The Matchmaker's Playbook

by Rachel Van Dyken

  My world stopped spinning.

  I slunk to the floor, nearly tumbling down the stairs as I waited in stunned silence for Lex to say something.

  “Good answer. We’ll be in touch.” With that, he slammed the door in her face, gave me a cocky grin, and said, “Told ya so.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  My bed freaking smelled like Blake, which was really ironic since I knew firsthand what smell did to the memory. It’s why I used only certain body washes around the clients, certain colognes, creating an attachment yet making sure that attachment wasn’t so tight that they felt like they were more in love with me than the guy they were chasing. I needed to earn their trust, but not so much that they attached emotionally.

  Never, in my wildest imagination, did I think it would backfire on me, that the roles would be reversed and I’d have to sleep in a hellish combination of lavender and vanilla-scented shampoo, with my body strung so tight that I was afraid of too much friction from the sheets while I dreamed of her at night.

  She’d said she loved me.

  I wasn’t sure I believed her.

  Everyone loved me, or everyone thought they did.

  And love didn’t mean you went and allowed another guy to kiss you, or worse, kissed him back.

  Groaning, I slammed my hand into the pillow next to me, then fluffed it up again, only to be paralyzed by the onslaught of lavender and vanilla all over again.

  “Damn it.” I shoved away from the bed and glanced at my nightstand. It was six in the morning, a better time than any to go work out, especially since I knew that David would be long gone from the gym by the time I got there. I wasn’t entirely sure I’d be able to keep myself from kicking his ass if I got the chance. At the very least, I might offer to spot him on the bench only to let all the weight fall onto his chest—or his neck.

  Good to know I was contemplating murder.

  A vision of his arms wrapping around Blake made me clench my fists tightly at my sides. Right. It would be worth it, just to see the dumbass helpless look on the bastard’s face.

  “Two more,” David’s friend DJ said, his fingers lightly touching the bar as David made a loud, giantlike moan and thrust the weight up. “One more!”

  David’s legs nearly came off the ground.

  Was the entire basketball team that inept at proper lifting? Or just David? It looked like he was using every cell in his body to try to will the bar back up. It would seriously make my day if the bastard let out a fart and someone just happened to tweet it. Oh, the hashtags I could come up with. I was already irritated that David had gone off-schedule and was working out during my time, but whatever.

  I returned to my push-ups and heard more yelling from David’s general direction.

  “Good burn, good burn,” DJ said. I heard backslapping, and probably ass-slapping. I didn’t miss that part of organized sports—the culture, the way weight lifting and training ended up almost being a religion. It wasn’t healthy, and it was one of the things that made me thankful that I was on a different path, even though it wasn’t the one I would have originally chosen for myself.

  I had finished my last push-up and collapsed onto the mat, evening my breathing, waiting for my heart rate to come down, when a pair of flip-flops stepped directly in my line of vision.

  Black-and-white 1992 Adidas flip-flops in a size nine.

  Slowly, I raised my head, then pushed myself to a sitting position on the mat. “Yes?” I kept my voice curt, irritated. That wasn’t hard to pull off, since I was exhausted from my workout and extremely pissed off. Love or no love, she’d still kissed another guy.

  Cheating was cheating.

  Period.

  Blake’s wavy hair was pulled into a low ponytail, and she was sporting black-rimmed glasses. I’d had no clue she even wore glasses. A generous amount of midriff was showing, compliments of her low basketball shorts and her very high and tight pink sports bra.

  I could only imagine how many guys in that exact moment started stacking on the weights in hopes of impressing her, not realizing she wasn’t the type to be impressed by that. I should know.

  Athletes saw through shit like that, especially when you couldn’t even pull the damn bar off the rack.

  “Blake,” David yelled across the gym.

  I clenched my teeth and tried to keep myself from seriously losing my shit. Why the hell was she here?

  “Listen.” Blake ignored David and leaned down, her voice low. “I need to talk to you alone.”

  “Didn’t you get my e-mail?” I stood abruptly and toweled off my neck. “We’re done.”

  “No, we aren’t.” Her lower lip trembled as she placed a hand on my forearm. “Ian, I love you. I’m sorry about the kiss. I can explain. It wasn’t about you. I was confused.”

  “No shit,” I said with a hollow laugh. “Look, you did us both a favor.”

  “Oh?” It was her turn to look pissed as she jerked her hand away and crossed her arms, pressing her tits high enough to give any dude looking our direction sexual fantasies for hours.

  “Yeah.” I quickly tugged her arms down and pinned them at her sides. Better. “Our projected success rate . . . it wasn’t good. So unless you want to take a fifty-fifty chance”—I shrugged and nodded toward an approaching David—“you should go for the one you’ve wanted all along.”

  Damn, how had I never noticed how stupid his walk was? Straight lines, amigo, straight lines.

  Blake’s eyes narrowed. “All of that’s changed. You know that.”

  “It’s the sex,” I explained. “A chemical reaction occurs that bonds you to a person emotionally when you have sex. Give it a few days before it’ll wear off. So will I.”

  “Ian,” she said again, this time with more desperation. “I’m telling you I love you, and you’re pushing me away. Don’t you care about me at all? Maybe even a tiny bit?”

  Yes. I cared too much. And in that moment, regardless of what she said, regardless of how she felt about me, I knew I was going to have to make the choice for her.

  Because it wasn’t worth the risk. She was worth it, absolutely. But me? I wasn’t.

  It sucked to actually have zero belief in myself, but what if I hurt her? What if, in this situation, I was her Jerry, my sister’s husband? The guy she settles for, only to pine for someone else ten years down the road?

  “Ian?” Tears pooled in her eyes.

  “Go.” I stepped back. “Your boyfriend’s waiting for you.”

  “My boyfriend’s standing in front of me.”

  “Not anymore,” I whispered, taking one last lingering look at those lips, those eyes. I had to look away. “Be happy.”

  “Are you?”

  “Am I what?” My head snapped to attention. David was only five feet away from us now, and gaining.

  “Happy?”

  “Does it matter?” I asked while David snaked his arm around Blake and tried pulling her in for a kiss.

  “To me, yes.”

  “Ian!” David held out his free hand. “Good to see you, man.”

  I stared at his hand, then blankly met his gaze, blatantly ignoring his supposed offer of friendship, because all he was doing was trying to give me the winner’s shake. The one that said, Oh hey, sorry you lost, you pathetic bastard, but here’s a participation medal for all your trouble. No hard feelings, right? Oh, PS—did you teach her that arch thing in bed? Thanks, man. Thanks a lot.

  “Hell,” I said under my breath and faked the best smile I could muster. “See you guys later. And David?”

  Unbelievable. He was still smirking. “Yeah?”

  “Treat her well.”

  “Oh.” His eyes lowered as he kissed the top of her head. “I already did . . . last night.”

  Blake’s eyes widened.

  And before I knew what was happening, I was launching myself across the mat and pummeling his face with my fist.

  Repeatedly.

  “Ian,” Blake shouted as strong arms wrapped around my che
st and jerked me away from David’s body on the floor. I tried to go after him again.

  “Dude.” DJ gripped me harder. “Let it go, man. Just let it go.”

  “You bastard!” I yelled. “Disrespect her like that again and I’ll kill you!”

  David sneered through bloodstained teeth. “I was kidding.” He patted his already-bruising nose. “Geez, man, take a joke.”

  A joke? Who joked about having sex with a girl in front of her? Guilt gnawed at my chest, because really, how many times had I done the exact same thing?

  “Ian,” Blake called after me.

  I couldn’t even look at her.

  With a curse, I left the weight room amidst the crowd watching with horrified curiosity.

  “Ian!” Blake reached me and grabbed my arm. “It’s not what you think.”

  “Tell me.” I didn’t even recognize my own voice anymore. “Was it before or after?”

  “What?” She looked confused.

  “You told Lex you loved me—was it before or after you screwed him?”

  “Never!” Blake shoved me. “Are you serious right now? How does it go from kissing to sex?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me. I basically walked you through the steps, Blake.”

  “Unbelievable!” She shoved me harder. “I tell you I love you, and not only do you push me toward him but you accuse me of sleeping with him too?”

  “It’s not like you didn’t want it, I’m sure,” I muttered.

  A stinging sensation knifed through my cheek as her hand went flying across my face.

  “We done?” I asked, sidestepping her.

  “So. Done.” She jogged back into the weight room, and I continued my walk of shame all the way to my car.

  Funny, a few weeks ago what just happened would have been the perfect setup to get the guy to finally notice the girl. Hell, even I couldn’t have written such a good ending.

  The only problem?

  It wasn’t fiction.

  It wasn’t a setup.

  It was life.

  Whoever said “if you love something, you let it go” clearly had never been in love before. Yet that’s exactly what I was doing.

  Letting her go.

  To the better man.

  Which, for the first time in my life, I realized . . . wasn’t me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  “Ian? Are you even listening to me? We kissed. It was amazing . . .”

  Hell, even if it was the worst kiss of her life, it would have still been amazing, because when you’re in love or when you really like someone, you can damn near justify anything.

  Well, of course he had coffee breath. He works at Starbucks! Duh, he drinks coffee!

  Silly Ian. Oh, no, he meant to hit my teeth!

  He said he’d been pining for me for years. Years! Can you stand it?

  No, I really can’t. Please stop talking.

  Or my personal favorite: He said more spit makes things better, because a dry mouth can kill you during oral. I swear.

  Right, and balls fall off if you don’t have sex before forty.

  No, really. Look it up.

  “Ian!” Vivian snapped her fingers in front of me. “After the kiss, how do I still keep him interested?”

  Yeah, I needed to stop daydreaming about a certain girl and a certain guy who I could see were currently walking hand in hand toward the HUB.

  “You . . .” Frantic at the sight, I reached for Vivian’s hand. “Shit, Vivian, one kiss is fine, but the second kiss is the one that tells them the first wasn’t a fluke. So this time, let him kiss you, but give him some mixed signals. It can’t be too easy.”

  “Okay.” She frowned. “So maybe sit farther away from him?”

  David laughed at something Blake said. She was wearing jeans and a short top that showed off her tan skin, damn it!

  “Ian,” Vivian growled.

  “Right.” Without thinking, I pulled Vivian into my lap, blocking my view of David and Blake. “Get playful with him, and when he leans in, pull back, like this.” I leaned in, she pulled back and smiled.

  I felt hollow. Empty. “Good job, Vivian. Just make sure that it’s a playful kiss, and then it can turn passionate. But don’t make out—that’s not for the second kiss or even the third. Keep him wanting. When do you see him again?”

  “Well.” Vivian squirmed on my lap. Damn, her butt was bony—give the girl a cookie or something. I love women’s bodies, but eat, for God’s sake. “We’re supposed to study tonight.”

  “Public place. Then go somewhere for drinks afterward, tell him you need a break.”

  “Got it.” Vivian squirmed more.

  Blake and David must be gone.

  “Okay, off you go.” I heaved her off my lap and stood just as David and Blake turned toward me. By the looks of her mouth, he’d been kissing her, or trying to pry her lips from her face. But she didn’t look satisfied; if anything, she looked pissed.

  You’re welcome for giving you your heart’s desire, princess. Now stop glaring at me.

  “Old client?” Vivian nodded over at them.

  “Sort of.” I frowned and grabbed my phone. “Text me with the location tonight, and I’ll hang out in the background to make sure you don’t need a wingman.”

  “Hah.” Vivian nodded. “You really take your job seriously, don’t you?”

  David gave me the finger behind Blake’s back. I knew there was something wrong with that bastard!

  “You have no idea.”

  “Thanks, Ian!” Vivian skipped off while I made a mental note to cut David’s brakes, you know, when Blake wasn’t in the passenger seat. I wouldn’t harm a hair on her head. But David? Let’s just say I wanted to rip him limb from limb.

  “Blake paid us,” Lex announced when I walked into the house and set all my school stuff out on the table.

  “I did the right thing.” I was saying that a lot lately. In my head while showering. Right before bed when I still smelled her on my sheets, regardless of how many times I washed them. Before class, after class. So basically it had become my new mantra. I did the right thing.

  Exactly seven hours later, I was still repeating that to myself as I lay across the couch and wondered how much pizza one man could consume before he actually ate himself to death.

  Would it be less painful than drowning?

  Would Lex mourn me? Or simply cash in on the fact that I’d overdosed on pizza and get Domino’s to name a pie after me?

  Deep thinking. That’s what my life had turned into. Well, that, no showers, overeating, and Game of Thrones reruns.

  In a moment of complete pizza-drunk weakness, I sent a text to Blake.

  Ian: I miss you.

  She texted back right away.

  Blake: You dumped me for my own good and rejected me when I said I loved you. Go. To. Hell.

  She punctuated the text with a smiley face.

  A smiley face meant there was still hope. Right?

  Oh shit, and the teacher becomes the student. I always tell my clients a smiley face does not mean “I want to have sex with you”; sometimes a smiley face just means “I’m happy.”

  Did that mean she was happy for me to go to hell?

  I frowned as yet another main character on GoT was slaughtered in front of me.

  And I felt nothing.

  Shit, life was bad when you felt nothing after the death of one of your favorite characters.

  “Get up,” Lex barked.

  With a very solid double middle-finger salute, I let him know my opinion of that suggestion and continued watching as blood poured out of the dude’s chest.

  Huh, maybe I should become an actor and get myself killed. Better than death by pizza. I didn’t want to smell like pepperoni in my casket.

  I reached for the bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Not a drop rolling around the bottom. Well, damn.

  Lex snatched the remote from the table and turned down the volume. “Seriously, get the hell up and stop moping around. It’s scarin
g the shit out of me. Let’s go to a bar.”

  “No.”

  “Dude.” Lex fell onto the couch. “You’re seriously killing me here. The stats for their relationship success don’t lie, fine. The fact is, they have a higher success rate. BUT SHE LOVES YOU!”

  “Must you shout?”

  “Please, that empty bottle has been sitting there since ten this morning. You’ve been drinking water and eating pizza—that’s how you deal. Pizza. You disgust me.”

  “Pagliacci delivers, man. Can’t beat that. And no hangover.”

  “Look.” A thick folder landed in my lap.

  “What the hell is this?”

  “Your background info against hers.”

  “Lex.” I growled his name like a curse. Sure, grab some salt and pour it into the gaping hole that is my heart. Really, I’ll just sit here and take it. “I don’t want to get more depressed.” I shoved the folder away.

  Lex sighed loudly. “I love you like a brother. But this folder is ruining your life. I want you to see the stats. The real stats.”

  “Real stats?” I repeated, sitting up straighter, interest suddenly piqued. “What do you mean real stats?”

  “Look.” Lex held up his hands innocently in front of him. “I may have . . . tweaked the numbers a bit . . .”

  “‘A bit,’ meaning you rounded up instead of down?”

  Lex coughed into his hand.

  “Lex!” I lunged for him, but all the pizza made me slow and sluggish. “What the hell did you do?”

  “What I had to do,” Lex shouted. “You are seriously such an idiot.”

  “Thank you?” I shook my head. “And I repeat, what the hell did you do?”

  “I know you.”

  “I know me too, thanks.”

  “No, I really know you.” Lex ran his hand over his buzzed head. “You slept with a client. A client, Ian. Our business is based off your ability to, first off, not do that, but also to be damn good at what you do. Remember when we first started? What’s the oath we both took?”