The Matchmaker's Playbook (Wingmen Inc., #1)(79)

Ian: I miss you.



She texted back right away.



Blake: You dumped me for my own good and rejected me when I said I loved you. Go. To. Hell.



She punctuated the text with a smiley face.

A smiley face meant there was still hope. Right?

Oh shit, and the teacher becomes the student. I always tell my clients a smiley face does not mean “I want to have sex with you”; sometimes a smiley face just means “I’m happy.”

Did that mean she was happy for me to go to hell?

I frowned as yet another main character on GoT was slaughtered in front of me.

And I felt nothing.

Shit, life was bad when you felt nothing after the death of one of your favorite characters.

“Get up,” Lex barked.

With a very solid double middle-finger salute, I let him know my opinion of that suggestion and continued watching as blood poured out of the dude’s chest.

Huh, maybe I should become an actor and get myself killed. Better than death by pizza. I didn’t want to smell like pepperoni in my casket.

I reached for the bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Not a drop rolling around the bottom. Well, damn.

Lex snatched the remote from the table and turned down the volume. “Seriously, get the hell up and stop moping around. It’s scaring the shit out of me. Let’s go to a bar.”

“No.”

“Dude.” Lex fell onto the couch. “You’re seriously killing me here. The stats for their relationship success don’t lie, fine. The fact is, they have a higher success rate. BUT SHE LOVES YOU!”

“Must you shout?”

“Please, that empty bottle has been sitting there since ten this morning. You’ve been drinking water and eating pizza—that’s how you deal. Pizza. You disgust me.”

“Pagliacci delivers, man. Can’t beat that. And no hangover.”

“Look.” A thick folder landed in my lap.

“What the hell is this?”

“Your background info against hers.”

“Lex.” I growled his name like a curse. Sure, grab some salt and pour it into the gaping hole that is my heart. Really, I’ll just sit here and take it. “I don’t want to get more depressed.” I shoved the folder away.

Lex sighed loudly. “I love you like a brother. But this folder is ruining your life. I want you to see the stats. The real stats.”

“Real stats?” I repeated, sitting up straighter, interest suddenly piqued. “What do you mean real stats?”

“Look.” Lex held up his hands innocently in front of him. “I may have . . . tweaked the numbers a bit . . .”

“‘A bit,’ meaning you rounded up instead of down?”

Lex coughed into his hand.

“Lex!” I lunged for him, but all the pizza made me slow and sluggish. “What the hell did you do?”

“What I had to do,” Lex shouted. “You are seriously such an idiot.”

“Thank you?” I shook my head. “And I repeat, what the hell did you do?”

“I know you.”

“I know me too, thanks.”

“No, I really know you.” Lex ran his hand over his buzzed head. “You slept with a client. A client, Ian. Our business is based off your ability to, first off, not do that, but also to be damn good at what you do. Remember when we first started? What’s the oath we both took?”

I swallowed the bitterness in my throat. “Never fall in love.”

“Right.” Lex nodded. “And on that same drunken night, what did you make me swear to you?”

I didn’t answer.

“Ian, damn it! What did you force me to do?”

“I made you promise not to let me.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I was tired of losing shit . . . I lost my ability to play, and I moved on, but I didn’t like the emotional pain. Hell, who would? So I told you to always have my back.”

“So”—Lex opened the folder—“I did.”

I glanced down at the sheet and nearly tackled him to the floor. “Holy shit! How is this supposed to make me feel better?”

Lex burst out laughing. “I couldn’t do it. I changed the numbers by five points, man. Five whole points. And it was enough to ruin you. Don’t you get it? Fifty percent? Fifty-five percent? It doesn’t matter. Numbers can lie. The heart—”

“Damn poet. That’s how you get so much ass,” I said in an irritated tone.

“I rarely have to use my words, Ian. Rarely.”

“So she’d still be settling with me.”

“Only one way to find out.” Lex stood and offered his hand. “I know for a fact where David’s partying tonight, and word on the street is he’s at it alone while Blake hangs out with Gabs. Care for a drink?”

My eyes narrowed. “What? You think Mr. Goody Two-Shoes Oh Look a Butterfly Let’s Rescue It Then Go Hug a Tree is actually as bad as I wish he was? Believe me, I wish that were the case.”

Lex shook his head. “No, man, because you look like shit. I highly doubt you could even board an airplane without hitting the weight limit.”

I lifted my shirt. “Six-pack, you were saying?”