The Matchmaker's Playbook

by Rachel Van Dyken

  She frowned. “What’s wrong with glasses?”

  “And a bald spot.” I nodded thoughtfully, then pointed to her temple. “Right here.”

  Rolling her eyes, she stepped back and escaped.

  For the record, I let her.

  She was out the door maybe five feet before she turned around one last time.

  They always did.

  They always would.

  I waved.

  She flipped me off.

  She might as well have kissed me.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Sunlight broke through the clouds, a rarity in January, when it was usually rainy and gray. The calming sound of the fountain was broken the minute my Superman ringtone went off. Duty called.

  “It worked!” Shell screamed into the phone. I barely managed to save my eardrum by pulling the phone away while she continued to shriek.

  “Of course it did,” I said with a bored tone. If I didn’t know what I was doing, I’d suck at my job. A few girls walked by my bench and waved. The wind picked up, causing some of the water from the fountain to sprinkle across the girl closest to me. Her revealing white shirt was most definitely getting wet. And I didn’t miss the fact that she leaned into the water, turned to make sure I was looking, then stuck her finger in her mouth and sucked. Hard.

  What a shame that she had to ruin her shirt in order to gain my attention. I almost pitied her, and then, she turned toward me.

  Or not. Not a shame. God bless America.

  She blew me a kiss.

  I winked in response.

  Her friends giggled at our exchange.

  At this point I expected either the solitary giggle or the hateful stare. I usually only received the second if I’d already been with the girl and forgotten her name, or the fact that we’d slept together in the first place. That’s why I had Lex! And my damn calendar. So I didn’t forget important information.

  “Shell, remember what I said about phone calls.” She needed to calm the hell down. Unless his penis was made of gold and he could single-handedly take down every Avenger, the screaming wasn’t necessary. Not one bit. Again, the man liked tea. Enough said. “I need you to listen very carefully.”

  She sighed into the phone. “I know, I know. I was just excited. It won’t happen again, Ian. You’re the best!”

  I know. “He’s going to try to get you alone. Say no.”

  “But—”

  “Rule number five: Tell him you’re busy. From here on out, you are always busy, until I tell you that you aren’t. Got it?”

  “But, Ian, it’s working. I mean, he asked me out twice today.”

  “Twice is nothing, and we aren’t through the rules yet.” I reached for my old-school planner and wrote down the number two next to day two. He was moving through the stages fast for a tea-drinking hippie. Guys usually hit the first stage of jealousy and hang out there for a while, rarely making a move or stomping on another man’s territory until day three or four. “The minute he’s done asking, he’ll move on to telling. That’s when you have him. Not when he asks you out, but when he demands your time and waits outside your dorm until he gets it.”

  “Wow,” Shell breathed. “That’s . . . romantic.”

  “I know guys.” I checked my watch. “Gotta run. New client.”

  “Thanks, Ian. Bye. And—”

  I hung up.

  I didn’t have time to form relationships with my clients, especially not the ones who’d cry once I told them to cut off all communication at the end of our contract. Better that I keep all conversations short and to the point rather than let our little transaction turn into a romantic entanglement that could potentially destroy my business.

  With a relaxed sigh, I leaned back against the bench. My dark D&G sunglasses hid my eyes so I could study people as they passed. It was usually easy picking out new clients. They almost always approached the bench I was sitting on looking like they were going to puke. Several had turned around and started walking the other way while others had marched right up to me and burst into tears.

  Frowning, I glanced at the calendar app on my phone. Lex had written in “noon.” It was five after. I could be eating Thai with Gabi instead of sitting in the chilly wet weather waiting for some chick to grow a pair and approach me.

  Granted, they never knew it was me behind the business until they saw who was sitting on the bench. That was part of the beauty of the cards.

  Lex and I decided to keep things simple. If the girls never knew our identities until after we took them on as a client, then we didn’t have to worry about the aftermath if we rejected them.

  And we rejected plenty of applications, but that was all before the meeting ever took place.

  Irritated, I swiped my thumb across my phone to call Lex and tell him to drop the client, when someone stumbled into the spot next to me.

  Curious, I glanced up.

  “Blake?” I almost laughed out loud. No way in hell.

  Face pale, she glanced away and mumbled, “You really are everywhere.”

  “Like God, only less powerful.”

  “Surprised you can say his name without getting struck by lightning.”

  “Well, don’t sit too close, just in case.”

  With an exaggerated eye roll, she scooted to the farthest part of the bench, crossed her arms, and tapped her foot.

  “Waiting for someone?” Oh, this was too good.

  Blake pretended not to hear me. Her hair was still pulled back into a tight bun, her baggy Nike shirt had paint on it, and her pink Nike shorts would be cute if they were actually the right size. Had she been overweight once and then just never went shopping for new clothes?

  “Look.” Blake uncrossed her arms and turned toward me. “I’ll pay you to leave right now.”

  “In what?”

  “Huh?” She started chewing on her thumbnail. That nervous habit would have to go. I should probably start compiling a list.

  I leaned closer. “What will you pay me in?”

  “Rupees.” She glared. “Cash, you idiot.”

  “No can do.” I scooted over so that our thighs were touching and pretended to be staring at my phone. Curiosity always won. I just had to wait it out.

  “Fine, how do I get rid of you?”

  Bingo! “Easy.” I was still staring at the locked screen on my phone that had a Superman emblem with a W in the middle. “You pay me in whatever currency I designate.”

  “You have your own money or something?”

  “Or something.” I pulled off my sunglasses and shoved them in the front pocket of my leather jacket. “Either you pay me with ten minutes of your time, or you pay me with a kiss. Since it appears you’d rather eat shit than spend another second with me, I’d go for the kiss. It’ll be over quicker and will most likely increase your popularity. You may even get lucky and find your picture on my Twitter feed.”

  “No.” She burst out laughing. “Not happening.”

  “Fine.” I put my sunglasses back on.

  “Look.” Her voice became desperate. “I’m kind of meeting someone, and it’s important, and I don’t want you here. In fact, I was specifically told that if I didn’t come by myself, the contract would be . . .” She glanced down at her hands. “Just . . . go. Now.”

  “One kiss,” I whispered under my breath. “Am I that ugly? That you can’t even kiss me?”

  Gritting her teeth, she muttered a curse, then grabbed my face and planted one of the quickest kisses of my lifetime—on my cheek.

  On. My. Cheek.

  “What was that?” I touched the spot where she kissed. “Seriously? What the hell?”

  “A kiss!” She threw her hands into the air. “Now go!”

  With a laugh, I swiped the screen on my phone and opened up the file with her information. I always waited until after the first meeting to learn the client’s name and read their file, since I felt it would be unfair of me to judge someone based on reputation alone. Lex knew the names, but I never di
d until they sat on the bench.

  It was part of my process.

  She was from Idaho, which I already knew, but she didn’t move with a parent. Good ol’ dad was still back in Riggins. Points for the single-parent guess, though. Nope, she’d moved a few states over . . . for a guy. “Interesting.”

  “What?” She chewed harder on her thumb. “Never mind. I’m leaving. This was a stupid idea.”

  I let her walk three steps before speaking. “You think David would approve of that attitude? Says here he values optimism above all things.” I paused for half a beat as though considering. “Shit, what’s he studying? Spiritualism?”

  Blake froze. Then she turned slowly, her face white as a sheet. “How do you know that?”

  “I hacked your e-mails.”

  Ouch. Didn’t realize it was possible for her to pale more.

  “Wow, you look a little green.” I stood, then grabbed her arm and started walking with her. “And I was kidding.” Once we were under the nearest tree, I pushed her against it and pulled off my sunglasses again, this time allowing my eyes to fully inspect her face. Strong chin, blue eyes, the freckles again, pouty lips. “Very pretty.”

  “What is this?”

  “Wingmen Inc.,” I said in a cocky tone. “But since we’re already on a first-name basis . . .”

  “No.” Blake shook her head. “There has to be some mistake.”

  “Sorry.” I pulled back enough so she could have some breathing room. “No mistake. Lex and I are the masterminds behind the fastest-growing relationship service in the Pacific Northwest.”

  Blake exhaled slowly. “But . . . you’re a . . .”

  “Whore?”

  She nodded.

  “I enjoy women.” I shrugged. “And I help women, all types of women, find their perfect match. Is that so wrong?”

  “But—”

  “We have a lot of work to do.” I tilted my head. “Do you know what Victoria’s Secret is?”

  “You’re an ass.”

  “Duh, I’m a guy. But, I’m also your new love coach. I don’t charge two hundred bucks a day to be your friend.” I nodded, and my body buzzed with excitement over the challenge—she’d be one, that was for sure. “I’ll do it. That is, if you’re still interested in this David.”

  She looked hesitant. Her body language was closed-off completely, so I knew she’d be a tough one to crack. Especially since I could tell she wasn’t my biggest fan. Then again, she didn’t need to be. Maybe I needed to remind her of that.

  “Look.” I licked my lips and held out my hand. She took it, thankfully. “We have a ninety-nine percent success rate. Follow the rules, follow my advice and guidance, and you’ll be popping out little Davids in no time.”

  “Kids?” she choked.

  “Or whatever it is you want. I’ll get it for you. The only time our process doesn’t work is if you refuse to play by my rules.” I arched my eyebrows at the sound of her teeth clenching. “Or when the match isn’t your ideal match. But if you’re here, that means it’s already been settled, and if you listen to me, you’ll have your guy. But if for some reason this David isn’t a soul-saving Mother Teresa saint who shits rainbows, or if you change your mind about him, then we’ll find you someone else who’s a better match. It’s the perfect program. Believe me—Lex designed it, and he’s a genius.”

  This was always the part I hated. The thinking part, when I waited for the client to say yes or no. Women overanalyzed everything, and again, I didn’t have time for it. Patience made me shaky.

  “Anonymity is key. In public, people speculate that we’re dating or maybe even together. In private, I coach you, help you find whatever dormant sexuality you’ve kept hiding under all that hair and those flip-flops. And after a few days, or”—I winced at her clothing—“maybe in your case a few weeks”—she glared—“we part ways with a handshake, or a high five, if that’s your preference, and you skip off into the sunset with your one and only true love.”

  “Can I think about it?”

  “Sure.” I nodded. “You have two minutes. Also, did you miss the part where I said sunset? True love?”

  “Two minutes?” She started breathing heavy.

  “My time is precious. Next to kissing, it’s another one of my currencies, the most valuable thing I have. Don’t waste it.”

  “It was an impulse! A girl on my team gave me your card after I was complaining about being invisible to David, and—”

  “Megan,” I said, snapping my fingers. “Nice girl. Helped her pick out her wedding colors before the poor bastard even knew she liked him.”

  Blake’s mouth dropped open. “You mean you were the one that said to go with orange blossom and white?”

  “They complement each other so well. Besides, he’s a football player and legally color-blind in both eyes. Guy can’t see worth shit, and she needed help.”

  “So not only do you know everyone at this school, but you know every athlete too?”

  “I possess a lot of school spirit. Wanna hear the fight song?”

  Blake stared down at the ground.

  “Thirty seconds.”

  Her head jerked up.

  “Twenty.”

  Panic was starting to set in as her eyes darted back and forth between me and a route of escape.

  “Ten.”

  “Fine,” she yelled. “Fine.” With a jerk she pulled her hair from her ponytail holder, then retwisted it. “What?”

  I frowned. “Is all that real?”

  “What?”

  “Your hair.”

  “Yes.”

  Without asking permission, I tugged her hair out of the rubber band and ran it through my fingers, savoring the silky feel. “It’s perfect. Men are suckers for long hair. I think it goes back to the early days when cavemen would grab women by the hair and tug them back to their sad little hay beds and make sweet love to them.”

  “That’s”—Blake shook her head—“probably one of the most offensive things I’ve ever heard.”

  I shrugged. “Get used to it. As of right now, you’ll hear a lot of shit. That’s because I don’t believe in candy-coating anything. Honesty is key, and, baby, I’ve gotta be real honest here.” I let out a loud sigh. “If you want to turn the head of the captain of the basketball team, we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  Her shoulders slumped.

  “But I’m the best.” I wrapped my arm around her waist and tugged her against me. “We start tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “I’ll e-mail you the questionnaire for the second stage, and the schedule once I talk to Lex.” I stepped away from her. “Oh, and if David seeks you out at all during this process, talk to me first. If he texts you today, ignore him. If he calls you, tell him you’re busy with your new study partner.”

  “Is that you?”

  “I’m not just your study partner, Blake. From here on out? I’m your everything.”

  “Great,” she grumbled.

  “Oh, it is.” I winked. “Believe me.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “You’re going to want to see this,” Lex yelled the minute I walked into our shared house a few miles off campus. We had a sick view of Puget Sound, thanks to the house that my wealthy parents had left me when they died. Rather than paying Lex for his services, I let him live with me for free. Not that he really needed it. He already worked for Apple and was basically able to name his price for all hacking activities done on the side.

  Selfishly, I kept wishing Microsoft would come knocking so he’d stay local. We’d been inseparable since we were kids, and the last thing I wanted was to retrain a best friend.

  But in his words, “Working for Bill Gates would be like working for the enemy,” and he viewed using Windows as the equivalent of spitting on Steve Jobs’s grave.

  Our two-story house was a relic from the fifties, but it had been completely gutted and remodeled before we moved in last semester, so while the outside still had old-home character, com
plete with a front porch and white-framed windows, the inside was an HGTV dream home.

  Each bedroom was its own master suite, complete with a fireplace and balcony. We had an extra two thousand square feet of outdoor living area that had a kick-ass barbecue, a fire pit, and a bar that overlooked Lake Union.

  Another reason we didn’t mix business with pleasure: we were pretty sure that if we let any girl see our man cave, they’d never leave. And then we’d find sparkly toothbrushes, tampons, and homemade cookies in all the wrong places. I shuddered at the thought as I tossed my keys onto the granite countertop and made my way to the living room, where Lex was working.

  “In all my time with Wingmen Inc.”—Lex didn’t take his gaze away from the screen—“I’ve never seen one of the clients answer questions like this.”

  “Which one?”

  He snorted. “Which do you think?”

  “Our little athlete who wears Adidas flip-flops like it’s still 1992. I bet she named her first pet Slim Shady.”

  Lex burst out laughing. “Close. Eminem.”

  “Damn it.”

  “I know you pride yourself in taking less than a week for a client to gain true love’s kiss, but damn, man, she’s . . . a piece of work.”

  “She can’t be worse than Tara.”

  We both shuddered.

  Tara had been one of our very first clients. Never kissed a guy, sported a unibrow, and when Lex tried to tutor her, she started crying midkiss because she was afraid he was going to bite her.

  When he asked her why she would think that, she said it was because her daddy told her all boys bite.

  I’m assuming what was meant to be a warning against teen pregnancy ended up making it so that Lex got punched in the face and I had to finish the kissing lesson.

  It was horrible.

  When she finally managed to figure out that kissing could be special, personal, and romantic, she latched on to me and Lex emotionally, making it nearly impossible for us to get her to follow any rule.

  Hell, she was the reason we had rules and why we never made exceptions. The last thing we needed was another Tara.