The Matchmaker's Replacement [Kindle in Motion] (Wingmen Inc. Book 2)

by Rachel Van Dyken

  “Fine.” At the pace of a handicapped turtle, I followed after her, dreading every freaking step that took me to the table where she’d laid out her pink backpack and highlighters.

  Everything had a place.

  It was so Gabi that I had to fight not to smile or even laugh. That would make her think I at least liked her as a friend—which I didn’t.

  She was completely off-limits, meaning the minute I’d walked away from her four years ago, she’d become nothing to me—i.e., androgynous, sexless, a really ugly dude, a brother, a goat.

  And girls and guys as friends? Yeah, that worked, like, never. Ergo, the goat theory. If I think of her as an animal or some sort of sexless human, I won’t fall prey to her charms and decide to be her friend and then long for more, sleep with her, ruin everything, and end up truly hating her almost as much as myself.

  Vicious cycle.

  I wanted no part of it.

  Gabs sucked on a tip of her hair, which was a gross habit, then started pulling out sheets of paper. “Okay, so I went ahead and plugged in all of the new male applicants and cross-referenced them with the female clients already in the database. They’ve all been imported into the new program, but with your and Ian’s schedules I just don’t know how it’s going to work.”

  “Cute. You say that in bed too?”

  “Lex,” she growled, sliding the papers over to me. Numbers, numbers, and more numbers. They were my addiction—my drug—and I loved them. The first thing I noticed was that she hadn’t messed up the data, which meant I had no excuse to fire her from Wingmen Inc. Ian had hired her so she could pay for school. He knew she needed the money, but she was too proud to take it as a gift from either of us—not that I’d ever offer.

  So instead he gave her a job.

  At my company.

  Okay fine, we both owned the company, but it still pissed me off. She’d completely ignored all the McDonald’s and Starbucks applications I’d left on her kitchen counter. I’d even called in a favor at Microsoft, where I’d interned over the summer, and she’d declined the offer!

  Ian and I had one semester of school left.

  One semester where I was cursed to put up with her shit, not only because she was Ian’s best friend but also because Ian and Blake had hooked up a few weeks earlier, and he’d been unable to keep up his schedule.

  I groaned as the numbers all blurred together. Wingmen Inc. was exactly what it sounded like. A simple service Ian came up with after getting injured during his first season with the Seahawks. We, as wingmen, help girls—the good girls, not the ones who grope me in the freaking bookstore—find their happily ever afters.

  We keep them from settling for complete idiots.

  And in doing so help them achieve self-confidence.

  I know, I know, I really do deserve a Purple Heart. Maybe that’s why my nights are filled with so much . . . ass. My soul can only handle so much goodness before I explode with glitter and butterflies, and that shit isn’t cool.

  It was Ian and Blake’s idea to start accepting male clients, and as much as I wanted to say no to the workload, they were right. My major alone was filled with so many dudes who’d never even gone on a date that I knew we’d be doing society a favor.

  I’d quickly altered our computer software so that we’d have a database, or dating pool, of available men and women, and then I started scheduling the most desperate cases, something my program also figured out for me.

  “Lex?” Gabi snapped her fingers in front of my face. “Are you even listening?”

  “No.” I pushed her hand away. “I was reading. And as much as I hate to utter these words . . .”

  “I’m right?” She beamed, biting down on her lower lip.

  With a grunt, I mumbled, “You’re right. Which also means we either need to hire someone else or you’re going to have to step up your game.”

  “My game?” Her dark eyebrows drew together as she twirled her long dark-brown hair in her fingers. “Um, that wasn’t part of the deal.”

  “The deal’s changed.” I stood, crumpled up the paper, and tossed it in the trash. “If I take on more clients, I’m going to fail my classes.” Okay, that was a lie, but I didn’t want to book my days with clients back to back only to be too tired for extracurricular activities. “So that means you’re going to have to take some of the dudes.”

  “No!” Gabi jumped to her feet. “You know I can’t do that!”

  “I do?” I looked over her head as a blonde chick with huge tits glanced my way and winked.

  “Oh no you don’t.” Gabi jumped onto her chair and grabbed my face with both of her hands. “Look at me.”

  “I am looking at you,” I said in a deliberately bored tone while trying to look through her so I could see Big Tits.

  “Lex!” Gabi smacked me on the side of the face. “Focus, stop thinking with your downstairs, let the blood go up.”

  I burst out laughing. “I think you’re confused on what that would actually mean . . . Up is—”

  She covered my mouth with her hand, and I noticed that pink highlighter lined her index finger, which smelled like strawberries. Of course it did.

  Her green eyes widened. “I can’t meet with the male clients and coach them and—”

  I rolled my eyes and removed her hand. “Gabi, I’ll train you this week. How hard can it be? They’re nerds looking for other nerds so they can have baby nerds, who will produce more nerds who will probably one day create enough robots to bring about the apocalypse.” I left out that training included testing her seduction skills as well as a few other things I was pretty sure that, given the chance, she would rather die than actually follow through with. One way or another, I was going to get her to quit. At least I dangled hope in front of her so then in the end, when she backed out, it would be all on her, completely her decision. See? I was a total gentleman when I wanted to be.

  I started walking away, but Gabi jumped onto my back like a monkey, her feet digging into my sides. “Stop!”

  I leaned my head back, smacking her in the jaw.

  “Ouch!”

  “Sorry!”

  “No you’re not!”

  “How the hell do you know?” We were starting to gain an audience. “Get off of me!”

  “Not until you promise I don’t have to whore myself out!” she hissed.

  An employee looked in our direction. Great.

  I lowered my voice while simultaneously trying to loosen her legs from my waist. “You aren’t whoring, you’re helping. Big difference, Gabi, believe me.”

  I turned my head just as she leaned down, and her lips brushed against my ear.

  I froze.

  She froze.

  Time stood still.

  I took two deep breaths. “This is the job, Gabi. If you can’t do it, I’ll find someone who can and will.” And there it was, the perfect plan. I could fire her for refusing to do her job, and we’d both go our separate ways. Being next to her strawberry-scented skin was already driving me to the edge of my sanity, and I’d always prided myself on being hard to break.

  Until Gabi.

  “Nope.” She pinched my neck. “Ian owns half the company. He’ll simply—”

  “Will that always be your excuse, then? Your fallback plan? You’re always going to have Ian to bail you out when things get hard?”

  Her breath hitched.

  Gotcha, Sunshine.

  “That’s what I thought. Look, I’m tired, and I need sex, so if you aren’t offering then please get the hell off my back and go home.”

  She slid down my body. I could feel her perky breasts waving good-bye while my teeth clenched with irritation.

  I turned around and grinned wic
kedly. “You start tomorrow.”

  Gabi’s cheeks turned red. I was betting on her backing out. She should, after all; she was innocent, hardly dated—hell, my grandmother had more sexual experience than Gabi.

  A turtle had more experience.

  We shared a best friend, and when drunk, our mutual friend explained why he was so protective of our dear, lovely Gabi. Virgin. She was a freaking virgin.

  Which basically meant she was going to crash and burn, and I was going to document every damn thing and then tell Ian she had to find somewhere else to work.

  Perfect plan?

  Hell yes.

  “That is, unless”—I winked—“you want to start tonight.” I licked my lips and tilted my head. “My record is forty-eight seconds . . . Bet you’d only take twenty.”

  A book flew by my head.

  Guess that was my answer.

  “You know . . .” I rocked on my heels. “There’s always McDonald’s. Let me call in a favor, Gabs. You don’t belong with Wingmen Inc.”

  Her nostrils flared. “I need this job, Lex. It’s the only job that pays me enough to be able to—”

  My eyebrows shot up. “Able to what, Gabs? Buy more shoes? It’s not like you haven’t already paid for your tuition.”

  “Bastard!” she screeched, tossing another book in my direction. I ducked. “Did you hack my school account again?”

  “Me?” I shrugged innocently. “Honestly, Gabs, I’m surprised a five-year-old hasn’t hacked your account already. You do realize using ‘password’ as your password is basically like putting a welcome mat in front of your login, right?”

  “I hate you.”

  “Feeling’s mutual, Sunshine.” I smirked. “Now, go complain to Ian like you always do, and I’ll go stand outside while women fall at my feet, like I always do.”

  She stormed off.

  And a piece of me left with her, not that she knew, not that she’d ever know, because every single time we argued, it was like part of my soul cracked.

  Hah, maybe that was why I was hating her more and more.

  Gabrielle Sava was making me soulless.

  Hell, by the end of the semester I was going to be either a demon or a vampire.

  The blonde with the big tits winked at me again and waved. I smiled and stared at her plump, shapely body. For tonight? I’d bite.

  “Vampire it is,” I whispered as I made my way over to her.

  Chapter Two

  Gabi

  I hated him.

  HATED him.

  Hate, hate, hate. I chanted the words to myself that very next morning as I stomped toward his ridiculously expensive house, next to the ridiculously nice lake, with his ridiculously loud red Mercedes parked out front. Jackass.

  I’d be doing society a favor if I set it on fire.

  Seriously.

  The thing was probably filled with so much bodily fluid and disease that if he got in a car accident he’d infect the entire freeway and start a citywide epidemic.

  I shuddered.

  I compartmentalized Lex into two boxes.

  The first box was Childhood Lex, the friend who used to hang out with Ian and me before he moved across town, never to be seen again. He used to ride with me to school, and when I was sick he gave me my own box of Kleenex—never mind that he stole it from his teacher’s desk. The point is, Childhood Lex was a keeper.

  Box number two?

  Asshole Lex, also known as the version I was walking toward. The Lex I met when I was eighteen, who momentarily stunned me speechless with his godlike beauty, had been a figment of my overactive, sad, hormone-riddled imagination.

  On the outside? The perfect man.

  With a brooding and sultry smile.

  Biceps the size of my head.

  Who gave me the distinct feeling that if I ran my hands over his buzzed hair I’d orgasm before he even touched me.

  Whatever. I was over it. So over it.

  A lot of people had stupid crushes when they were eighteen, right?

  Now all I saw when I looked into his stormy blue eyes was syph or the clap, and that was being generous. The dude was a walking STD and seriously tried every nerve I had. He was an ass. Plain and simple, no sugar coating. He was the type of guy who’d tell a chick that she looked fat in a dress or who refused to share the communal breadbasket. See? He couldn’t even adhere to typical manners during mealtime! Just thinking about him had me tied up in knots.

  Last year, when I went shopping and stupidly invited Ian along—which of course meant Lex had to come—I was told in no uncertain terms that if I would just stop drinking chocolate milk in the morning I’d be able to fit into a smaller size.

  He’d smiled.

  His dimples had deepened.

  He’d even crossed his arms as if to say, Look, I did you a favor, pat me on the back.

  Instead I had kicked him in the balls and tried to give him a black eye, clocking Ian in the face.

  My point? Lex. Was. The. Devil.

  I made a point of only hanging out with Lex when absolutely necessary, and even then I almost always had Ian as a buffer. But now that he was playing love nest with my ex-roomie, Blake? Well, I was on my own.

  Lex opened the door after my third aggressive knock. Black sweatpants hung low on his hips, a vintage Mariners shirt fell open around his neck, and he was wearing black-framed glasses that made his eyes more appealing than should be legal.

  “Sunshine,” he said, his smirk deepening as he crossed his burly arms over his chest.

  “Dickhead.” I smiled sweetly. “New glasses? They look thicker than last time.”

  “Better to see you with.” He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing into tiny slits. “There they are.” He reached for one of my boobs.

  I slapped his hand away so hard my palm stung.

  “Probably not the best way to treat your new male clients.” He shook his hand and turned toward the living room, leaving the door wide open. Manners were completely lost on him.

  Gritting my teeth, I slammed the door behind me and took off my shoes because I knew if I didn’t he’d give me hell.

  He was a freak like that.

  For as much ass as he got, it was shocking how much Lysol he used around the house. His clothes were never wrinkled; everything was pristine.

  Even his breath.

  Damn him.

  He drank coffee like a Starbucks employee but never had coffee breath.

  It was almost painful, staring him in the face, knowing that everything on the outside appeared perfect—but didn’t match the inside at all, not even close!

  Beauty like Lex’s was dangerous and wickedly tempting, like something out of a paranormal romance novel. Sometimes, at night, when I dreamed of Lex getting hit by a car, I imagined him as a vampire roaming the streets in his favorite black sweats, shirtless, shimmering under the streetlights, just waiting for whores to line up so he could take a few bites.

  A pencil flew by my head.

  “Yo.” Lex’s eyebrows shot up. “We have a lot of work to do if we’re going to get you ready for the next two clients. Daydream about chicks on your own time.”

  “I’m not a lesbian.”

  He bit on his bottom lip, sinking back in his chair as his eyes slowly roamed from my mismatched socks all the way up to my head. “Okay, whatever you say, Gabs.”

  I will not commit homicide. I will not commit homicide. “You know,” I said as I tossed my purse onto the table in front of him, “it’s offensive that you assume all lesbians dress like crap.” So what? I was wearing a ratty white T-shirt and ripped jeans, and I was pretty sure I still had mascara on from the night before. It was my L
ex repellant. He hated sloppiness.

  “Offensive.” He nodded. “Also true . . .” He used the spare pencil from behind his ear to slide my purse over to the farthest side of the table. “It wouldn’t kill you to wear something other than jeans and T-shirts, Gabs.” He sighed. “Say it with me: dresssss—”

  I grabbed the pencil from his hand, broke it into two pieces, and handed them back to him. “I wear dresses, just not for you. Dresses are your kryptonite, especially short black ones. I refuse to be a part of your ‘shower time.’”

  He snorted. “You wish.”

  “Yes. Every night when I go to sleep I pray for Lex to dream of me while he jerks off because yet another girl refused to follow his instructions in bed: ‘Damn it, use the manual!’” I said, using my best imitation of Lex’s voice. I’d only heard him shout instructions to a girl once, and it had scarred me for life. What the hell are you doing? Do I look like I’m satisfied? There’s a diagram! Ugh.

  Lex rolled his eyes. “Very funny, and the manual is there for a reason. Do you even know how many chicks get confused when I call out sexual positions? It’s like, get there faster, you know?”

  My feelings were torn between fascination and disgust. “So,” I changed the subject. “Let’s train, because I have about ten years’ worth of Organic Chem homework.”

  Lex sighed and held out his hand.

  “No.” I crossed my arms. “I don’t need help.”

  Okay, I needed help, desperately needed help, and Lex wasn’t just passably smart but a certified genius, at least when he applied himself. I refused to ask him to go over my homework just because Organic Chem was, to me, like reading a foreign language.

  He cleared his throat.