The Matchmaker's Playbook (Wingmen Inc., #1)(36)

Lex held up his hands, then leaned back in the chair as the Wingmen Inc. graph popped up on the screen.

David Hughes and Blake Olson match = 87% success past first 30 days.

“Eighty-seven?” I repeated. “Isn’t that kind of high?”

Lex clicked down to the rest of the stats, mainly numbers that we’d plugged in after Blake’s questionnaire, where Lex correlated with David’s interests, background, grades, study habits, eating habits, relationships, and, yes, even his medical history.

Lex hacked.

Sure it was semi-illegal. Or maybe fully illegal. But we were helping people. I had my speech for the FBI all ready to go, if it ever came to that.

“Who the hell’s allergic to raisins?” I blurted, reading through the medical history.

Lex slammed the computer shut and turned. “If I see a headline in tomorrow’s newspaper about how the starting point guard for the Huskies nearly dies from anaphylactic shock, should I be worried? Or just give the police our address?”

I laughed. “Please, like I would stoop that low.”

“Gabi called.”

“Gabi never calls.”

“She was worried.”

“So she called you?” I fidgeted with my hands, then leaned back on the chair. “She hates you.”

“Which she said at least ten times before finally getting to the reason behind her call.”

“She yell?”

“When does she not yell?” Lex made a disgusted noise. “She thinks you’re hooking up with Blake.”

“No hooking up has taken place.”

“Will it?”

I gulped. “No.”

“Holy shit.” Lex jumped out of his seat and felt my forehead. “Are you sick? Since when have you ever not hooked up?”

“Gabi’s sick.” I pushed away from him and started making my retreat into the kitchen. “Bring her soup. Be a good friend. I have work to do.”

I thought he’d left me alone until I felt him breathing down my neck while I mindlessly rummaged through the fridge. “You like her,” he said.

“I also like yogurt. You expect me to stick my penis in that too?”

Lex burst out laughing. “I never thought I’d see the day. And let me guess, you aren’t even on her radar.”

I slammed the fridge shut. “I shouldn’t be on her radar, considering I’m her coach! I’m supposed to help her with David, not help myself to her goods!”

“She has nice goods.”

“Shut the hell up!” I lunged for him, only to have his laughter stop me dead in my tracks.

“Oh hell, man, you’ve got it bad. And you don’t even know why.”

“Because she’s a nursing major. And you know that ninety percent of male fantasies either include a sexy nurse, naughty cop, or sexually repressed schoolteacher.”

“My man.” Lex tossed me a spoon for the yogurt. “Just remember, they sign contracts. Keep your twitchy parts away from hers before you get into trouble. It says in the contract if you have sex with her, she can sue us. We did that on purpose, to gain their trust, but also to keep ourselves in check. It’s never been a problem.”

“And it won’t be a problem.” The yogurt tasted like shit.

My head felt hot.

And my skin was clammy.

Gabi!

In my mind I knew it was impossible for me to get sick from just seeing her today, which meant something was going around. Still, my patience was shot to hell, and I needed to blame someone.

“Why?” I threw the spoon against the sink and leaned against it. “One day, I’m going to kill Gabi and ask you to bury the body. Just don’t ask questions when that day happens, alright?”

“Why one day? Why not now?” Lex looked confused.

My head started to pound. “Damn it! Are you sick?”

“Uh, no. But I take multivitamins. Your idea of a vitamin is eating a Flintstone once a week when you start to get itchy from having sex in the grass.”

“Gabi must have gotten me sick,” I grumbled. “I’m going to bed to sleep it off and hopefully not die. If I wake up a zombie, take at least a few cool pictures before you decapitate me. Cool?”

“You have my word.” Lex nodded seriously as I stomped my way down the hall and slammed my door.

The last time I’d been sick was right before the draft.

Right before my life changed forever.

Being sick was a bad thing, because it felt like it was the universe’s way of telling me things were about to go to shit.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I was having the dream again.

My brain was having a hard time keeping it repressed, what with my body shaking from the chills. Damn fever.

I rolled over and closed my eyes, only to be haunted by the little boy’s face.

“Can I have your autograph?” he pleaded, jumping up and down.

I pulled out my black marker and crouched down to his level. “Dude, you can have my autograph and tickets for tomorrow’s game.”

“No way!” he shouted. “Dad, Dad, guess what?”

His dad mouthed a “Thank you” to me as a lone tear escaped his eye. I couldn’t look away from the raw pain just that one tear elicited.