The Right Swipe (Modern Love, #1)(3)

“Our slogan is appropriate, because to be honest, you really will never know who you’ll find on Matchmaker. The love of your life, your next best friend. A doctor. A teacher. A scientist. A carpenter. And every now and again, a former football player. Please welcome our newest spokesman and Matchmaker client, two-time Super Bowl champion, son of a proud football dynasty, former linebacker for the Portland Brewers, Samson Lima!”

Rhiannon reared back, her heart thudding in time to the applause of the other people in the room.

Wait.

Waaaaait.

Lots of men are named Samson.

Lots of men who are built like linebackers are named Samson.

Lots of men who are built like linebackers and look exactly like the man whose face is on the screen now are named Samson.

Lots of men who are built like linebackers and look exactly like the man whose face is on the screen now, the face of the man who kissed you one night three months ago under a moonlit sky whose name was also Samson, are named Samson.

Oh, fuck. No. That was taking the train to Coincidence-Land a little too far.

Rhi scanned the smiling headshot on the giant screen, hoping to find some way to differentiate this Samson from the Samson she’d met on a beach more than a thousand miles away from here. The man who had kissed his way down her body, then filled her up with his body.

The man who had asked, no, begged, to see her again . . . and had stood her the fuck up.

Rhiannon didn’t realize she had fisted her hands until her nails dug into her skin, and even the pain couldn’t get her to relax, especially when the man, the bastard, walked onto the stage.

He’d worn faded jeans and a shirt when they’d met, his hair pulled back into a stubby ponytail. His scruff had scraped her inner thighs when he’d gone down on her, when he’d licked her up and down like she was a melting ice cream cone, when he’d whispered against her body that she tasted so delicious.

His massive body looked even bigger and stronger tonight in a tailored suit. His face was clean-shaven, nothing to hide his smile, his teeth flashing white against his brown skin. He’d cut his long hair short. But it was still him, even all cleaned up and respectable looking. Slick and shiny and so charming now, when he’d been rough and ready and sweetly hesitant with her that night.

Long ago, when Rhiannon had been a fresh Harvard dropout, a woman executive had patiently explained to her that no one took a woman who cried in the business world seriously. So Rhiannon had eradicated tears from her lexicon. Now she didn’t even cry when she was alone.

Her nose twitched, and she beat back the prickle at the base of her throat, horrified at how close she was to leaking. Right here? Where anyone could see her? Not a fucking chance.

Theirs was a tale as old as, well, as old as a right swipe meaning you liked someone. They’d swiped, matched, met, fucked.

Leaving out the part where he snuck under your defenses and then ghosted you, I see.

She never thought she’d see him again, let alone here. Working for the company she wanted to buy? Fate, you bitch.

Inappropriate laughter tickled her throat, but she beat that back too. Her nails cut harder into her skin. She’d leave marks on herself, but that was fine. Anything to stay expressionless. Strong.

A man had stolen her ambition from her once before. She’d be damned if she forgot the vow she’d made to herself four years ago. Never take your eyes off what really matters. Never again.

Rhi relaxed her hands, one finger at a time. She could leave now. The person she’d come to see wasn’t here, so she could absolutely leave now.

Instead, she drifted closer to the stage, driven by the same impulse that might drive someone rubbernecking at a car wreck.

Never forget how terrible a person can be.

Samson finished shaking William’s hand and smiled out at the audience. Despite her vow, Rhiannon’s hardened heart squeezed. That smile had been devastating in a dark bar, sweet and tinged with sadness. Here, brilliant and charming and assisted by a lighting team? It was irresistible.

To other women. Not to her.

“Thanks, everyone, and thank you, William.”

That voice. That deep, husky voice that had whispered all sorts of nonsense in her ear.

“I’m so honored to be a member of the Matchmaker family. People laugh when I say this, but it’s hard for me to meet women.”

Oh, this motherfucker. Rhi cracked her neck. Maybe you shouldn’t ghost the women you’ve met then.

“But I’m thirty-six and I’m ready, past ready, to put some time and energy into my love life. So I decided to make the big leap.” William handed him a tablet. Samson glanced behind him as the screen melted away to a Matchmaker profile, while the women in the audience hooted in delight. The main photo was a picture of Samson, casually leaning against a car.

“Now, I don’t know much about dating sites.”

Liar.

Samson swiped on the screen of the tablet. “But I was told I needed a photo of me with a baby, with a caption that says, ‘Not my baby.’” The photo dissolved into one of him holding an adorable Asian baby. He smiled when people in the audience laughed and awwed. “That’s my goddaughter, Miley. She’s a cutie. Also, stereotypically conventional masculinity and a sense of adventure is important, right? So here I am posing on a safari.” He swiped to a photo of him holding a stuffed tiger and lion. “These are also my goddaughter’s. She’s the real MVP, letting me borrow them.”