The Matchmaker's Replacement

by Rachel Van Dyken

“Blake, remember the rules: if your ass touches the couch, you aren’t allowed to speak . . .”

  She stood and then repeated the question. “Are you sick?”

  I turned up the volume. “Can’t a guy watch TV?”

  I felt an itchy sensation spread from the middle of my chest out to my fingertips, like if I didn’t go for a run or do something stupid I was going to lose my mind. But nothing sounded fun or entertaining; even hacking into Gabi’s bank accounts seemed boring.

  Besides, now she had money. I’d cut her first paycheck, a bonus, actually; it would be enough for her to get by for a few weeks.

  “Dude.” Ian sat on the other side of me. “It’s Friday.”

  “Is it? Really?” I said in fake shock. “Cool, guys, we all have calendars and know what day it is.”

  Ian was quiet and then, “Are you sick?”

  I looked up toward the ceiling. “Why the hell are you guys asking if I’m sick? Do I look sick?”

  Suddenly self-conscious, I wondered if I really was coming down with something. That would explain the weird moods! Maybe I had a fever?

  Ian’s eyes narrowed again. “Lex, it’s Friday.”

  “WHY THE HELL does it matter?”

  “You’re home,” Blake said from my other side. “On a Friday night.”

  “Guys, if you can’t respect couch rules, I’m going to have to kick you out of the living room without TV time.”

  Ian stood, then jerked the remote out of my hand. “So you’re staying home? Tonight? On the weekend?”

  I yawned. “I’m beat . . .” With a smirk, I added, “And when I say I’m beat, I mean—”

  He held up his hand. “There he is. I was worried for a minute.”

  “Don’t sweat it, Mom, I’ve banged the appropriate number of single females this week at least a dozen times. I’m not sick, nor am I finally on the straight and narrow. I’m also happy to announce I made at least three bad decisions this week and got drunk on a Thursday night.”

  Ian clapped.

  Blake scowled and then let out a loud sigh as she stared at her phone.

  “What?” Ian was by her side immediately. I made a whipping motion, but he flipped me off.

  “Gabs,” she whispered. They both looked over at me, then moved away from the living room, probably assuming that talking about her in my presence would put me in a bad mood. Normally they’d be right.

  But things hadn’t been normal for the past week, damn it.

  My ears strained to hear their conversation but only picked up bits and pieces.

  “She can’t afford it.”

  What?

  “No money . . .” And then I heard “Have you seen her cupboards?” More whispering. “Serena’s talking about moving in with her boyfriend.”

  My body shook involuntarily. Serena—blonde, hot, with a nice rack—had been a horrible mistake. I’d taken one look at her and said, “She’ll do.”

  Only she didn’t.

  I did.

  She simply lay there and then burst into tears after everything was over, saying, and I quote, “That was the most magical moment of my life.”

  I couldn’t get away fast enough.

  And even when I said, “That’s not magic, that’s just good sex,” she still didn’t believe me and seemed hell-bent on believing that we had some sort of connection between our souls.

  “I tried!” Ian said, raising his voice a bit. “But she won’t accept it . . . and she won’t tell me what’s going on, but . . .” Damn it, talk louder!

  More silence.

  I stretched my body across the couch in order to get closer, but they’d moved to the farthest part of the living room, inconsiderate asshats!

  After a few minutes, they came back into the room and said they were going to go out to dinner.

  When I asked if Gabs was going with them, they both looked at me like I’d just spoken in Hebrew and asked if it was cool if I hosted Hanukkah.

  “She’s got work,” Blake answered, while Ian made a face. Blake grabbed Ian’s hand and led him out of the room.

  I jumped up from the couch. “Work? I’m her work. What do you mean, work?”

  “I’m shocked.” Ian slammed his hand against his chest. “You mean you guys don’t tell each other everything?” He and Blake joined in laughter. “Since when do you care what Gabs does? Last time you used her name in a sentence, it was paired with so many four-letter words that I’m shocked you even know how to have a civil conversation with her.”

  “Whatever.” I know my response was immature, but it was all I had. “I’m going to go call a random.”

  “A random?” Blake asked.

  “Don’t . . .” Ian shook his head. “It’ll just make you want to kill him, and I can’t keep the peace between him and Gabs and him and you. I’m only one man.”

  “A random.” I smirked seductively even though I knew it was lost on her. “When I go through the school website, pick a girl’s number, call her, and then bang her in as many ways as possible, ruining her for all men.”

  “I’m sorry I asked,” Blake mumbled.

  I held up my hands. “Don’t hate the player.”

  “Hate the game.” Blake waved me off. “Yeah, I know.”

  “I was going to say hate the girl stupid enough to play with me . . .”

  “Huh.” Blake nodded. “Yeah, that too . . .”

  “Have fun running away from commitment and your feelings!” Ian yelled back to me as they walked out of the house.

  I waved with my middle finger. “Have fun picking out wedding colors and sleeping with the same woman for the rest of your life!”

  The door slammed behind them.

  The living room was blanketed with tension. Nervous energy trickled through me as my leg started its incessant bouncing, my fingertips drumming against the same bouncy leg. I crossed my arms, trying to get the nervousness under control. It didn’t help.

  I never used to be bothered by being alone; I wasn’t really the typical party guy. I slept with girls, sure, but I didn’t like crowds. I liked my computer, my sanctum, and I liked sex.

  Anything beyond that didn’t really matter to me.

  The blare of the TV was grating on my nerves. I promised myself I’d stop obsessing over Gabi’s personal life. It wasn’t my issue, at all.

  And yet I found myself turning on my heel and making my way into my bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind me, and pulling up a chair to my computer screens.

  Hands shaking with excitement and maybe the adrenaline of how wrong it was to go snooping into the private life of my arch-nemesis, I hacked into her bank accounts again.

  And nearly had a freaking heart attack.

  Hearts Gentlemen’s Club?

  Two hundred dollars?

  Wha-a-at?

  “Oh, Sunshine, what have you gotten yourself into?”

  Without a second thought I grabbed my phone, pressed the Home screen button, and said, “Siri, directions to Hearts Gentlemen’s Club.”

  Hell, my night was just about to get all kinds of interesting. Thank God for really weak computer passwords.

  Chapter Twelve

  Gabi

  My short black tube-top dress was itchy, not to mention extremely uncomfortable. Thank God I had black tights on; otherwise, every time I bent over I was going to be giving people a free show.

  I blinked back tears. I hated it. Hated all of it. But my parents needed money, and this was the only job that would let me work around my school schedule and Wingmen Inc. Ian, being Ian, had offered to help me financially, but he’d already done way too much, and I wasn’t his responsibility. Rich people didn’t get it.
Taking money from them had a way of making the less fortunate feel even worse.

  Lex.

  I was already in trouble. I had a very real fear that if I repeated his name three times in the mirror, or just in general, he was bound to show up and take possession of my soul.

  “Hey, honey!” A drunk man waved a ten in the air. “Can we get some more drinks over here?”

  “Sure.” I forced a smile even when his eyes lingered longer on my chest than was appropriate. It was a gentlemen’s club; what was I expecting?

  The lights dimmed as one of the announcers went on stage and started getting the crowd pumped up for the next dancer.

  At least I wasn’t doing that.

  Things could be worse, right?

  I wondered if it was just a matter of time before I got that desperate. The manager of the club had already told me I could make a killing, but something about taking my clothes off for money sounded a hell of a lot like what Lex did on a daily basis, so . . . I refused.

  Plus, my parents would be furious.

  “Honey!” the drunk man called again. “The drinks!”

  “Yeah!” I called back and made my way over to the bartender. “Can I get three rum and Cokes for table seven?”

  “Sure.” Jim was in his fifties, though he looked more like a thirty-year-old. He was really built and had a blinding white smile and no hair. “Here ya go, sugar.” He slid the drinks onto my tray.

  I heaved the tray up and walked over to the drunken table. “Three rum and Cokes. Will there be anything else?”

  The man gave me a few dollars’ tip and then crooked his finger for me to lean down.

  Oh great.

  “If you give me and my buddy a private dance, we’ll double that.” He pointed to the ten-dollar bill he’d given me.

  Oh wow, twenty bucks to take off my clothes for Grandpa and friends? Where do I sign up?

  “I’m not a stripper,” I said through clenched teeth. “Just a waitress.”

  “Hah!” The men at the table erupted in laughter. “They all start as waitresses.”

  I swallowed the retort that I’m sure would have gotten me fired and smiled through clenched teeth. “Anything else?”

  “You think about it,” he slurred, and then he winked—or tried to, but it was really more of a blink.

  “Yeah, I’ll do just that,” I lied and walked off toward the bar. It wasn’t very busy for a Friday night, and I was thankful. I’d only been working a few days, and my feet already ached.

  What I wouldn’t give for a massage!

  I reached into my apron and pulled out a candy bar. For the past three days I’d been getting baskets of food, mainly junk food and the odd protein bar or Red Bull here and there, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  Every time there was a note. And every time it said,

  From your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

  Just kidding. I’m way hotter—EAT!

  Every. Single. Time.

  I was too tired to research it, too tired to set a trap. I was just thankful I had enough Pirate’s Booty to cause the rumbling in my stomach to cease, at least for a few hours.

  “So,” a familiar voice said above the music. “New job?”

  Damn it! “I didn’t even say your name three times!” I whined, turning around to face Lex. He was wearing a tight vintage black T-shirt with low-slung jeans on his hips and the ever-present sex-oozing smile.

  “Three times?” He smiled wider. “You said my name three times out loud? Is it your new curse word? You know, like ‘Oh, Lex! Holy Lex! Mighty Lex . . .’” His eyebrows drew together. “Somehow all of those sound like very familiar noises women make in my presence.”

  “Die, Lex,” I said in an annoyed tone. “How about that one?”

  “That’s new.” He snapped his fingers. “But it’s growing on me. Maybe it’s the way you say it, like you want me to die in your arms all Romeo and Juliet style . . .”

  “Wow, ten at night and you’re already wasted.” I slapped him on the shoulder. “Take a cab.” I tried to move past him, but he grabbed my wrist and pulled me back, pressing us together. Whether it was on purpose or not I wasn’t sure, but he was warm.

  And he felt . . . safe, familiar. My body was playing tricks on me; it was because I was vulnerable.

  Like that night when . . .

  I locked down my memories, especially that one, and threw away the key. “Lex, what do you want?”

  “You,” he said in a serious tone. “Now get up on stage and take off your clothes. I paid for a show.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Waitress, Lex. You’ll have to call one of the many numbers on your phone to get a free lap dance.”

  “What if I pay?” His breath tickled my ear as my eyes burned with unshed tears. Normally, I wouldn’t let what he did affect me. Normally, I brushed him off, but my armor had already been stripped. Call it exhaustion or maybe just the last remnants of pride I had toppling to the floor.

  But I couldn’t hold them in any longer.

  One tear fell.

  Then another.

  I tried to wipe them, tried to jerk free from Lex’s strong arms, but he turned me so abruptly that all I managed to do was soak the front of his shirt with my tears and smear it with mascara.

  “Gabs?” His voice rasped as he hugged me tighter. “Come on, we’re going.”

  “No.” Panic surged through me as I tried to pull away. “You don’t understand!” I’d given the last of my paychecks to my mom so she could pay the bills at the house, leaving me completely broke for this week’s rent check. I was hoping to make enough money in tips for the rent.

  Lex’s eyes crinkled at the sides as he took one look at me and the rest of the seedy bar. I knew what he saw: girls dancing on poles, guys getting drunk and shouting at the girls while they threw dollar bills onto the stage, and a scared, stupid girl clinging to him like her lifeline.

  Finally, he released me. “Gabs, I’m sorry, I was joking. We always—” He licked his lips and glanced down at the filthy floor, cursing. “Where’s the money going?”

  “Money?”

  “New girl!” Dean, my boss, never called me by name, the idiot. “You working or flirting? If he wants time with you, he’s gotta pay.”

  “Still a waitress?” Lex’s eyebrows shot up.

  I held up my fingers to indicate I needed a few more seconds, but Dean was apparently in a mood and stomped over to us.

  “Problem?” he asked, crossing his arms over his skinny chest. The guy was small; Lex could probably break his face blindfolded.

  “Yeah,” Lex said, surprising me. “Your waitress just refused to dance with me because you guys are out of private rooms . . . so.”

  Dean’s eyes narrowed. “You her boyfriend?”

  “Do I look like a man who wants to commit to crazy?” Lex fired back. “But I do have this . . .” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out what looked like at least six hundred dollars in cash. “How long will that get me with your waitress?”

  Dean’s eyebrows kissed his hairline as he sputtered out, “At least three hours.”

  “I’ll add in another six hundred if I can have table service and a private room, no interruptions.”

  “Done.” Dean snapped his fingers above his head as one of his security guards came barreling over. “Please take them to the Diamond Room, no interruptions. Stand outside the door. One waitress goes in and out to provide drinks.”

  The security guard nodded.

  And five minutes later I was stuck in a personal nightmare. A bottle of champagne rested on ice; two glasses were left on the table. Music pumped through the speaker system. A small stage was set up in the mi
ddle of the room, with two poles and some sort of swing that dropped down from the ceiling. I seriously didn’t even want to know what it was for.

  “That will be all,” Lex said in a gruff tone. The waitress—I think her name was Holly—bobbed her head, then looked at me out of the corners of her eyes as if scared to leave me alone with the giant.

  “It’s fine.” I waved her off and forced a smile.

  The door closed.

  “Stop pacing.” Lex grabbed a bottle of champagne. “And that ass better give you part of that money . . .”

  “Huh?” I turned. Lex had his feet up on the table and was texting. TEXTING!

  He glanced up. “What? Something wrong?”

  “Uh . . .” I lifted my arms into the air. “You sick bastard, you just paid for private dancing! From me!”

  “No I didn’t,” he said calmly. “Nobody knows what goes on in here. Take a nap for all I care, drink some champagne—or you can shock the hell out of me and cry again, but fair warning, I only had one hug in me tonight and you stole it, so . . . I’ll be reverting to the back pat.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Lex Luthor, philanthropist by day and rescuer of hot waitresses by night.” He smirked and held up the bottle. “Champagne?”

  “Unbelievable.” I choked out a laugh. “You just paid over one grand to sit in a crappy club and drink champagne with someone you hate.”

  “It’s my good deed for the decade. Just don’t tell Ian. He’ll think I’m sick or something, and the last thing I need is Mother Hen helicoptering around my inner sanctum. He’ll get pissed all over again if he finds out that I’m hacking.”

  My skin felt sticky and sweaty, and my feet ached. With slow movements, I made my way over to the couch and sat, not even wanting to know how many germs were on the leather.

  “So,” Lex said above the music. “Champagne? Or want me to order you something else?”

  “Champagne’s good.” I swallowed and looked down at my hands. “I’m sorry I cried.”