The Matchmaker's Playbook (Wingmen Inc., #1)(18)

“Aren’t they the greatest?” I said as I rolled my eyes. “Now, what did you say your address was, sweetheart?” Shit, I’d already forgotten her name. Melissa? Manila?

She fired off an address a good twenty-minute drive away, so by the time I got to her house I’d only have an hour before I needed to make the trek back to campus to meet up with Blake. Shit. I still had to check in with Shell too.

“Ian? You there?”

“No, but you will be soon,” I joked, then hung up the phone.

The minute I got to her house on Queen Anne Hill, I smiled. If her house didn’t just scream sorority girl . . .

I knocked.

She answered the door before I could knock again.

Did no woman understand the power of three?

I hid a wince. Too eager. But for this visit? It didn’t matter.

Remember, I slept with stupid girls, not sad ones. And by the look of her? She was too brainless to feel such an emotion—you know, unless someone shot a wolf. Then I’m sure she’d be crying all over the place.

“That was fast.” Her chest heaved as she opened the door for me to walk in.

I sniffed. “Did you bake cookies?”

She nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I thought you might be hungry.”

“Oh, I am,” I said never taking my eyes off her mouth. “And if it’s okay with you, I’d like to take a bite.”

“Sure!” She started moving away, I assumed in the direction of the kitchen. I tugged her back against my already needy body.

“I wasn’t talking about the cookies.”

Her body softened against mine. “You weren’t?”

I nibbled the side of her neck. “Hell no. I think I’ve found something sweeter.”

She moaned, rubbing her body against me.

“Bedroom?” I panted, already pulling her shirt off.

“Last room on the”—I flicked her bra off—“left.”

“Good.” I tossed my shirt onto the floor, then moved her backward, in the direction of her room. “Because I only have one hour, and I really, really want to make it worth our while.”

“I’m sure you will.”

“Believe me.” I pulled back and gazed into her brown eyes. “I always do.”

She yelped as my mouth met hers in a frenzied kiss. “Mmm,” I hummed against her lips. Then I whispered, “Were those cookies chocolate-chip?”

“Yes.” More breathless moaning as I quickly tugged at her leggings and discarded them, along with the rest of my clothes.

“You don’t waste time.” Her lips were puffy from my hard kisses. Her cropped blonde hair was pushed away from her heavily made-up face.

“Time . . . is everything.” I leaned down and kissed her harder, then lifted her by the hips and wrapped her legs around me.

“Oh.” She bucked beneath me. “Oh wow.”

I licked and tasted down her neck as I let my fingers do most of the work—the work I didn’t have time or the energy for. She fell apart in my arms five minutes later.

Ten minutes after that, she was screaming my name while her headboard nearly took out the wall.

And fifteen minutes after that, my sweaty body collapsed onto hers while I whispered, “Did I mention I really love wolves?”



“Shell.” My voice was calm, but my head was pounding. I was starving, and the last thing I wanted to do was argue with a client about why I was right and she was wrong. “I don’t give a damn if he’s outside your room serenading you with Drake. Don’t let him in.”

“But”—her voice was whiny; hell, why were they always whiny?—“he’s being so sweet!”

“Guys are always sweet when they want a piece of ass,” I grumbled, then sniffed the air. Damn, what kind of perfume did Wolf Girl wear? I smelled like I’d just walked into a confused saleslady in the cosmetic department, who’d squirted me with five different brands of “I’m easy.” You pay me to help you succeed. You won’t succeed with him if you keep trying to break the rules. The rules were established in order to benefit you, not hurt you.”

“I know.” Shell’s voice shook. “I just . . . it’s hard.”

“It will be worth it”—I pulled into the closest parking spot on campus I could find, which basically meant I was still going to have to jog three miles in order to meet Blake on time—“I promise.”

She was silent, then whispered a thanks before ending the call.

I’d broken the rule of phone calls with Shell only because her text gave me the assumption that she was about two seconds away from tossing her body out the window into Jealous Barista’s waiting arms.

Clients always argued when things were going right. When things went bad? When they realized that Prince Charming was a jackass? They cried. Loads of tears. During those times I gave them numbers to a few counselors on campus and made sure they understood that, although I was sorry, I wasn’t their girlfriend. I refused to be the sounding board when they started lamenting about why all men were the spawn of Satan.

I turned off the car and raced across campus. I was meeting Blake at the Husky Union Building. I was starved, so I was going to officially break one of my own rules—I was going to share a meal with her.