The Matchmaker's Playbook (Wingmen Inc., #1)(42)

“Fine.” Blake kept her death grip on the computer and made her way over to the couch. “So what are we watching?”

“You can’t stay,” I blurted.

“Why not?”

“Because!” I had work to do. I wasn’t kidding about the homework or the need I had to make sure everything was on schedule. The sooner I got rid of her as a client and into David’s stupid arms, the sooner she’d realize what a tool he was and come running back.

Right? All I knew was I wanted our time to be finished, so that it would actually be fair for me to join the game rather than watch from the freaking sidelines.

“We’re friends,” she announced.

I almost threw up. “What did you just say?”

“Friends.”

That’s what I thought. The f-bomb.

“I have two. Don’t need another. You know, the whole third-wheel thing.” I shrugged. “Now, if you want an upgrade, I can easily arrange more. Think of it as friends”—I held up one hand, then held up the other—“but you get benefits, like you’d get with a real job.”

“You mean friends with benefits.”

“Hey, you said it, not me.”

“Ian.”

“Yes?”

“Sit down, shut up, and try not to get delirious again.”

Exhaling with frustration, I moved to the farthest end of the couch from her and sat. Not because I wasn’t intoxicated by her presence, but because I was suddenly realizing that I had no self-control where she was concerned, and I didn’t want her to realize how much she affected me.

How much I wanted to taste her again and again.

And how much I resented the fact that she would never want me in the same way.

For the first time in my life, I wanted a girl that wasn’t mine to have.

And it sucked.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Ian?” Blake said. Somehow she’d managed to make her way from her end of the couch over to mine. Our leather couch was nice; one end of it had the longer side without cushions or whatever the hell you called it, so a person could lie back with their feet up and watch the movie.

“What up, sweet cheeks?” I yawned and wrapped an arm around her, then froze. Shit, it was too natural.

She cuddled into me.

My entire body seized with pleasure as she placed a hand on my chest and let out a heavy sigh.

“Out with it,” I said. “And know the only reason I’m not pausing Game of Thrones is because I’ve seen this episode a thousand times. Otherwise, I’d duct-tape your mouth. You’ve been warned.”

“Wow.” She exhaled loudly. “Thanks.”

“So . . .” I ran my fingers up and down her arm. It was instinctual; I couldn’t keep my hands to myself and didn’t want to. She was wearing a loose pink racerback tank top and a pair of spandex shorts that showed off a good chunk of her curvy ass and nice legs. “What’s on your mind?”

“Do you ever . . . ?” She tensed a bit then, as if telling herself to relax, and leaned into me. “Do you ever think that what you thought you wanted isn’t actually what you want anymore?”

“You mean . . . like you’ve lived your whole life in pursuit of one goal, and suddenly the goal changes?”

She jerked away from me and stared at me directly in the eyes. “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”

I sat up a bit. “Blake, that’s life.”

“But”—she ran her hands through her hair and retied it back into a low ponytail—“it just seems too wishy-washy, to go from one thing to another.”

“That’s part of what college is for.” I frowned. “Discovering yourself . . . Realizing that, hey, maybe wearing Adidas flip-flops from 1992 isn’t as cool as I originally thought.” I smiled.

Blake burst out laughing. “They aren’t mine, you jerk.”

“So you stole a stranger’s ugly flip-flops and decided, Hey, let’s bring these suckers back.”

She scrunched up her nose. It was freaking adorable. “Not really. They used to be my brother’s, and . . . after he died, I don’t know . . . I just . . . wanted to be close to him.”

“So you raided his closet?”

“Everything smelled like him.” She glanced away, her face distant. “It was comforting.”

“Until you had to wash them.”

She burst out laughing again. “Until my dad forced me to wash them, yes. It’s only been two years. I still miss him.”

“How’d he die?”

“Car accident.” She ducked back under my arm. “Drunk driver. The usual. Used to piss me off talking about it, but when I started wearing his clothes, it almost felt like this invisible armor.”

“I hate to break it to you, sweet cheeks, but those shoes are anything but invisible.”

A pillow flew at my face.

“Hey,” I yelled as she tried to get up and escape from me. “Oh no you don’t.” I grabbed her by the waist and tossed her back onto the couch, then hovered over her.

“Stop!” She flailed underneath me, laughing her ass off. “You can’t make me stay!”

I quickly leaned down and licked her cheek. “Sorry to break it to you, but if you lick it, it’s yours.”