Dear All Star Player (The Matchmaker Series)

by Tracy Lorraine

Book Nerd 69

  I feel ridiculous signing a letter with that name, but it was all I could come up with. At least it’s better than his.

  After wrapping the book and sealing the envelope, I take the short walk down to the post office and send it to the What The Heart Wants office. I guess I now just sit and wait to see what happens next, see if he’s still interested in the nerd who sends him books.

  More than a week goes by and I start to think it’s over before it ever really started with All Star Player. Rolling my eyes at his name, maybe it’s for the best I forget about the whole thing and move on.

  I quickly check my mailbox before letting myself inside. I’m stopped in my tracks when I find a parcel staring back at me. Butterflies erupt in my belly as I stand and stare at the perfectly wrapped package with a letter taped to the top. I may have only received one letter from him before, but I immediately recognize the writing.

  Pulling it out and placing it under my arm, I make quick work of shutting myself in my house so I can discover what’s inside. Bryony’s already on her way for our Friday night dinner, seeing as she has her second weekend in a row without a date. I bought extra wine to sooth her disappointment.

  Placing the groceries on the countertop, I turn to the package. It’s heavier than I was expecting, but as I run my fingers around the edges excitement fills me. It’s a book.

  Careful not to ruin the wrapping, I pull the letter off before turning it over and gently unwrapping it. My breath catches in my throat as I take in the contents.

  “What the hell?” I breathe. I vaguely hear the front door shutting, announcing Bryony’s arrival, but I can’t pull my eyes away from the book in my hands.

  “Hellooo…Rose?”

  “Kitchen,” I call.

  “Hey, is everything okay? What’s that? Another random find in the shop?”

  “No, it’s a first edition signed copy of Gone With The Wind.”

  “Okay, and you’re staring at it like you would your firstborn because…”

  “Because it’s worth a damn fortune. Do you have any idea how hard these are to get hold of? How much they cost?”

  “Uh…hard, and a lot, if your excitement is anything to go by. How have you got it?”

  “He sent it.”

  “He who?” Glancing down at the wrapping and letter on the counter, her eyes go wide. “Oh my God. He as in him. The All Star Player? Why’s he sent it to you?”

  “No idea. Trust me, I’m as confused as you are right now.”

  Placing the book down like it’s made of glass, I grab his letter and unfold it.

  Dear Book Nerd 69,

  Thank you so much for the book. It’s definitely given me some ideas to help fill my time. Although, if I’m being honest, it’s you who’s holding my attention right now.

  An unfamiliar feeling explodes in my lower stomach with the knowledge that I’ve captured a man’s attention. Even if it is just with words.

  I wanted to send you something in return…I hope you like it. I understand it’s not something you often find in a bookstore.

  He goes on to talk about his week, but I can feel Bryony staring at me from across the counter, so I put the letter down.

  “So, what did he say?”

  “That it’s a gift.”

  “Wow, I think you’ve found a good one there. You should totally suggest meeting up so you can thank him properly.” Her eyebrows wiggle at the suggestion. Throwing a tea towel at her, I slide the letter back into the envelope to finish later once I’m alone.

  Seth

  “You sent her a book that’s worth how much?”

  “It’s nothing. She seems sweet and I wanted to do something nice.”

  “A bunch of flowers is something nice, Seth. You dropped almost ten thousand dollars on a girl you’ve never met, just because you felt like it.”

  “It felt right.”

  “You don’t even know her.”

  “Not true,” I state, and his eyes widen. “She’s the same age as me, loves books, and works in a bookstore.”

  “And because of those nuggets of useless information, you decided to send her a gift worth more than most guys spend on a diamond?”

  “I thought you were on board with this. You were the one who set it up.”

  “I am. I also think you’ve lost your mind.”

  He may have a point, but when I opened what she sent me, I knew I had to return the favour. No one has sent me anything meaningful in a very long time. I needed her to know how much I appreciated it.

  “So, when are you meeting her?”

  I take a swig of beer as I think about how to answer that question. Of course, I want to meet her. I’ve been imagining what she might be like since the moment her letter arrived. Brunettes have always been my type, but what if she’s not what I’ve built up in my mind? Would I be disappointed? I chastise myself for thinking it because the whole point of this agency is to match people without looks as a guide, and here I am worrying about what she might look like. In reality, she might take one look at me, realize who I am, and run in the opposite direction. It’s not like I’ve got a good reputation, and the gossip-hungry reporters only make it sound worse than it actually is.

  “The rules say—”

  “Oh, fuck off. When have you ever followed the rules? Valentine’s Day is only a few weeks away. Invite her on a date.”

  I open my mouth to respond but no words leave my lips.

  “What’s wrong? Did they remove your balls while they were working on your shoulder?”

  Dear All Star Player,

  Wow, I don’t know what to say. This book is incredible, but no matter how thoughtful, I can’t possibly accept such a generous gift.

  I’m glad to hear you’ve been finding things to do. I can’t imagine not having a job. When I’m not at the bookstore, I’m writing or cooking for my best friend, who apparently can’t be bothered to do it herself.

  I don’t want to make things uncomfortable and jump into the heavy stuff too soon, but what are you hoping to get out of this? What are you looking for?

  Look forward to hearing from you,

  Book Nerd 69 x

  There are so many things I could say in response to her questions. I’m looking for a purpose in life, for a reason not to drink myself into oblivion every night, a reason to get up every morning. I’m looking for something, or someone, to bring me joy, to make me smile. Someone who’ll like me for who I am and not the famous football player with enough money to buy them whatever they desire.

  I sit back with the pad of paper on my lap and chew the lid of my pen. I don’t want to put any of that to paper for many reasons. The most obvious…it makes me look like a loser.

  I’m not a loser. Or, at least, I never used to be. I’ve been a winner from the first day my dad threw me a ball. I had goals and ambitions. But all that’s been shot to shit. All I’ve got left are memories and money that I now have no idea what to do with.

  In the end, my response is very different. I forget about everything she asked and ask one single question of my own.

  Now to wait and see what she’ll do.

  Rose

  Dear Book Nerd 69,

  I understand if you can’t accept the gift. If you’d like to return it, it needs to be in person.

  The Harlequin.

  8 pm.

  14th February.

  Will you be there?

  All Star Player x

  My hands tremble as I read and reread his latest letter.

  He wants us to meet. But it’s too soon. The rules say we should exchange more letters. Get to know each other better.

  As my heart races, I know it’s not just with fear.

  I’m excited.

  I’m desperate to meet the man who’s goofy as hell in his letters, yet sends me thousands of dollars’ worth of signed literary history.

  Placing the letter down on the table in the little staff room at work, I reach into my bag for my cell.

&nb
sp; He wants to meet. I hit send and immediately see Bryony’s typing a response.

  When? Where? You need to book a waxing appointment.

  I ignore her final words and type out what he wrote in his letter. This time, she doesn’t reply with text. Instead, my cell starts ringing. Swiping the screen, I put it to my ear.

  “Do you know how long the waiting list is to get in that place?” she asks without even bothering to say hello.

  “Not really.”

  “It’s long. Like, really long. I’ve already sent my waxing girl a message, and you also need to get your hair and nails done. We’re going to have to go shopping. No offence, but you don’t own anything elegant enough for that place.”

  “No.”

  “What?”

  “I said no. If, and I mean if, I go, then I’m going as me. I’ll get my hair done as it’s overdue as it is, but I’m not going out and buying some designer dress I’ll never wear again. I might not even like this guy in real life.”

  “You’re so going. Don’t even try to pretend you’re considering standing him up.”

  “I might.”

  “Whatever. Book that appointment now. I’ll message you when I’ve got you a waxing one. Shit, I’ve got to go. Bye, love ya.”

  I stare down at my cell long after she’s hung up. My best friend’s a whirlwind. I’ve no clue how she manages to plan other people’s weddings. She’s a hot mess at the best of times.

  I pull up my hairdresser’s number and set about making an appointment. I tell myself I need it nonetheless and that it’s got nothing to do with a potential date that I may or may not turn up for.

  Who am I kidding? I'm too damn nosey to not at least turn up to see who he is, and what he looks like.

  I decide against writing back to him. I didn’t get the impression from his letter that he was expecting me to. Instead, I spend the days leading up to Valentine’s Day doing anything possible to distract myself from the fact I could be meeting my All Star Player in mere days.

  I’m going to get to find out if he is just an obnoxious ladies’ man, or even worse…a football player.

  “I knew it,” Bryony says, opening my bedroom door and marching straight in. “You are not wearing that.”

  “What? It’s cute.”

  “Yeah, if you’re an eight-year-old girl or going to visit your granny in a nursing home. You’re going on a date with a guy who could be the one. You need to make more of an effort.”

  I thought I’d made a pretty good effort. My usually straight hair is curled, I have more make up on than I’ve worn in years, and I even went to the damn waxing appointment Bryony insisted on.

  “I just want to be comfortable.”

  “Said no woman going on a hot date ever! Take it off.”

  “What?”

  “Take it off. I brought you something else.” Digging into the bag she has over her arm, she drags out a red dress.

  “No, no, no,” I chant when she holds the skin-tight bodycon dress towards me.

  “I think you mean yes. It’s perfect and will knock him on his ass.” Seeing the argument that’s about to fall from my lips, she continues. “That granny dress screams lack of confidence. This dress oozes sex appeal. You and your curves will own the entire restaurant. Every guy will be jealous of Mr. Player when you strut past wearing this.”

  “I don’t strut, Bry.”

  “Maybe not, but you are wearing this.”

  There wasn’t much chance of me winning the argument. I’m also not stupid enough to discount what Bryony was saying. The red dress I’m currently shimmying up my thighs is much more appropriate. It’s just a shame I’ve no idea if the guy I’m going to meet will be worth this much effort.

  “Is it wrong to be proud because you at least put a little thought into your underwear?” she asks, eyeing my black and silver lingerie set.

  “Stop looking at my ass.”

  She laughs, completely missing the cushion I throw at her head until it hits her in the face.

  “Hey, that’s no way to treat the person who just made getting laid a sure thing for you tonight.” Her eyes run the length of me where I’m stood looking at myself in the mirror. “You’re hot. I hope this guy realizes how lucky he is.”

  “Me too,” I mutter, looking at a version of myself I hardly recognize.

  “Have you got condoms?” Bryony shouts just as I pull open the door of the Uber I called.

  “Not necessary,” I call back, much to the amusement of the driver.

  “Sounds like the guy you’re meeting is going to have blue balls by the end of the night with you looking like that,” the Uber driver says.

  I catch his eye in the rear-view mirror and narrow mine. He soon mutters an apology and we drive towards the restaurant in silence. I quickly think it might have been a mistake though, because a little banter with the driver might have helped distract me from what I’m about to do.

  My heart races and my hands tremble as he pulls up outside the fancy restaurant. There’s already a line forming to get a table. I’ve read about this place online, but knowing I’d never afford to eat here, I never really paid that much attention. But it seems what Bryony said about it being in demand is true.

  Walking past the line of people, I feel eyes burning into my back. The maître d’ watches me approach. He doesn’t look at me like I might be lost and looking for the local McDonalds, so I take that as a win.

  “I’m meeting someone at eight who I guess has a reservation,” I say with as much confidence as I can muster.

  “Do you know the name?”

  “Uh…” I panic. I’ve no clue what his name is. “P…Player?” I stutter.

  “Yes. I have a Mr. A Player with a reservation for two. Please follow me, ma’am.”

  Walking through the restaurant, I can’t get over the lavishness of my surroundings. The lights are low and candlelight flickers from each table. Couples of all ages stare lovingly at each other across their designer plates and expensive drinks.

  Granted, I’ve never had a date on Valentine’s Day before, but this is not what I would have imagined if I did. It’s a world away from what I’m used to.

  With the assistance of the maître d’, I slide out of my coat and order a glass of champagne to keep me company while I wait for my date.

  Shit.

  I thought I was nervous on the drive here. But now sitting and staring at the empty chair in front of me, I feel like I could puke on the shiny tiled floor under my feet.

  Pulling my cell from my clutch, I send Bryony a panicked message.

  What if he doesn’t show?

  He will. You look gorgeous. She responds immediately, it’s as if she was waiting for me to freak out.

  Eight o’clock comes and goes, and I’ve almost drained my glass while wondering if I should admit defeat when the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

  Looking up, I find a man staring directly at me as he walks towards the table.

  The second our eyes connect, it’s like the world’s fallen out from beneath me.

  I feel like I’ve been winded as I stare at him.

  My worst nightmare.

  The captain of the football team.

  Seth Brady.

  Seth

  I had every intention of being there, waiting for her, but everything about today is fucking with me. The latest problem being the taxi I ordered never arrived, so I ended up driving, getting stuck in construction traffic, and ultimately being late.

  The longer I sat there, the more likely it was that I was going to be the guy to stand up a girl on Valentine’s Day. I may not have been the best date—I could say boyfriend, but I’d use that term very lightly—in the past, but standing someone up on the most romantic day of the year was low, even for me.

  I could have phoned the restaurant, but my disaster of a day also included shattering my cell on the kitchen floor. Honestly, I’m not sure what else could go wrong.

  I see her the moment the maît
re d’ starts leading me towards our table. It’s not just that she’s the only person sitting alone at a table that draws me to her, but the aura surrounding her. Innocence mixed with confidence and beauty.

  Fuck, she’s beautiful.

  Her dark hair’s curled and laying over one shoulder, her make-up light, showing off her natural, pretty face, and she’s wearing a red dress that dips low enough to show of the most deliciously teasing amount of cleavage.

  Fucking hell. It seems my luck has just turned around.

  “The waiter will be over shortly to take your orders. Have a wonderful evening,” the maître d’ says before disappearing from sight. Not that I was looking at him. The woman in front of me has stolen every bit of my attention.

  “You sure don’t look like a book nerd.” I pull my chair out and sit down. I can feel her eyes on me, but it’s not until I look up again that I notice the expression on her face and, dare I say it, the hate pouring from her eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, my brows drawing together in confusion.

  “What’s wrong?” she repeats, sounding offended I even asked the question. “You. You are what’s wrong. I should have known this was too good to be true.”

  The screech of her forcing her chair back has me jumping into action.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Leaving. This was a massive mistake.”

  “How can you say that? You don’t even know me.”

  “Just because you don’t recognize me, doesn’t mean I don’t know you.”

  My fingers encircle her wrist as she goes to walk past me. She looks down at my hand with disgust before pulling away from my grasp.