by RC Boldt
“Don’t sweat it. That’s old news.”
We slow our pace once my watch beeps, indicating we’ve hit our ten-mile mark. Slowing to an easy jog, we navigate from the public beach to the private residential section until the wooden plank walkway leading to Becket’s house is in sight.
Once there, we slow to a walk and approach where we had set our water bottles earlier, in the shade beneath the steps of the walkway. He grabs my bottle and tosses it to me before snagging his own and we each take a seat on the wooden steps.
I glance at my watch and shake my head, feigning disappointment. “Married life and getting older must have taken a toll on you, man.”
Becket’s eyebrows furrow. “The hell?”
I shrug, doing my best to hold back a grin. “This run took longer.” I slap his stomach, which is just as flat and muscular as during his NFL days. But I have to give him shit. It’s just how we roll. “Gotta watch the retirement fifteen.”
He screws up his face comically. “What?”
“You know. It’s like the freshman fifteen when you start college, except when you retire from the NFL.” I sigh dramatically. “I mean, think about all the other guys before us. How many of them retired and let themselves go? Left their abs behind to embrace the pot belly. Don’t want the same to happen to you.” I school my expression, adopting one of utter seriousness. “Best friends don’t let friends get muffin tops.”
He sputters, and I catch him patting his stomach self-consciously before he checks his own watch. His features morph instantly, and he shoves me with a laugh. “Asshole. We shaved a quarter of a minute off our last time.”
I smirk and lift a shoulder. “Someone’s gotta keep you from giving in to the urge to let your dad bod take over.”
Instead of responding, he guzzles his water, but the hand holding his bottle has one particular finger raised.
The middle one.
I lean back and brace myself on my elbows with a laugh. “Good to know married life hasn’t changed you much.”
He swallows the last of his water and lifts his chin, gesturing to me. “Maybe it’s time you got on board.”
I exhale loudly, and mutter, “And we’re back to that.”
“I’m serious. Just give it a shot.” He eyes me. “Plus, you’re not getting any younger.” He leans in closer, inspecting the side of my head. “Wait a second… Is that a gray hair?”
I pin him with a hard glare.
He throws his head back on a loose laugh before sobering. “Just give it a shot, will you?”
He’ll never let this go. We both know it. Once Becket fixates on something, it’s a done deal. If I want him off my back, I need to give in. It’s that simple.
Deep down, though, my thoughts travel back to the day of Becket and Ivy’s wedding.
—THEN—
I’m having a fucking girly moment.
Here I am, silently bemoaning the fact that my best friend—the guy I met in college and had been practically joined at the hip with ever since—is entering a new stage in his life.
My emotions are all over the place. Sure, I’m happy as hell that he’s met Ivy because she’s perfect for him, but I also feel a little lost. Unsure of how the dynamic of our friendship will change once married life firmly takes hold.
I’ve missed out on meeting Ivy’s sister, Darcy, countless times. It’s almost laughable how many get-togethers Becket and Ivy have had, yet Darcy and I still haven’t crossed paths due to our conflicting schedules. I’ve seen photos of her, of course, since Ivy moved into Becket’s home. Slowly adding her touches here and there throughout the house, she’s hung a few photographs of the two women during their college days.
Nothing, though, could prepare me for what I stumble upon moments before Becket and Ivy are due to say their vows in the backyard.
A woman gazes out the large window overlooking the back of the house, where the wedding will take place, blond hair spilling along her shoulders and back in soft curls. I immediately recognize Darcy Cole. She hasn’t changed much from the photos of her and Ivy, aside from appearing more polished and confident.
When she closes her eyes and a tiny sigh escapes her lips, I allow my gaze to skim over her. The simple dress in a soft shade of blue hugs her slim figure, and I give it a cursory glance before returning my attention to her face. She appears almost… sad?
“Penny for your thoughts.”
The words rush past my lips before I realize it. Her eyes flash open, head snapping in my direction, and I catch the dismay that flickers across her face. At the sudden urge to set her at ease, I hold out a hand with what I hope is a reassuring smile.
“Dax Kendrick. Best friend of the groom.”
Relief pours through me as the lingering sadness fades from her blue eyes. “Darcy Cole. Best friend and sister of the bride.”
When she fits her petite hand in mine, I work hard to hide my initial reaction of the sensations bombarding me from the simple touch. From a fucking handshake.
Damn, celibacy is royally screwing with me if a simple handshake from a woman nowhere near my type is getting under my skin. It must be her insanely soft skin.
Yeah, that’s definitely it.
I slide my hands in my pockets and tip my head to the side in question. “Avoiding the crowd?”
Twisting her lips ruefully, she darts her eyes around for a quick glance. Then she surprises the hell out of me by confessing that she’s indulging in a little pity party. We’re obviously both wrestling with similar feelings. When her voice fades, vulnerability evident in her features, and she averts her eyes to focus on the backyard, I feel compelled to console her somehow.
I take a step closer. “I get it. When the dynamics of a relationship changes, it’s tough. Opening up to a new chapter…”
We stand in easy silence, lost in our own thoughts. I startle us both when I instinctively reach out and touch the hand at her side. She jerks her eyes down to watch me grasp it in a comforting grip. I wonder if she’s as intrigued by the contrast of my darker skin against her own.
“It’ll work out,” I offer gently.
Becket’s brother announces everyone needs to take their places. Wordlessly, and with an odd sort of reluctance, I release her hand, and we head out back.
And throughout the ceremony, the unexpected sense of loss of her hand in mine lingers.
—PRESENT—
We haven’t interacted since then. I’ve been busy and, evidently, she has as well.
It could also be our unspoken agreement not to bring up what happened later that night.
“I’m serious.” Becket draws me back into the conversation and slides his sunglasses to the top of his head. He swipes the back of his arm along his sweaty forehead and grins at me. “God knows I can’t keep your handsomeness all to myself these days.”
I laugh and shake my head. “Never thought I’d see the day when Becket Jones couldn’t handle all this”—I gesture to my body with my hand—“manly goodness.”
He looks amused. “Did you really just say the words manly goodness?”
My grin is smug. “I did.”
“You’re a damn mess.”
We fall silent, our attention settling on the shoreline. The waves crash, battering the sand, and the noisy seagulls seemingly compete for decibel level.
“I know she’s not your type, but I have to say it…” Becket’s somber tone makes me uneasy. I turn to look at him, but his eyes are trained on the crashing waves.
“Darcy’s an amazing woman. Smart as hell. Attractive. She has a good heart. And I know once you really get to know her, you’ll see exactly what I mean. But, Dax?” He turns to face me, expression fierce. “She’s off-limits.”
I throw my hands up in defense. “Easy there, Papa Bear. No one said anything about poaching on Darcy.”
He shrugs. “Just feel a little protective of her.” His mouth widens into a shit-eating grin. “Not that I think she’d be enamored with you and your scrawny bod.”
I roll my eyes. “Quit being a hater because I gained ten pounds of muscle and catch a football for a living, and you wear a damn tie to work every day now.”
He frowns, releasing an exaggerated groan as if I hurt his feelings. Which I didn’t. He knows I’m damn proud of him. He’s the brother I never had.
One edge of his mouth tips up in a smirk. “Remind me again why I’m still friends with you?”
I pat him on the cheek before rising. “Because you love my beautiful cocoa skin, of course.”
3
Darcy
“Remember quality number two.”
“Confidence and open body language,” she rattles off without a modicum of hesitation.
I beam at Heather like a proud parent. “Perfect. Now go. Have fun and remember what we’ve gone over.”
The top four desirable qualities are what I’m referring to. Simple, yet many men and women tend to forget the basics of attracting the opposite sex and keeping them interested during the initial meeting.
1. Be interesting and interested.
2. Open body language and confidence are powerful. Be warm and welcoming when you first meet.
3. Pay attention. Don’t make it all about you. Listen when they talk.
4. Put forth effort. Give a little extra thought to your appearance. First impressions count!
Heather draws in a deep breath before releasing it with a bright smile and carefully slips off the barstool. Turning back to my drink, I focus on the mirrored wall of the bar and track my client’s movements as she strides over to the small table for two only a few feet away which was reserved for meeting Owen, her match.
Heather is a CFO of a software company, and Owen works for the State Department of Commerce. Both with high-powered careers, they’ve been searching for a partner who understands the demands of a job yet wants more than a casual hookup.
The bartender, Sam, splays one palm flat on the bar while the other drags a cloth along the already clean bar surface. At only 4 p.m., Thursday’s happy hour has just begun, so it’s not yet filled to the brim with patrons. In about an hour, the after-work crowd will have this place bustling.
My client rises from her seat to greet Owen, who apologizes profusely for running behind. He’s normally five minutes early for everything, which complements Heather’s appreciation for punctuality, but today he’s cutting it close with only two minutes to spare.
“Ah, I can let it slide just this once, Owen.” She winks at him with the perfect amount of flirtation in her smile. “If you promise to indulge me in the bacon-wrapped scallops appetizer.”
Owen’s mouth stretches into an easy grin. “I think that can be arranged.”
For the next ten minutes, I indulge in a glass of my favorite Chardonnay and chat with Sam between customers while I observe the interaction between my client and her match. Witnessing their instant rapport and chemistry brings a wistful smile to my lips.
This, right here, is why I do this. Why I’ve made it my mission to help others. I truly believe in happily ever after. I believe it’s possible to find that one person whose heart and soul calls out to your own.
Finally satisfied with how well Heather and Owen’s date is progressing, I slide off my barstool, turning to catch Heather’s eye. Her discreet nod, wide, unabashed smile, and the way she’s leaning in toward Owen tell me everything I need to know.
On paper, these two are perfect for one another, but one can never dismiss the facet of physical attraction. Some call it being shallow, but there must be something there. Once you talk to someone—and I mean, really talk—a person’s engaging personality can make them more attractive.
Many of my clients have come across a match who may not have been their first choice physically, but since the person was so at ease and comfortable in their own skin and had a great sense of humor, they became more attractive to them.
Today, people are so caught up in the rat race that they either don’t have the time to commit to dating, or they are tired of the same old, same old. Swipe right or left. Pay extra to message the person only to have them ignore you. Catfishing. People are tired of it, and I don’t blame them one bit.
This is where I come in. With my background and advanced degrees in psychology and sociology, I can ascertain which individuals are most suited.
If it sounds easy, trust me, it isn’t. The hardest part is getting my clients to be brutally honest with what they want and what they’re looking for—in every facet of their lives. Especially sexually. More crucial than one might expect, sexual intimacy is just as vital as emotional intimacy. You must be compatible.
I step outside the bar and into the stifling humidity that goes hand in hand with Jacksonville, Florida, during the summer and withdraw my sunglasses from my purse. Lord knows, my eyeballs will not only fry, but I’ll be rendered sightless by the ridiculously bright sun if I don’t wear them.
The two-block trek to the office shouldn’t be such a feat, but by the time I enter the doors of our building and let out a relieved sigh at the cool burst of air hitting my skin, strands of my hair stick to the back of my neck and along my hairline. Thank goodness I twisted my just-past-shoulder-length blond hair into a simple updo. Otherwise, it would be an absolute matted, sweaty mess.
The security guard seated at the front desk greets me with a stern nod. Curtis is intimidating as hell in appearance alone, let alone demeanor. In his late forties, he’s over six feet four and nearly three feet wide, and never cracks a smile. He’s a man of few words but takes his job seriously.
We had some trouble a short while ago when my sister’s identity was leaked to the press, and Curtis handled things like the consummate professional he is. He’s the opposite of Henry, the man who mans the desk and monitors guests arriving for our offices as well as the others housed in this building. Henry’s easygoing, and although younger and in his mid-twenties, he’s never been anything but professional and dependable.
As I slip into the empty elevator car, I press the button for the top floor and lean back against the wall. I need to prepare myself for Dax Kendrick.
It would also be helpful if I could get the image of his new body wash ad out of my head. It’s not conducive to having a professional work arrangement when you constantly recall the client being deliciously wet and having the remnants of an O face.
Look, I’m not lusting over him or anything, but facts are facts. The ad depicts a gorgeous man who works hard to maintain a high level of fitness, and well… I admire hard work of any kind. Regardless, he’s my newest client, and the pressure’s on even more than usual since he’s also Becket’s friend.
By the time I exit the elevator and stride down the hall to my office, I’ve effectively given myself a pep talk.
Dax Kendrick is my new client, and I need to ramp up my efforts to ensure he meets his perfect match.
“Your four thirty appointment is here.”
“Thank you, Henry. You can send him up.” I end the intercom call with our front desk attendant and attempt to ready myself for the meeting with Dax.
I rise from behind my desk when I hear his heavy footsteps along the thinly carpeted hallway leading to my office. What I don’t expect is for him to take a slight detour, but I should have known. Pregnant women are like catnip for some people.
“Ivy, Ivy, Ivy.” His deep voice booms in my sister’s office down the hall. “You glow brighter every time I see you.”
Curiosity gets the best of me. I exit my office, but when I don’t spot him, I stride quietly to Ivy’s open door and listen.
“You glow any brighter, gorgeous, and you’ll rival our Florida sunshine.”
Ivy laughs. “You better stop with the sweet talk and save it for your future matches.”
He groans. “I’m nervous as hell, I can’t lie.”
“What’s this?” Ivy feigns surprise. “Dax Kendrick, worried about women?”
“Get over here and let me whisper sweet nothings to my future godchild.�
� Amusement laces his tone.
I peek around the doorjamb and see Ivy rise from her desk chair. Dax crouches down, the fabric of his khaki pants pulling taut around his firm ass. The sight makes me wish I had enough self-discipline to have muscled glutes like that.
Dax whispers loudly to her belly. “Remember, Uncle Dax is the coolest, okay? And I know how to braid hair better than your daddy, so you know I speak the truth.”
“Dax.” Ivy’s hands are on her hips, and she’s fixed a stern expression on her face. Her lips twitch as she tries to suppress her laughter. “I think we’re good here.”
He straightens and drops a quick kiss to her cheek. “See you ladies later. Wish me luck.” He spins around far too quickly—damn athletes and their quick-as-hell maneuvering—and catches sight of me in the doorway.
I bristle at the instant surge of nervousness coursing through me. Even though we both agreed what happened the night of the wedding was a fluke, it attempts to come rushing back.
Awareness skitters along my spine at the memory of that night. I immediately tamp it down, attempting to school my expression and exude nothing but the utmost professionalism.
“Mr. Kendrick, I’m ready whenever you are.” Then I turn and stride back to settle behind my desk.
A moment later, he steps inside my office and visibly hesitates. Amber-colored eyes find mine. “Would you mind if I closed the door?” Devoid of the earlier confidence, he is missing his swagger, and in its place is nervousness.
“Of course not.”
Once he closes the door with a soft click, he lowers his tall frame into one of the comfortable leather chairs opposite my desk. He appears antsy, especially when he drags a hand over the dark scruff along his chiseled jawline. It should be illegal for a man to have such smooth skin, reminding me of a lush, bronze-like hazelnut hue.
“Don’t be nervous.”
His laughter is stilted. “Hard not to be, honestly. But you came highly recommended and not just by your brother-in-law. I’ve heard other people mention your name.” He turns his head slightly, eyes flitting around my office, before settling on me.