa? Manila?

She fired off an address a good twenty-minute drive away, so by the time I got to her house I’d only have an hour before I needed to make the trek back to campus to meet up with Blake. Shit. I still had to check in with Shell too.

“Ian? You there?”

“No, but you will be soon,” I joked, then hung up the phone.

The minute I got to her house on Queen Anne Hill, I smiled. If her house didn’t just scream sorority girl . . .

I knocked.

She answered the door before I could knock again.

Did no woman understand the power of three?

I hid a wince. Too eager. But for this visit? It didn’t matter.

Remember, I slept with stupid girls, not sad ones. And by the look of her? She was too brainless to feel such an emotion—you know, unless someone shot a wolf. Then I’m sure she’d be crying all over the place.

“That was fast.” Her chest heaved as she opened the door for me to walk in.

I sniffed. “Did you bake cookies?”

She nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I thought you might be hungry.”

“Oh, I am,” I said never taking my eyes off her mouth. “And if it’s okay with you, I’d like to take a bite.”

“Sure!” She started moving away, I assumed in the direction of the kitchen. I tugged her back against my already needy body.

“I wasn’t talking about the cookies.”

Her body softened against mine. “You weren’t?”

I nibbled the side of her neck. “Hell no. I think I’ve found something sweeter.”

She moaned, rubbing her body against me.

“Bedroom?” I panted, already pulling her shirt off.

“Last room on the”—I flicked her bra off—“left.”

“Good.” I tossed my shirt onto the floor, then moved her backward, in the direction of her room. “Because I only have one hour, and I really, really want to make it worth our while.”

“I’m sure you will.”

“Believe me.” I pulled back and gazed into her brown eyes. “I always do.”

She yelped as my mouth met hers in a frenzied kiss. “Mmm,” I hummed against her lips. Then I whispered, “Were those cookies chocolate-chip?”

“Yes.” More breathless moaning as I quickly tugged at her leggings and discarded them, along with the rest of my clothes.

“You don’t waste time.” Her lips were puffy from my hard kisses. Her cropped blonde hair was pushed away from her heavily made-up face.

“Time . . . is everything.” I leaned down and kissed her harder, then lifted her by the hips and wrapped her legs around me.

“Oh.” She bucked beneath me. “Oh wow.”

I licked and tasted down her neck as I let my fingers do most of the work—the work I didn’t have time or the energy for. She fell apart in my arms five minutes later.

Ten minutes after that, she was screaming my name while her headboard nearly took out the wall.

And fifteen minutes after that, my sweaty body collapsed onto hers while I whispered, “Did I mention I really love wolves?”

“Shell.” My voice was calm, but my head was pounding. I was starving, and the last thing I wanted to do was argue with a client about why I was right and she was wrong. “I don’t give a damn if he’s outside your room serenading you with Drake. Don’t let him in.”

“But”—her voice was whiny; hell, why were they always whiny?—“he’s being so sweet!”

“Guys are always sweet when they want a piece of ass,” I grumbled, then sniffed the air. Damn, what kind of perfume did Wolf Girl wear? I smelled like I’d just walked into a confused saleslady in the cosmetic department, who’d squirted me with five different brands of “I’m easy.” You pay me to help you succeed. You won’t succeed with him if you keep trying to break the rules. The rules were established in order to benefit you, not hurt you.”

“I know.” Shell’s voice shook. “I just . . . it’s hard.”

“It will be worth it”—I pulled into the closest parking spot on campus I could find, which basically meant I was still going to have to jog three miles in order to meet Blake on time—“I promise.”

She was silent, then whispered a thanks before ending the call.

I’d broken the rule of phone calls with Shell only because her text gave me the assumption that she was about two seconds away from tossing her body out the window into Jealous Barista’s waiting arms.

Clients always argued when things were going right. When things went bad? When they realized that Prince Charming was a jackass? They cried. Loads of tears. During those times I gave them numbers to a few counselors on campus and made sure they understood that, although I was sorry, I wasn’t their girlfriend. I refused to be the sounding board when they started lamenting about why all men were the spawn of Satan.

I turned off the car and raced across campus. I was meeting Blake at the Husky Union Building. I was starved, so I was going to officially break one of my own rules—I was going to share a meal with her.

Maybe I should have taken some of the cookies from—what the hell was her name again? I closed my eyes as my mind did a quick rewind of a few hours ago when I’d pounded her against the wall, she screamed my name, and I yelled . . . “Marissa.”

I nodded. Damn hard name to remember. She’d offered me cookies again upon my exit, but girls only did that as a way to lure you back in. Offering a guy a cookie after sex is like telling a kid to pee before you put them in the car for a long road trip. Suddenly they’re all
Yeah, I really do need to go to the bathroom.
You plant the thought.