The Matchmaker's Playbook (Wingmen Inc., #1)(55)

No. I shook my head. “You don’t deserve her. You never will.”

“And you think you do? A washed-up has-been who can’t keep it in his pants?”

“No,” I answered quickly. “I won’t ever deserve her either, but at least I know it. At least I wake up with absolute certainty that I’m the lucky one.”

“Hey . . .” Blake strolled into the kitchen, her sweats riding low on her hips, revealing a tease of tan skin. “Wasn’t aware making popcorn took this much brainpower.”

“Yeah, well, all those drugs in my teen years fried mine, so David offered his help, but he was struggling to read the word ‘Start’ on the microwave. Thank God you’re here now.” I smiled smugly at the dude while he forced a similar smile on his face, then backed way off.

“I gotta run, Blake.” He reached for her and kissed her head. “Next Thursday night, seven—don’t forget. Dad’s really excited to see you.”

“Great.” She beamed as he left the kitchen.

Her expression went from elated to detached. “I think I’m going to head to bed.”

“Blake—”

“What?” She was turned away from me. “What do you want, Ian?”

You. That’s what I should have said. Instead, I opened my mouth and nothing came out.

“That’s what I thought.” She snorted. “Just know, I may not be here by the time you figure it out.”

The microwave dinged.

“Yeah.” I leaned back against the counter. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“I hate mornings.” Lex let out a loud yawn and e-mailed me the client list for the next two weeks.

“You always say that.” I lifted my cup to my lips and sipped while I scrolled through the list. “What the hell is this?”

“A swap.” His face was serious. “I wasn’t sure you could pull off the more difficult ones, so I gave you the clients who should only take a few days. Besides, you’re still balls-deep with Blake.”

“I wish,” I muttered.

“Hah.” Lex rolled his eyes. “Poor bastard. Can’t plow the field or even get close to it, hmm?”

“Close enough.” I ignored the blatant stares in our direction. Girls. Sometimes there were just too many of them. Damn, if I closed my eyes I could still feel Blake’s fingers grazing the front of my jeans. Her nimble hands just needed to reach a bit farther.

I was nearly arching off the bench when my text alert went off. Shit.



Blake: FREAKING OUT!

Ian: Inside voice. Lex can hear you, and he hates mornings.

Blake: Dinner date this week--his dad bailed. It’s just us. I’ve never been on a date.



My stomach recoiled. “Well, shit.”

“Something wrong?” Lex glanced up from his phone, thankfully missing the giant erection I was sporting by just thinking about Blake. I’d never hear the end of it if he thought her texts were enough to get me going.

“Yeah.” I sighed and sent a text back to Blake. “I’ve gotta fake a date with Blake so she doesn’t puke all over David.”

“So what?”

So I’ll wish it was real. That’s what, jackass.

For once, my brain and my body were in complete agreement.

“Nothing. Just . . . a lot on my mind.”

Good timing that a girl with a huge rack just happened to mosey on past us, gaining Lex’s attention, and adoration. He barked out, “I know exactly what you mean.”

Two weeks ago I would have waved the girl over and then proceeded to bend her over as fast as possible, preferably against the closest and most sturdy object I could find. But now? The idea of sex did nothing for me. Her fake tits were just that: fake. Her smile was the same. And, damn, did every stupid girl really have to wave with all five fingers? It was like she was wiggling worms in my direction and I was a bird just waiting to take a bite.

The girl stopped midstride, turned, and eyed both me and Lex in a come-hither stare that had Lex sucking in a deep breath and standing. “I’d ask if you wanna join, but something tells me you won’t be able to get it up.”

I guess that made Lex the peacock in this scenario.

“Funny.” I snorted. “Try to let her down easy afterward, Lex.”

“Please.” He started walking away, and his ridiculous swagger had its desired effect. The girl checked him out, then started breathing way heavier than necessary for doing nothing but standing with her mouth hanging open. “I always do. And when that doesn’t work, I just give them a fake phone number.”

“You’re such a good guy. Seriously,” I called after him. “A saint!”

“Hear that?” he said, approaching the girl. “I’m a saint. Care to confess your sins?”

I choked on my laugh as I pulled out my phone and sent a text back to Blake.



Ian: I’ll be at your house tonight at 6. Have Gabs help you get ready. What she says goes. No arguing.

Blake: But her idea of a date includes very tight dresses.

Ian: I’m sorry, were you trying to tease me? Make my mouth water while simultaneously seeing if you’re good at flirting via text? What’s the problem?