by RC Boldt
I offer a faint shrug. “I try to apply everything I’ve learned over the years and what I’ve gained from others in the industry.”
One dark brow arches as curiosity etches his features. “In the matchmaking industry?”
“Of sorts.” I wave, gesturing to the iPad with a stylus pen attached at the top of the screen which sits on my desk. “This includes an intake form. But before I have you fill that out, I have a few questions for you. If you could answer as honestly as possible, that helps greatly.”
He nods. “Of course.”
“One thing I need to know before we go any further…” I wait for him to meet my eyes, and when they do, I can’t ignore the uniqueness of his eye color and how captivating they are. “Why are you here?” I pose the question gently.
I ask this of all my potential clients before we even meet. Normally, I speak with them over the phone before we even progress to the face-to-face meeting, but since my sister fast-tracked him, I need to ask now.
He leans back in his chair, the white polo shirt drawing tight against his broad chest, the color accentuating his darker skin. The short sleeves pull tightly around his thick biceps as if straining to maintain their hold. His expression hovers between pensive and wry.
A long exhale rushes past his lips, and one edge of his mouth tilts up. “I could sleep with every woman who shows interest, but it’s not how I was made. Not how I was brought up.”
He runs his other hand down the back of his neck, averting his gaze as if embarrassed. “I needed help a while back because I was”—he breaks off with a grimace, and I know he’s referring to when he hired Ivy—“lonely and slept with a woman. Even though I knew it was wrong.”
His eyes lift to mine. “When you have parents like mine, you’re kind of slapped in the face with the fact that two people can actually find one another after going through some tough shit and still come out on top. What they have is the real deal.
“And yeah, I hit my low point a time or two, and I’m not proud of it. It sucked because I wanted even a sliver of what Mom and Dad have, but it wasn’t authentic, and I regretted giving in. Now, even more than ever, I know it’s possible when I see Beck and Ivy. I just need patience and…” He trails off with a half shrug. “And maybe someone to help me along.”
If anyone else—if any other man as attractive as Dax—were to come into my office and spout off this monologue, I’d likely fail to bite back a snort of disbelief. But beneath the hint of vulnerability, his eyes and words portray his sincerity.
“That’s exactly the answer I was hoping for. Because”—I lean in and rest my forearms on the desk—“I need to know you’re in this for the right reasons.”
Fingers grasping the form I normally use, pen poised to the paper, I start with the usual questions. “If you could describe the three most important qualities in your ideal match, what would they be?”
With barely any hesitation, he answers. “She’d be my best friend. Kind. With high morals.”
I work hard not to show my surprise—and maybe a little disbelief—at his response. Usually, men mention something physical.
Obviously, I need to improve my poker face because a small smile tugs at his mouth.
“You look like you think I’m feeding you a bunch of lines.” The edges around his eyes a shade of golden brown that remind me of butterscotch crinkle at the corners. “I’m not implying we’d have to like the same activities. We don’t have to be in each other’s pockets twenty-four seven. But I want a strong friendship to be there because”—he ducks his head, and a slight flush spreads across his cheeks—“that’s what my parents have.”
I drag my eyes from him and jot down his answers. “I’d like to go over your die-hard musts and must nots. Non-negotiables.”
He runs a palm along the fabric of one leg of his khakis, a corner of his mouth upturned. “No Snapchat addiction. I just don’t get it.” A sheepish smile spreads on his handsome face. “It annoys the hell out of me. I want a human, not a woman wearing animal ears in all her photos.”
I laugh softly, writing it down. “Noted.”
“I’d like her to be health conscious, at least a bit. And flexible when it comes to my schedule. Not super clingy.” He hastily adds, “I make time for those who mean the world to me. I don’t go a week without talking to my family. And kids are non-negotiable. She has to be good with them because I try to spend a lot of my time with my niece, Violet.” A soft, affectionate expression overtakes his features at the mere mention of the little girl, and my stomach flips.
He releases a sigh. “And jealousy is non-negotiable. I get that I model boxers and go shirtless for body wash commercials, but it’s a job. It’s money in the bank so I can help my family…” He trails off, as if suddenly overwhelmed with uneasiness.
I lean forward and gently prompt, “As much information as you can offer will help, Dax.”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and linking his fingers. His gaze lifts to mine, and the intensity of it nearly robs me of breath. “My family sacrificed everything for me. They knew I had a talent and would work overtime to save money for my uniforms or football clinics.
“My dad took”—he breaks off to clear his throat, dropping his eyes to the floor—“a can of soup and a cheese sandwich for his lunch for God only knows how long.” Soft brown eyes rise to meet mine, brimming with a depth of emotion that urges me to rush around my desk and hug him.
“I want my niece, Violet, to be able to go to college and not stress about money. I don’t want my family to worry about finances.” He chuckles softly, affection easy to detect. “Even though they fight me every time I try to help them out. But they deserve it.”
He darts up from the chair to stand by the window, gazing out at the downtown Jacksonville traffic below. “Everything I do is to make sure they’re taken care of. That the people who sacrificed everything for me don’t have to do that ever again.” His voice fades, and he falls silent as if deep in thought.
I regard him, allowing my eyes to sweep over his features. His body, so muscled and well-defined it’s evident even beneath his clothing, exemplifies how hard he works to maintain the high fitness level required for his job.
He’s thick with muscles everywhere—along his broad shoulders, firm thighs, and chest. His hair resembles something close to a buzz cut, and the scruff running along his jaw is the same dark shade. Lips that have no business being full—the kind women strive for by getting injections.
But even with all of that, his eyes are the feature that stands out for me. The soft golden brown color is entrancing, not only because of the shade but the wealth of emotion in their depths.
He turns around, jerking me from my musing, and reclaims his seat. His brows furrow in concentration, utter seriousness lining his features. “Two more non-negotiables. One is monogamy. Faithfulness. I have zero tolerance for cheating. When I’m in a committed relationship, I’m just that: committed. And the second is my job.”
I frown, not understanding. “What about your job?”
“I won’t be doing this forever, so that can’t be a deal breaker for her.” He waves a hand, gesturing to his body. “I mean, my body takes a lot of abuse, and I’d like to go out on top. Like Beck.” His lips curve up at the mention of his best friend. “I want to be able to chase after a little one without bad knees and a jacked-up back.”
“I think that’s understandable.” I offer a soft smile and jot down his responses before resting my forearms on my desk and tipping my head to the side. “Now, for physical preferences…”
He grimaces.
“Trust me, no judgment here. Everyone has them, Dax. It’s natural.” He doesn’t immediately answer, as though contemplating his response. Even though he’s been photographed with women who are curvier and with darker complexions, I never assume anything. I need to hear it from him as to what his preferences are.
Finally, his deep voice is thick, softer, and more velvety when he co
nfesses, “I prefer women who live on more than a piece of lettuce a day. Who really eat. Curvier women.”
“Any preference as far as ethnicity?”
He presses his lips together thoughtfully. “I normally gravitate toward women with darker skin.” Then he mutters under his breath, “I sound like an ass.”
I hold up a hand. “Like I said, this is judgment free. You like what you like.” I shrug with an easy smile, attempting to put him at ease. “It’s simple.” Quickly, I record his responses on the form.
I raise my eyebrows in question. “Anything else you’d like to add?”
He exhales slowly. “I think that’s it.”
I set my pen down and hand over the iPad. “This is the next step. The bulk of your intake form.”
He accepts the device from me and peers down at it. “Pretty high-tech stuff.” With splayed fingers over the iPad to hold it in place, he rests it on his muscular thigh. Amusement sparkles in his eyes. “You’re confident you can find me Mrs. Right?”
“I am.”
“Well, then, Miss Darcy Cole.” He grasps the iPad, lifts it from his knee, and flashes me a boyish grin. The sight of that dimple causes flutters in my stomach. “I guess I’d better get to work.” With that said, he focuses on his task.
And I instantly know what I need to work on.
I need to shore up my damn dimple resistance.
4
Dax
“I’m officially spent. Who knew intake forms could be this exhausting?” I stretch my arms to the sides with a sigh.
I’m not kidding about the exhaustion part. I think I have a crick in my neck. From what I’ve heard, Darcy’s business has really taken off, and I’d bet my hard-earned money she worked me into her schedule to accommodate Becket’s request.
Not only that, but I’m also taking the fact that she didn’t bring it up as her silent agreement that we keep that night firmly in the past.
“It’s a lot, I know. But I want to be sure we cover all our bases.” Darcy types something, the tiny crease between her eyebrows accentuating her look of utter concentration before she moves away and turns her blue eyes on me.
With a polite smile, she links her fingers casually on top of her desk. “I’ll be guiding you each step of the way, so rest assured, you won’t have to go it alone.”
She picks up a pen and toys with it absentmindedly. “Now that you’ve filled out the form and I have a better idea of what you’re looking for in a woman, I’ll look through some possible matches, and I’ll be in touch within the next few days.”
“That’s it?” I’m honestly surprised.
She laughs a little. “That’s it.” Her eyes shine with humor. “My homework for now is to go through your responses and input them in the database to see who you’re matched with.”
I frown slightly. “Seems technical.”
She raises a palm. “It is in a way. But I double-check everything so there’s no computer error.”
“What happens once you find my matches?”
“I’ll sit down with you and discuss a plan for meeting with each one once we narrow them down to about four or so.”
I hesitate, not wanting to come off as some cocky asshole. “If it’s possible for my identity to…” I trail off when she nods.
“I plan to go about this without you being named at first. This way I can test the waters, so to speak, and determine if they find it acceptable to date someone with a hectic schedule but also someone in the spotlight.”
I drag a hand along my jaw. “Not that I’m doubting you, but I… Well, I’ve had a hell of a time finding someone who’s not solely interested in boosting their Instagram following or in my bank account.”
Darcy offers a sympathetic smile. “Let me handle that. When I touch base with you, you can tell me your thoughts. I won’t force you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. I promise.”
I nod slowly. “Well, I’m in your capable hands now.”
“That you are.”
“Am I dismissed?” I grin. “So you can get started pimping me out?”
She gives me an amused eye roll. “You are dismissed, Mr. Kendrick.”
“Dax,” I correct her gently.
Blue eyes flick to mine. “Dax,” she repeats softly.
I exit her office and can’t help but wonder what the hell has me feeling off-kilter.
Probably the fact I’ve just left the office of a matchmaker.
Can’t wait for my mother to hear this one.
“Where’s my favorite girl?” I call out, entering my childhood home.
“I’m here, Uncle Dax!” my niece, Violet, hollers through the house just before her quick footsteps follow.
My parents refused to let me buy them a new house once I started putting money in the bank. Mom didn’t want the neighbors to think she and Dad thought they were better than anyone else. This means my parents, my sister, and niece, all still live in the fifteen-hundred-square-feet home I grew up in.
I did pay off their mortgage as well as my sister’s student loans before I set up a college fund for my niece, much to their dismay. But let’s be honest, it’s the least I could do for a family who’s always been there for me.
Dad refused to retire from the hardware store, but I at least got him to agree to go from full-time to part-time a few years ago. It took some aggressive bargaining, but when I’d shown him how well the account I’d started for them with my financial planner had been doing, he’d finally relented.
“Hey! I thought I was your favorite girl!” another female voice protests.
“Well, I don’t know,” I hedge. “Depends on if you made any chocolate chip cookies.”
My mother promptly swats at me with a laugh, the little crinkles at the corners of her eyes becoming more pronounced. The guys always say I resemble my mom, and even though I know they say it in more of a shit talking, you look like your mama kind of way, it’s still true. She and I have the same smile, and although her skin is darker than mine—my dad’s the odd man out in the family with fair white skin—there’s no mistaking me for being her son.
I pull her close for a hug, and she pats my back, mumbling, “I swear, you just keep getting more muscles every time I see you.” The top of her head barely reaches my shoulder, and her dark hair seems like it has more gray threaded in it each time I see her.
“Don’t give him a bigger head than he already has.”
My eyes catch sight of Violet and my sister, Ava, entering the small kitchen. Mom releases me, and Violet rushes past her mother intent on getting to me first. I bend and scoop her up in a big hug.
“Uncle Dax, I missed you.” Her whispered words wrap themselves around me.
“I missed you, too, love bug.” God, I swear, she’s growing like a damn weed lately. Once I set her on her feet, she starts talking a mile a minute.
“Oh my gosh, Uncle Dax! You’re not going to believe what happened the other day in gymnastics camp. That girl I told you about—the one who was saying my hair was weird and stuff—well, I finally had enough, and I did what you told me to do.”
All eyes are suddenly on me. Trust me when I say this is not what a man wants in this household because it normally means I’m in deep shit.
“Uh, remind me again what I told you?” I say slowly, praying to God above that I hadn’t made some idiotic, off-the-cuff comment as a joke, and she took me seriously.
Violet gives me one of those old people are so forgetful looks. “You said I could use sarcasm because most people who are mean and rude don’t understand it, and it’ll go over their head and be a beautiful inside joke for you and everyone else who doesn’t have shit for brains.”
“Violet,” my mother and Ava say in unison, flashing me a stern look.
Violet grimaces. “Sorry. But I was quoting him.” Then she picks right up. “And then you said I should let it roll off my shoulders like it doesn’t bother me.” She grins happily. “Well, I did a combination of the two. And she�
�s totally left me alone ever since.” My niece pumps a fist in the air. “Go Team Kendrick!”
“Way to go!” We exchange a high five. Sobering, I school my face in a stern expression. “Remember not to cuss, though. It’s not ladylike.”
Her sweet face peers up at me, so adorably cute with such seriousness that it takes all my effort to not break into a smile. “How about ‘crap’?”
“Uh…” I flick my eyes to Ava, who makes a face before shrugging. “I think that one can be okay, as long as it’s not overused.”
Violet nods. “Noted.” God, this kid is such an old soul sometimes. “I’m going to practice my backflips for gymnastics some more out back.” In a flash, she’s gone.
I sag against the counter. “Man, two minutes, and I’m exhausted.”
My sister sidles up beside me and snickers. “As if Mr. Gatorade himself ever gets exhausted.”
I toss her a sharp look. “Seriously? One advertising campaign for a sports drink, and you’re giving me sh—”
“Ahem!” our mother clears her throat pointedly.
“Crap.” Mom nods in approval, and I continue. “About it?” I place a palm flat against the center of my chest, feigning sadness. “Where’s the love?”
She shoves at me playfully. “You get enough love from all your admirers.”
Mom huffs. “You need to settle down with a nice woman.”
“Speaking of a nice woman…” I press my lips thin, trying to figure out how to best tell them, but decide to throw caution to the wind. “I hired a professional,” I blurt out.
As if in slow motion, my mother turns around slowly from where she’s stirring something on the stove. My sister’s jaw goes slack. And they both gape at me.
Just the reaction a guy wants.
My mother’s expression is horrified. Not quite what I was expecting, but then again, she’s always been a spitfire.
