Miri giggled on her way out the door. “Call it the ‘pants-on-fire’ flag.”
Derrick laughed and started singing “Liar, liar pants on fire” under his breath. We’re petty—I admit it. That’s how we stay sane.
“Hey, Mick.” I paused on my way out of the conference room. Derrick was blushing again. “Thanks for hooking me up with Lily.”
I must have looked clueless.
“The data analyst? You told me to call her. She’s great.”
Jeez, that was fast. “Really? Did you guys get together?”
He blushed some more. “We met for a picnic in Duke Gardens. We walked around until two in the morning. She’s amazing. So thanks.”
I watched him kind of float out of the room. Derrick spent several hours walking with a girl in a flower garden and talking? That was hard to compute. It was also totally adorable. And unfair. Maybe I should start picking dates from my résumé pile.
Chapter 6
After sneaking off to go hiking for the weekend, I came back to a flood of date requests. I decided maybe the problem with Chris had been that he’d picked me, so I ignored all of the requests and randomly picked someone from my match list that hadn’t contacted me. Sam was a writer, twenty-nine, and had decent reports from his first two dates.
Sam suggested we hook up at Cosmic Cantina. Which either meant he was really cheap, or had awesome taste. Cosmic makes the best burritos in the state, but it’s not exactly swank, and neither are the prices. I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was a struggling writer.
As usual, I arrived early. I snagged a table on the patio and prayed this warm spring evening wouldn’t turn out like the last one.
It started better. When Sam arrived, he didn’t have any sidekicks in tow and he looked exactly like his picture. I waved him over.
“Hey, are you Mick?” he said. “I didn’t see a picture of you in your profile, so I wasn’t sure what you looked like.” I’d forgotten about not putting up a picture. Bonus points for Sam, then, for accepting a date with no photo.
“I am. Nice to meet you. Sorry, I forgot I hadn’t put up a picture, yet.”
He had a nice, crinkly grin. “You might want to get on that. With a name like Mick, you might get some interesting matches, otherwise. What’s Mick short for, or is that third-date material?”
I laughed. “Married-with-kids material, or at least meeting my mother and worming it out of her.”
“Any other terrible secrets I should know about before we grab some burritos?”
None I was willing to share, particularly since Sam hadn’t creeped me out in the first sixty seconds. In the legendary world of my dating exploits, that’s a pretty good sign.
I shook my head. “Let’s eat. Have you been here before? The deluxe burrito is awesome.”
Sam grinned. “I’m a single guy, a writer, and my place is down the street. I practically live here. I’ll go get the burritos. You want a beer to go with that?”
Cute, easy to talk to, sense of humor. He had to have some awful secret. Yeah, I’m jaded; it’s an occupational hazard.
Sam returned in a couple of minutes, two Sierra Nevadas in his hands. “They’re pretty backed up in there, so the burritos will be a minute.”
“You don’t have VIP status?”
“There’s a pretty big crowd that eats here daily. We’re trying to talk them into serving breakfast, too. Then I could probably sell my fridge.”
Uh-oh. Hawking household appliances didn’t sound financially stable. “Starving writer?”
Sam was distracted. “Huh? Oh, sorry, no. I just need more places to put my books. Kitchens are underused as book storage, don’t you think?”
“What’s caught your attention?” I figured she was curvy and scantily clad.
Sam looked a little embarrassed. “Sorry. People watching is an occupational hazard for a writer. I was just looking at that old couple over there in the corner. They look like they’re on their first date. It’s sweet.”
I looked over and nearly choked on my beer. There was Hazel, and I was pretty sure that was one of the guys we’d matched her up with. I’d handled her file personally. She caught me looking and gave me a wave and a thumbs-up.
Sam looked at me with interest. “You know her?”
“Only a little. I met her at the library.” I lied. Sue me. Sometimes, the truth does not set you free.
“You like to read?”
“I do. My library fines could probably fund a small third-world country. I’m thinking about getting a Kindle, though.”
Our food arrived. There is nothing that smells as good as a Cosmic deluxe burrito. Sam shuffled things to fit on our very small table.
“I sell a lot of books on Kindle,” he said. “But I still like my dead-tree books. If I can’t sell my fridge, I might have to get a bigger condo. I’m running out of book-storage space.”
“Have you written anything I might have read?”
Sam laughed. “Not if you stick to libraries. They don’t tend to stock my stuff.”
“What, you write about evolution?” Here in the South, that could definitely get you banned from the library shelves.
Sam choked on his beer. “Not exactly.” He took a deep breath. “I write erotica.”
That’s pretty much guaranteed to be a first-date conversation stopper.
I only had a vague idea of what erotica entailed, other than lots of sex. There were a couple of books I’d snuck under my covers as a teenager, but I had no idea if they were very representative.
Sam was watching me closely. I had no idea what to say. My date writes sex for a living—or maybe not. “Can you make a living doing that?”
He nodded. “Yeah, actually. I write sci-fi, too, but it doesn’t sell nearly as well. Erotica pays for the condo; sci-fi covers the burritos.”
I had to ask. “Do you tell this to all your first dates?”
He shook his head. “No. Just the ones that seem to be going well.” He sighed. “I’m Catholic. If I’m not honest with the women I like, I feel guilty.”
“Writing erotica doesn’t trigger your Catholic guilt?” Now there’s a sentence you don’t get to say on your average first date.
Sam’s eyes danced. “Some of it might. My stuff’s steamy, but pretty vanilla. There are some Catholic theologians who believe sex is a way of feeling closer to God.”
Damn. The way to my heart is definitely through my mind. “You’ve got to be kidding. I thought Catholics frowned on sex, except for procreation.”
“That would be the mainstream. The nice thing about being Catholic is that there are lots of cool fringes. I took some theology in college along with my writing courses.”
“And when did that lead to writing erotica?”
“About the time my student loans ran out, and I needed to pay the bills. A friend of mine tried it first, and his book advance was a very motivating figure. I found out I was good at it, so it kind of stuck.”
I was trying to shut down my weird meter. Sam seemed like a really nice guy, but it was hard to get past him spending hours every day writing sex scenes. Maybe he hated it. “Are you hoping to write other stuff one day?”
“I do write other stuff. I have a sci-fi series published.” He took a bite of his burrito and grinned. “People say the sex scenes in the sci-fi are really good. But really, writing erotica’s not so bad. I get to write all day, which I love. And I get to think about sex a lot, which really, if you’re a guy, is a good thing.”
Well, there were worse day jobs. “How do you get inspiration for your writing? It seems like there’s only so many ways to have sex.” I blushed. That hadn’t come out right.
Sam chuckled. “That’s what plot is for.” He gestured toward Hazel and her date. “I’m thinking they’d make some great inspiration for my next book.”
I contemplated matching Sam and Hazel up for their next dates. They’d probably get a huge kick out of each other.
Sam clearly thought we’d done en
ough talking about him. “So, what do you do? Your profile said you were a scientist.”
Oh, the tangled webs we weave. “Sort of. I work for MatchMakers.”
It took a minute for him to make the connection. “Seriously? What do you do? Wait. Is this a real date, or are you married with three kids and just doing research?” He looked moderately disappointed at that possibility.
“Nope, this is personal time. I lost a bet with my best friend, so I had to put my name in our system. I suck at finding my own dates.”
Sam laughed. “Not everyone who uses online dating is desperate.” His eyes narrowed. “Are they?”
“No, not really. About half the people we see get matched pretty quickly. It doesn’t all turn into marriage and three kids, but they hook up with someone. The other half range from desperate to totally creepy.”
Sam shrugged. “I’ve only had two dates before tonight, but they both seemed pretty normal.”
I told him about my date with Chris. He laughed. Probably more fodder for his writing. Yeah, I was having a hard time getting past the erotica.
Chapter 7
Sam was still on my mind when I met Jazie for lunch the next day. He’d sent me a sweet message through our system and asked for a second date. I was conflicted.
Jazie could tell. I’d taken about two bites of salad before she pinned me down with her best don’t-mess-with-me stare. “What is going on with you? You’re doing that staring-off-into-space scowling thing you do when you’ve got a problem to solve.”
That’s what best friends are for, to make you feel weird about your unconscious facial expressions. “I have two problems. Man trouble, and Match the Loser contest trouble. Which do you want to hear about first?”
She rolled her eyes. “Man trouble. Duh. What happened? Did you go out with Ian again?”
“Nope. I’ve had two new dates in three days. I put my profile in our system, remember?”
Jazie rubbed her hands together. “Excellent. What happened?”
“The first guy came as part of a threesome. They’re happy to share or take turns, whichever I prefer.”
“Eeeeewwww. I thought you flagged people for that sort of stuff.”
“We do, but someone has to report them first. He’s flagged now.” Karma said I’d probably get him in my next Match the Loser batch, since setting someone’s kinky flag pretty much ruined their chances for good matches. Oddly enough, matching kinky clients with each other had been really unsuccessful, and it was bad for business to match them with anyone else.
Jazie shuddered and moved on. Easy to do when you’re not swimming in a dangerous pool of single guys with unknown kink status. “Was the second date any better?”
I waffled. “Yeah. I really liked him, actually.” I held up a hand to forestall visions of shiny red hearts and dancing in the moonlight. Jazie’s visions, not mine. Gooey-in-love friends always want you to fall over the edge and join them. “Just one problem. He writes erotica for a living.”
Jazie laughed. “That’s a problem? Is he any good?”
I sighed. “Be serious for a minute. Isn’t it weird to date someone who’s thinking about sex all the time?”
“All guys think about sex all the time.”
“That’s what he said, but still.” I was not feeling the love from my best friend on this one. “A guy who writes about sex all the time? Isn’t that too weird?”
Jazie shook her head at me. “I peer at women’s vaginas all the time. You set people up on blind dates. And we’re seriously talking about how weird someone else’s job is?”
Well, when you put it that way. I made one last feeble attempt. “What if he’s just doing research when we’re on dates? What if I actually like him enough to consider sex? I don’t want to be in his next book.”
“I go back to my original question,” said Jazie. “Is his stuff any good? Because if it is, then maybe you just won the jackpot. Maybe he understands what a woman wants. Maybe he’s a total romantic with a steamy side.”
Maybe he’s a freak who stalks women on the Internet and chains them up in small, dark rooms. “Okay, I’ll read his stuff. Where the heck do you buy erotica, anyhow?”
Jazie grinned. “Time to buy that Kindle, girl. There are tons of erotic e-books. You can read them on your iPad, too.”
How to get fired in one quick, easy step. The iPad was work property. “How do you know this stuff?”
Jazie just winked at me. “When you’re done reading, pass it on.”
My best friend reads erotica? “Am I a total prude?”
“For someone who’s studied the mating behavior of guppies? Yeah.” Jazie patted my hand. “Don’t worry, it’s curable. So, besides his questionable occupation, how was the rest of the date?”
“He’s cute, funny, likes Cosmic burritos, and didn’t run screaming when he found out I worked at MatchMakers.”
Jazie’s eyes widened. “Wow, you told him where you work? That’s a big step for you. Are you taking him to a baseball game?”
“Some lines can’t be crossed. Besides, I still haven’t decided whether I’m going to see him again. I might match him up with Hazel.”
“Hazel, the sweet old lady with white hair?” Jazie grabbed the table to keep from falling off her chair, she was laughing so hard.
“Yup. She and her date were at Cosmic last night, too. Sam wants to feature them in a book.”
That did it. Jazie gave up and slid to the floor. “Mick, how can you not fall madly in love with a guy who wants to write about Hazel’s sex life?” She eventually got her giggles under control. “At least give him a second chance. Think about the alternatives you might pull out of the system.”
She had a point. “Hey, is there a statute of limitations on this bet? How long do I have to keep dating weirdos?”
Jazie considered. “Tell you what. I’ll cut your sentence in half if you go on a second date with Sam.”
“Sold. Now help me out with Match the Loser. I only have a couple more days to figure out what I’m going to do this time.”
“I thought you were going to get Miri drunk and steal her plan.”
“We are. She’s joining us for pizza and beer tomorrow night.” Fridays were girls’ night since Jazie’s man worked the late-night shift at the brewery. Apparently, you can’t leave the beer to brew by itself, even on Friday nights. Since he already had a girl, he got voted into the Friday night slot so everyone else could have a life.
“I get to get Miri drunk? Cool. She’s hilarious when she’s unsober.”
“Focus,” I said. “We’re not supposed to have fun; we’re supposed to niggle her winning formula out from wherever she hides it.”
Jazie shook her head. “Girl, with just a little more imagination, you could turn that into a very sexy story.”
Enough with the erotica already. “I give. I’ll go on a second date with Sam. Contest help, please?”
“Maybe Miri will try something else, and your ‘who would make the cutest babies’ formula will win this year. Why don’t you just do that one again? Your granny would love it; all those little old ladies had a blast ogling baby pictures.”
It was a reasonable Plan B, but I wasn’t thrilled about walking in with a losing strategy. “I’ve already tried random matches, and that sucked. Maybe I can look at their favorite sports teams.”
“Do most women have a favorite sports team?” asked Jazie dryly. She didn’t share my fondness for baseball and basketball.
She leaned over to the table beside us where four women were eating lunch. “Hey girls, help us out here. Can you name three sports teams?”
I snorted. Hello, we live in the Triangle. There are three college basketball teams within a fifteen-minute drive.
Apparently none of the four women paid any attention to the outside world. “My husband likes the boys that wear the baby-blue uniforms,” one of them said. “It’s a really nice color, but I don’t remember their names.”
I shook my head at Jazi
e. “Fine, point made. No matching on sports teams. Shoe sizes? Favorite colors?”
Jazie just sighed. “You do this for a living, right? Get Miri drunk; it’s your only chance.”
Chapter 8
Derrick was in love. Floating, gooey, circling-pink-hearts love.
Miri and I were totally freaked out. Okay, we were also totally jealous, but it was very weird to see data-boy all gooey.
We were working on matches, just like we do every morning. Miri read from a client sheet. “Bobby Joe is looking for a woman who can cook and appreciate a strong man.” She frowned. “He’s a Scorpio; they can be very jealous and short-tempered.”
Derrick looked up and smiled shyly. “Lily’s a Scorpio. She’s got a really even temper. We got totally trampled at Guild Wars last night, and all she did was kiss me.”
I had no idea what Guild Wars was, but I was glad it gave Derrick’s dating life a boost. With Bobby Joe, I suspected we had bigger issues. “Double first name? Where’s he from?”
Miri looked. “He lives in L.A.”
“No way he’s from L.A., not with a name like Bobby Joe.” I pulled up his detailed profile. “Born in Greensboro, South Carolina. That’s more like it. Derrick, can you get his residence history?”
Of course he could. “Moved to California from South Carolina last year. I’ll set his ‘bubba’ flag.”
Not every guy in the South is a bubba, but enough of them are to give MatchMakers real headaches. Not enough women in the South want bubbas anymore. In Los Angeles, Bobby Joe’s chances were slim. Someone needed to tell the man to move back home.
“Maybe he moved to L.A. to expand his potential,” said Miri. “People can change, Mick.”
I picked up his client sheet. “Wants a woman who appreciates a strong man and can cook.”
Miri sighed. “Fine, set his ‘bubba’ flag.”
“He’ll find someone,” said Derrick. “It just might take him a while.” Miri and I looked at him in stupefied silence.
“What?” he said, blushing. “Maybe we can help him out. Miri, what signs match up well with Scorpio?”
Miri and Derrick had worked together for two years. That one polite question he’d just asked would probably improve team relations more than anything I’d ever tried.
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