The Matchmaker's Playbook (Wingmen Inc., #1)(37)

“What’s your name?”

The little boy’s blue eyes widened. “Tyson! Tyson Montgomery!”

It was cute how he shouted his name, like he couldn’t believe he was actually telling it to me.

I quickly signed his Seahawks hat and then pulled out two tickets for the game. VIP. It was part of my bonus. I wanted tickets I could give out to people, but mainly I wanted tickets I could give to those who really needed to forget for a bit. Because that’s what football did for me.

It helped me forget my insane parents.

My crappy and lonely childhood.

It helped me forget that I was still lonely.

“Here you go.” I handed them over.

“Thank you.” His dad pumped my hand as I stood to my full height. “You don’t know what this means. His mom . . . she just passed, and . . .” His voice broke.

“It’s my pleasure.” I released his hand just as someone screamed in the distance.

“Watch out!” a man yelled just as a car came flying down the street, knocking over a hot dog stand and an NFL shop set outside the stadium.

I barely had time to react as the car made its way toward the little boy, who had moved down the line and was waiting for another autograph.

“Move!” I yelled.

My teammates ushered fans out of the way while the little boy stood dazed. The car made its way directly toward him.

“Move!” I screamed and then ran toward him, pushing him out of the way just as the car slammed into the left side of my body, lifting me into the air.

“Hey,” a female voice whispered as something cold dabbed my head. “It’s okay. You’re just feverish.”

I jolted awake, chest heaving, leg aching.

Blake pulled back a cold compress, her eyebrows knit with concern. “Are you okay?”

“You’re here.” Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Lex was going to kill me.

She was at my house.

We never allowed clients to come to our house. Ever.

I was sick, but not too sick to remember the rules I’d established. The same ones I’d just preached to Lex that I wasn’t breaking. And she wasn’t just in my house; she was in my bedroom. On my bed.

“I texted you. I even called.” Blake dipped the rag into ice water and wrung it out. “And you never responded. You’ve been out for almost twelve hours. I finally threatened Gabi, who then threatened Lex, who finally let me in the house after I threatened to burn it down.”

A laugh escaped between my lips before I could stop it. “That worried about me?”

“You?” She blinked. “Oh, I’m doing this for entirely selfish reasons. If I lose my love coach, I lose my love. Simple as that.” She winked.

Her wavy brown hair was pulled back into a loose braid. Soft pieces fell across her face, making me want to reach out and give them a little tug, or wrap them around my fingertips.

“Sorry.” I touched my face. I was slick with sweat. My hands moved down my shirt.

It was missing.

“And sorry about the clothes.” She didn’t blush. She was all business as she started piling pillows around me, fussing over my positioning, and grabbing another blanket. “You were a mess when I got here. Lex said you were making the final transition into a werewolf and not to freak if you lashed out and bit me. I hope he was kidding, because you look rough.”

I groaned. “I feel rough. And disgusting.”

Smiling, she pressed the rag to my face again. It felt so good. I let out a little moan and grabbed her wrist before I could stop myself.

She froze.

And I immediately regretted my actions. “Sorry.” I cleared my hoarse voice. “It just feels really good.”

“I’m glad.”

“You know what would make me even happier right now?”

“Soup?” she guessed.

“You in a hot nurse outfit. What are you? A curvy size four? Six? I think I have a few costumes in my closet if you want to—”

She flicked the rag at my face as water dripped down my neck. Chuckling, I tossed it off and was surprised to see her laughing with me.

Blake rolled her eyes. “You’re kind of a pig.”

“Right, but I’m more like one of those cute little pigs, you know, the teacup ones. Still a pig, but you can’t help but want to keep it forever because it’s so damn adorable.”

“Not where I was going with it.” She pulled off my blanket, exposing me to the freezing-cold room.

“Ahhhh,” I groaned. “Why are you torturing me?”

“Take off your pants.”

“What?” My body jerked with awareness so fast I nearly fell off the bed.

Blake sighed. “You’re disgusting.”

“Wow, thanks. I love you too.”

“Take off your pants. Now.”

“I’m disgusting, take off my pants. Can’t say I’ve ever had that type of reaction from a woman before. In bed nonetheless.”

Blake didn’t answer. She just marched toward the adjoining bathroom and turned on the tub.

My head started to pound all over again. With a muffled groan, I pressed my fingers to my temples.

“We have to get your fever down.” She was back in the room again. At least I think she was. Everything was going double. This was why I hated germs, and Gabi—in reverse order.