The Matchmaker's Playbook (Wingmen Inc., #1)(49)

“Five seconds away from his last breath and you want me to gossip with you about my feelings?”

“Ian.”

“Lex is dead. Hope you’re happy.”

Her grip on my jeans tightened, and then she tugged up.

“Whoa there.” I jerked away from her and glanced behind me where the stairway was. “Okay, summarized version?”

She nodded and crossed her arms.

“I like her.”

Gabi nodded more and then frowned. “Wait, that’s it? That’s the declaration I get after years of watching you screw everything with a pulse? You like her?”

“Yeah.” For the first time in years, I felt myself heat with embarrassment.

“You. Like. Her.” Gabi’s voice was rising. I tried to shush her, but it was Gabi—that was like poking a grizzly. “Men are so stupid. Please tell me you didn’t confess this out loud to her like a Facebook status. I like Blake. Here’s a picture of us. Oh, cool, five hundred shares. Like we’re in freaking HIGH SCHOOL!”

“KEEP YOUR VOICE DOWN!” I shouted.

“There we go!” Gabi slapped me on the shoulder. “A little passion. This is the first time you’ve admitted to liking anything in years!”

“Not true,” I argued. “I adored that cute little gerbil you had.”

“The one Lex killed? That gerbil?”

“Poor Arnold.” I smirked. “Sore subject?”

“Bastard’s going to get his balls cut off one of these nights, in his sleep.”

“Don’t sneak-approach him in his bed. He may think you want something you don’t. And the last thing I need is to deal with Lex after he accidently grazes boob, only to realize it’s yours. He’ll cut off his hands, and I need his hands for my computer program and future lucrative business ideas.”

“Back!” Blake bounced down the stairs.

Gabi gave me a look that said this was far from over before slowly unwrapping one of the Krackel bars and shoving the damn thing in her mouth.

“No sharing?” My eyebrows shot up.

“Nope,” Gabi answered, mouth full of chocolate. “Get your own.”

“I bought it.”

“And we’re poor college students, so . . .” Gabi grinned.

The front door slammed. Suddenly Lex appeared from the hall holding up two giant bags of groceries. “If you ever”—he swore violently—“and I do mean ever, send me to the store to get tampons again, I’m going to have sex in your bed with a complete stranger, take selfies, blow them up to poster size, and plaster them to your ceiling.”

He dropped the bags onto the counter. A box of tampons fell out.

I smirked. “Errand boy.”

“Suck it,” Lex grumbled. “At least I know where they are. Last time Gabs sent you, you had to ask for directions, ended up hitting on the salesclerk, and never made it back to the house.”

I stole a glance at Blake’s expression. She was smiling, but it was forced, and suddenly all of my past bangs seemed more like past sins, past wrongs, something that made me less in her eyes.

“Thanks, man,” I said under my breath.

“Any time.” Lex rubbed his hands together. “Am I manning the grill, Gabs? Or did you grow a penis within the last twelve hours?”

Blake gave me a confused look.

I explained with a smirk. “Only boys can man the grill. It says so.”

“Where?” Gabi asked, pulling the giant grill spatula from the drawer and hiding it behind her back.

“On the instructions when we’re born,” I said, faking a dumbfounded expression. “It’s Life 101. Seriously, sometimes I wonder if you girls even went to elementary school.”

Lex barked out a “hah,” then stole the spatula from Gabi and marched outside with the plate of burgers and hot dogs.

“He’s such a gem, that one,” Gabi huffed out as she started pulling out all the condiments.

“A true gentleman,” I said, just as a volleyball sailed toward my head. I barely ducked in time. “What the hell?”

Blake grinned. “You down for a little game, boy?”

Staggered, I stared at her dumbly. “Did you just call me . . . ‘boy’?”

Another spike in my direction.

“That’s it.” I grabbed the ball and marched outside. “I didn’t want to have to do this, but Blake, I was in the NFL—I can play all sports.”

Lex coughed.

“Except golf.”

He coughed again.

“And I think it’s already been established that ice-skating shouldn’t count.”

Lex held up his hands, then went back to flipping burgers.

“Your serve.” I bumped the ball in Blake’s direction. “Ladies always first. I’m a gentleman on the court and in bed—lucky you.”

“Oh wow. Thanks,” Blake said sarcastically. “Let me just get comfortable.” Her top came off.

I smelled something burning.

“Lex,” I yelled. “Man the burgers. I got this!”

“Sorry.” He turned back around.

I stared at her tan, muscled skin as she stretched her arms above her head and put her hair in a high ponytail. Her jeans were still on, but hanging so low on her hips a cop should ticket her. And the plain black sports bra just . . . for some reason . . . looked hot.