Copyright © 2019 by Tracy Lorraine
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover design and formatting by Dandelion Cover Designs
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Book Hangover Lounge
The Matchmaker Series
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About the Author
Also by Tracy Lorraine
Sneak Peek
His Manhattan
Rose
“Will you put that damn cell phone down for five minutes so we can eat?” I complain when I spot my best friend swiping her way through the single men of St. Louis. “You know you’ll never find the one you’re looking for on what is basically a hook-up site.”
“It is not a hook-up site; it’s a dating site. Everyone on here is looking for something serious.”
“So serious you write them off based only on their appearances?” I ask with a raised brow.
“Everyone has information about themselves on their profiles.”
“And how many of those did you read while I was making dinner before you discarded them?”
“Uh…”
“Exactly. You want to meet someone, then you need to get out there,” I say, pointing out the window.
“What, like you?”
“This isn’t about me. I’m not the one looking for a man to warm my bed. I’m perfectly happy with my life as it is.”
“Drink this,” Bryony says, pushing my wine glass towards me the second I set down her bowl of pasta. It’s Friday night and if she doesn’t have a date, then it’s become tradition that she turns up here expecting dinner. I’m not complaining; I love having someone else to cook for, someone to chat with. Even if the look in her eye right now tells me I’m not going to like what she’s about to say.
Leaving the glass where it is, I pull out my chair and sit as I wait for her to admit what she’s done.
“I’vesignedyouuptoamatchmaker.” It comes out as one long word before she swipes her own glass from the table and downs it.
“I’m sorry. You’re going to need to say that again.”
“I’ve signed you up to a…”
“To a?”
“Matchmaker,” she admits with a wince.
“Bry, seriously? Why?”
“Because you need to get out and meet someone.”
“I get out every day and I meet plenty of people.”
“Stop being facetious. You know exactly what I mean.”
“Yeah I do, and I have no interest in meeting some guy who only wants to get between my legs.”
“This isn’t one of those kinds of agencies.”
“So, you’re admitting that the site you were just on is like that.”
She waves me off before pulling some paperwork out of her purse. “What The Heart Wants is different. The lady who runs it personally matches couples, and although she can’t really dictate what people do, she strongly advises they get to know each other via letters or email before they decide if they want to meet. She wants people to find their soulmates without photographs and falseness.”
Although I’m not happy about this, I must admit I quite like the old-fashioned ways of this dating agency. I could get behind the idea of getting to know someone before actually meeting them. I’d never admit it to Bryony, but the prospect of writing to a guy and getting to know the real him has a few butterflies beginning to flutter in my belly.
“Let’s see that.”
Taking the paperwork from her, I see that everything she’s just said is true. Grace, the owner, believes in the old-school ways of dating and wants to use her years of matchmaking experience to find her clients their perfect match.
It soon appears that when Bryony said she’d signed me up, she was lying. What she really did was write a letter to Grace showing interest and, in return, got the application form I’m currently holding.
“So? What do you think?”
“I think I need to read this later when you’re not breathing down my neck—”
“But you’re going to go for it, right?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Fucking hell, Rose. You might find the one,” she whispers, like there’s a chance she might jinx it.
“I’m more likely to with this than you are with that.” I nod towards her cell, which is bleeping away on the table.
“You are so going for it.”
Once Bryony leaves, I tidy up the kitchen before running myself a bath to relax after a long week. The whole time, the papers sitting on my dining table taunt me. I don’t want a boyfriend and I’ve no interest in dating, but suddenly, the knowledge that I could miss out on something if I don’t fill out those forms is all I can think about.
Feeling refreshed, I refill my glass, swipe the papers from the table, and sit at my coffee table ready to get the ball rolling.
Grace has really thought this through. There are options for everything from how you want to communicate with your potential match to how much information you want to offer them.
I’d never admit it to anyone but deep down I’m a bit of an old romantic and the prospect of falling for someone through their written words has me picking up the pen and starting to fill everything out.
I decide very quickly that I want this to be as anonymous as possible. I don’t want silly things such as names distracting from the heart of the man I could potentially be matched with.
It only takes twenty minutes to complete, and I’m soon sealing up the envelope with everything Grace could possibly want to know about me to find my match.
Dropping the envelope into my purse to post on my way to work in the morning, I drain my glass and head to bed. My heart flutters with possibilities for an epic romance story of my very own.
Seth
I’ve no idea what the time is as I roll out of bed, but the bright winter sun blinds me as I pull the curtains back.
Since being told by the team doctor that my football days are over, one day has just bled into another. My life has been football from as early as I can remember. There’s been no other career choice for me. I just expected to follow my dad and older brothers into the NFL and play until my body told me to give up.
And that’s exactly what’s happened. Only, I’m twenty-four. I thought I had years ahead of me, but one wrong move and my career is over.
I’m lost. I have no plan B for my twenties. I should be on the field or sitting on a sweaty bus with my teammates. Not rolling out of bed around lunchtime, still a little drunk from the night before.
Dragging on yesterday’s shirt, I make my way to the kitchen for a much needed cup of coffee. While the machine does its thing, I venture out into the daylight to grab the mail. My eyes water and I make quick work of pulling out about a week’s worth of letters and crap before I lock myself back inside the dark solitude of my house.
Throwing them down on the counter, I grab my coffee and make my way towards the TV. I automatically put the sports channel on, and just like every time I do, a shot of pain races through me, leaving me with a giant hole in my chest and an ache in my sho
ulder, a constant reminder of everything I’ve lost.
Falling back onto the couch, I pay little attention to the interview and instead flick the channel over to find something less depressing.
My life is bullshit. I had everything I ever dreamed of. Now, I’m sat here alone with only shitty daytime TV to keep me company.
Deciding more caffeine might improve my mood, I make my way back through to the kitchen, but something stops me before I get to the machine.
Sitting amongst the crap I pulled from the mailbox is a cream-colored envelope with a gold foil heart in the corner. Sliding it from the pile, I find it addressed to me. Turning it over, I find more gold, only this time it’s text saying What The Heart Wants. With my brows drawn together in confusion, I slide my finger under the flap to open it. I expect it to be some kind of fancy advertising.
Dear All Star Player,
I’d like to thank you for your application and interest in using our services to help find your soulmate.
I have looked at everything in your application and I’m pleased to say that I have found a young lady who is perfect for you.
“What the fuck?” I mutter, pulling out a stool and perching myself on it as I read the letter in my hand.
It goes on to explain that because we have both opted to remain totally anonymous until we decide if we’d like to meet, the only communication between us can be in letter format, and I must send letters to their office to be forwarded on. My match has to do the same, and any letters from her will be hand-delivered to my door.
I don’t get any farther because my buzzer goes off.
“Dude, you stink. Ever heard of a thing called a shower?” Aaron asks when I pull the door open to let him inside.
“Did you want to be invited in?”
“Not if your house smells as bad as you do.”
“Make yourself at home. I’ll go shower.” His arrogant smile pisses me off, but I can’t deny what he’s saying is true.
“I can’t believe they’ve found you a match.” Aaron’s sat on the bar stool I was earlier, staring down at the exact letter I was reading when he appeared.
“You know about this?” I look from him back down to the letter.
“Yeah, we signed you up a few weeks ago. Don’t you remember?”
I try to cast my mind back but everything since that fateful doctor’s appointment is a bit of a drunken blur. “No.”
“It was the night we all came around after getting back from the Chicago game. Price found out about it, and you’d been complaining about women only wanting you for one thing, so we filled it in. You agreed,” he adds.
“And you thought I was in the right frame of mind to be doing something like this?”
“Why not? You might meet someone to take your mind off everything.”
“Hmm…” I mumble. “And who’s idea was the name. All Star Player. Did any of you think I’d get any kind of decent match with that name?”
“Aw, I think it’s cute.”
“Cute? Nothing about me is fucking cute.”
“Agreed. But then you don’t want to be dating me, do you?”
Ignoring him, I pull some food from the refrigerator. “Sandwich?”
“Nah, I’m good. Fucking hell, have you seen who they’ve matched you with?”
I didn’t get that far but seeing as I read about everything being anonymous, I can’t imagine there’s much to go on. “No.”
“Her name’s Book Nerd 69.” He laughs like a teenage boy and I swipe the paperwork from his hands, thinking he’s joking.
He’s not.
“Dude, any girl with 69 in her name has got to be a winner.”
“Fuck off. That could be my future wife you’re talking about.” I mean it as a joke, but the words sound a little too serious as they fall from my lips.
“Are you really going to do this?”
“Well, that’s what you all intended, right?”
Rose
Dear Book Nerd 69,
So…how’s it going?
It seems that Grace thinks we’re the perfect match for each other. My instructions said I should write to you, but I’m not sure what I should be saying…
I guess, maybe I’ll start with the basics. I’m twenty-five, six foot four, dark hair, green eyes. Career-wise, my life’s a bit of a mess right now so the less I say about that, probably the better…God, I sound like a bit of a downer. I promise you, I’m not. I’ve almost finished the two-million piece puzzle I’ve been working on…wild!
I’d love to find out a little more about you.
I hope to hear from you soon,
All Star Player
The smile that was on my face from his goofiness vanishes the second I see his name. He’s either picked it as a joke—because who in their right mind would use the word player in their dating profile if they were looking for more than a hook-up—or it’s worse. He’s a football player.
The one kind of guy I will never date. Ever.
In truth, I wasn’t really expecting to hear anything back. I’m under no illusion that my life’s a little boring, and it seemed really obvious to me once I’d filled in my application. Surely, they can’t have matched me with someone who thinks he’s a player. We’d be like chalk and cheese.
“What’s that?” Bryony asks when I place the letter down on the table between us. “Oh my God. Did they find you a match?”
“It seems that way.”
“Why don’t you sound very excited about it?”
“Just read it.”
I watch as her eyes run over his words. “What’s the issue? It’s okay.”
“Did you see his name? He either thinks he’s God’s gift to women, or…” I trail off because I can tell by her eyes she knows where I’m going.
“He’s a jock.”
“Exactly.”
“Rose, just because jocks in your high school were dickheads doesn’t mean every sportsman is the same. Some guys do grow up, you know.”
I know what she says makes sense, but it doesn’t rid the memories I have. The entire football team were assholes.
“He seems nice. You should totally write back.”
“You think?”
She raises an eyebrow. She’s addicted to dating apps, so of course she thinks I should write back.
“Fine, I’ll do it tonight.” I’m already wondering what the hell I’m going to say.
Before heading home from the bookstore I work in, I stop and pick up a cute notebook. The old romantic within stops me from writing back on some boring lined paper. Instead, I choose soft pink paper that has a rose boarder. It’s a little insight to me. Not that he’ll pick up on it, I’m sure.
Dear All Star Player…
I cringe just writing his name. Thoughts of the guys who made my teenage years a living hell pop into my mind and I have to stop. The last day of high school was the best day of my life. I was able to at last leave the bullies who seemed to follow my every move. I knew I was different. I didn’t fit the usual mold, but I was quite happy living my life in the background and just getting on with things. It’s a shame the entire football team didn’t agree because they hounded me wherever I went. The captain was the worst.
I end up walking away from my first letter. My head’s full of unwanted memories I tried banishing years ago. I was an easy target back then. Even I could see that. My grandparents couldn’t afford the designer clothes that all the other kids were wearing, and instead of the music and fashion magazines I saw everyone else reading, my grandmother insisted that I spend my spare time reading the classics. Back then, I hated them for making me different, but in reality all they were doing was the best job they could raising me after both my parents died in a car crash. Both of them were too old to be raising a child, but they saw me as their responsibility and took me on, nonetheless.
I’m grateful for everything they gave me; their time, their love, a family, even if it was unconventional. I know if it wasn’t for my grandmother,
I might not have the love of books that I do now.
It’s not until the next afternoon that inspiration strikes. I’m unpacking a new delivery for the store when a book title stops me in my tracks. It’s a novelty book listing one hundred things everyone should do in their lifetime. I think back to his letter, explaining how he’s in between jobs. In a moment of possible madness, I place the book under the counter for later. Not sure what to say, say it with a book, I think as I continue what I was doing.
Dear All Star Player,
Thank you for your letter. It was great to get to know you a little.
As for me…I’m also twenty-five with dark hair, but I’m only five foot two and have blue eyes. I work in a bookstore, but I dream of being the one writing the books someday, not selling them. I’m fascinated with all books, but romance is where my heart lies. I guess you could say I’m a bit of an old romantic, even if I’ve never managed to experience much of it myself.
Up until this point in my life, I’ve been satisfied with my romance being on paper, but it seems my best friend had other ideas because here I am.
Anyway, I found this book earlier at the store and it made me think of you. I’m not sure if you’re scratching about for something to do or not, but if you are, then I thought this might help inspire you seeing as you’ve almost finished your current hobby.
Yours,
Dear All Star Player (The Matchmaker Series) Page 1
