The Matchmaker's Playbook (Wingmen Inc., #1)(16)

“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, complete 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.