Breaking the Bachelor (Entangled Lovestruck) (Smart Cupid) (15 page)

“Flirting with the bartender? That’s why you took off?”

“When I saw you whispering with your head bent so close to hers, I couldn’t breathe. I needed to get out of there.”

His eyes narrowed in a way that told her he was angry. “Jane, you didn’t just leave. You hopped on a plane and tore out of there without one fucking word. I had to FedEx your luggage.”

“I told you, Charlie. I’m not going to be my mother.”

“And I’m not your catch-you-in-the-rearview dad.” Eyes locked with hers, he drew in a breath. “A perfect match can’t be predicted scientifically. No matter how many measurements you stuff into your database. Every single day is a risk.” He bent his head closer. “I’m willing to chance a little bit of pain—and, babe, what you did to me in the Caymans fucking
hurt
—if I have you in the end. I can handle the long-term—can you? Or is a cocktail napkin relationship the best you can do?”

She bit down on her lower lip. “That’s not fair.”

“Really? ‘Cause it sure feels like you’re ready to bolt.” He scanned her face as if he was searching for some kind of answer. “I want to bet on something that matters. I want to bet on you and me.”

“I don’t bet, remember?”

He stared at her for a long, long time, before letting her go.

The look on his face told her he finally understood that she’d never risk looking inside his heart, and even if she did, that she’d never see anything, but another man who’d eventually walk out on her.

Charlie took a step back. For a moment, he looked as devastated as he had when he’d turned up at their house after his mom died. In the next instant, his face was blank. “Okay, then, go make me a better match.” He gave her a quick nod and turned to go, leaving her shaking and already half-filled with regret.

Guess she’d finally found their deal breaker.

Chapter Fourteen

@smartCupid Wait for a person who will love every maddening, crazy, imperfect thing about you. Because that’s everything.

@AdamDatesRUs Will tomorrow be the end of logical love in Manhattan? #racetothefinish

Misery.

6:30 PM.

Twelve hours after watching Charlie accept her final deal breaker, Jane sat on the buttery-soft leather sofa in her sweet, cozy living room, wearing pajama bottoms and her favorite Ray’s T-shirt, indulging in a state of unscientific, plain old-fashioned misery.

This morning NY Singles had predicted a loss for Smart Cupid. She was officially a loser. But instead of searching every nook and cranny of the city for Charlie’s true love, she’d spent the day crying into her pajamas. Proof positive. Broken hearts were counterproductive.

6:32 PM.

Three minutes since the last time she’d watched the YouTube video. She pressed reload on her cell’s palm-sized screen and watched it again. If she was going to torture herself, why not go all out? New tears pricked the back of her eyes as she watched Charlie kiss her in the moonlight outside her apartment. She could still feel his hand tangled in the hair at the base of her neck, still taste the spice on his lips. She turned her cell phone over in her palm to check the time. Again.

6:33 PM.

Maybe she needed to watch it one more time. Better than the real hell of reviewing the date reports scattered next to her. Cupid Reports for Charlie Goodman, stained with her tears. She felt the kick of regret in her stomach. Returning to her risk-free life—without midnight pizza runs and sex on the kitchen floor—was going to cost her. But she’d played her hand and now she needed to face the fact that she’d lost Charlie. Face it and try to live with it. No time like the present. She picked up one of the files and skimmed over the matrix data to the comments to the post-date interview with Marisa, the wonderfully, offbeat Sagittarian.

Charlie is a great guy and
New York Magazine
could not be more right. The man is smoking hot. Not to mention kind and funny and smart. A little obsessed with the
Rocky
movies, but other than that, he’d be a perfect match for me.

She shook away the image of a kind, funny, smoking hot Charlie. She needed to stop re-reading the words inside those damned reports. Nothing in them could unbreak her heart.

A knock on the door startled her.

6:37 PM.

Jane groaned and covered her face with both hands. The last thing she wanted to do tonight was talk to her neighbor about the sad state of dating affairs in Manhattan. Apartment 4306 was always looking to be struck by that elusive love lightning, always knocking on Jane’s door after her hopes scraped up against the reality of another disappointing relationship.

Normally, Jane was happy to be a shoulder to cry on, happy to help her examine her relationships and suggest a more logical approach to love, but 4306 was devoted to the lightning method. And tonight, Jane suffered from her own form of love shock.

Maybe Charlie was at the door. Suddenly, her heart was on overdrive, spinning out wildly before coming to a complete and total stop. She sat up, wiped at the mascara under her eyes and smoothed the line of her pajama bottoms. Setting aside the tablet and the date reports, she walked over to the door, each step a movement toward an answer to the dual questions: if it was Charlie, why was he here? To post-date his last date? She couldn’t bear the thought.

She stood on her tiptoes and looked through the peephole. A fun house mirror version of Marianne stood outside the door, armed to the teeth with a
Gristedes
bag full of intervention supplies: Ben and Jerry’s Chocolate Therapy…and tequila. She loosened the security chain and opened the door, feeling guilty, wishing it were Charlie.

“Girls’ night in.” Marianne held up a bottle of Pinot Noir, another of Tequila Gold, and the pretense that everything was fine. “I brought reinforcements.”

If she’d not been entirely heartbroken, Jane would’ve smiled at her friend’s misguided cheerfulness. As it was, she stepped aside and let the girls’ night in.

Marianne marched down the hall and into the kitchen. She set the bags on the counter, removed a stack of movies and handed them over. “You choose.”

Jane leaned against the counter and eyeballed the videos. “If
Rocky
is one of these movies, I’m going back to bed.”

M.A’s gaze skimmed over her face, taking in the puffy eyes, red nose, and miserable lips, but to her credit she did not say the obvious:
you look like shit
. Nor did she mention tonight’s date.

Instead, she smiled and said, “
Rocky
? Why would I bring
Rocky
? This is girls’ night, only chick flicks allowed.” She pressed her hands together under her chin like she was one of Charlie’s Angels. The middle one. Only she was wearing a navy toggle coat, not a bikini.

Charlie had always called her angel. She pushed the heels of her palms against her eyes with enough force to prevent more tears from spilling on to her T-shirt. Shit. Did every little thing need to remind her of him?

A rogue tear tried to sneak out of the corner of her eye, but Jane smashed it away with the heel of her hand. The last thing she planned to do tonight was cry in front of her friend. And she certainly refused to cry in the middle of her kitchen holding a stack of movies that included
Titanic
and
The
freaking
Notebook
.

She flipped through the stack and handed them back to Marianne without making a selection. Her heart declined to join the party. “Anything, except
The Way We Were
.”

Jane loved that movie, but not tonight. Tonight, if she watched Redford give up a perfectly imperfect Streisand all over again, her heart might remain in shredded pieces for another six or seven years. Redford was even dumber than she’d been. Well, maybe not.

At least Redford had tried to make love last. Jane ran from the man of her dreams because of a computer matrix, a Rum Runner girl, and a truckload of old fears. Worse, she had squandered her second chance by matching him with three other women, all to win a bet. Yes, Smart Cupid was her dream. Smart
love
was her dream. But was proving her theory more important than loving Charlie? Another pang of regret kicked her in the stomach. Maybe ice cream and tequila would help.

Jane followed her friend into the living room and noticed her friend gaze at the files collected near her last known whereabouts, the overstuffed leather sofa. “Working at home?”

Standing under the small archway that led to the hallway, her skin flushed a pink bright enough to match her flannels. “Just reviewing Charlie’s dates.” She shuffled her sheepskin slippers into the living room and flopped down on the couch, sending the Cupid files tumbling to the floor. She kicked the top file under the sofa, unable to control her feelings one more minute. No matter how desperately she wanted to. She bit down hard on the inside of her bottom lip to keep from crying. “Marianne…have I ever told you how much I love pizza?”

“Um, no. But, okay.” M.A gave her a worried look and picked up her cell. “Do you want delivery? There’s a new place on the corner that’s supposed to be good.”

“No, that’s okay.” Jane shook her head, more miserable now than she’d been at 6:37 PM. “It’s not just pizza. I love bagels, too, and bowling and
Rocky
. I love
Rocky
, but if
Rocky
doesn’t love you back…” She dropped her head between her knees on a sigh. “The worst part of it all is…I even love laundry.” Uncontrollable tears tightened her throat and a strangled cry escaped her. “Laundry.”

“Laundry?” Marianne’s lips rounded into a small circle. “Oh, laundry…as in the Maytag.”

Three of the runaway tears slipped down her cheeks. “The truth is…if I’m going to be honest…I think I love Charlie.” Despite logic, her fears, and their abysmal matrix score, she loved him.

Marianne nodded. “Want to tell me what happened?”

Jane buried her head into her knees. “No. Not really. I don’t think so.”

“Maybe after a round of tequila.” Marianne walked into the kitchen and returned with two water glasses and the bottle of liquor. “Straight tequila, no lime, no salt.”

Jane lifted her eyes and glared at the glass. “If you want all the gory details, you better make mine a double.”

Marianne filled both glasses and raised hers in a toast. “To the gory details.”

Jane knocked back the Cuervo with a wish that the alcohol would burn away the dull pain pitched like a tent in the middle of her chest. “I had sex with him. For real this time.” The words tumbled out of her mouth in a rush of tequila-infused nerve. “Lots and lots and lots of sex.”

Marianne went for her cell. “I’m going to cancel his date.”

“No cancelations. Better to let it all play out.” Jane shook her head, picked up the tequila, and unscrewed the top. “But when we lose…”

“We’re not going to lose.”

She pulled off the top and poured another double tequila. On second thought, she made hers a triple. “When we lose, I want you to know that I’ll make it right…”

“We are not going to lose.” M.A. took the bottle and set it back on the coffee table.

“Did you secure the rights to the dating app? Or call any of the contacts I gave you? I want to make sure you have legal ownership of the application. I want you to be protected.”

Reaching out to touch her forearm, Marianne repeated. “We are not going to lose.”

Jane gave her an indulgent smile and tilted her glass to finish her second shot. “Not even your surefire app can guarantee tonight’s date, or love, or chemistry…” Her voice trailed off to a near-whisper. “And even if it could…win or lose, Kathie Lee will rake me over the coals of morning television because…because…my logical matrix failed to match him. Instead, I fell heart-first into love. I love him, Marianne…like all-out, free-falling, sure-to-crash love, and the worst part…besides how illogical it is, how chemically combustible…the worst part is…is…I’m sorry…is the room spinning? Because it kind of feels like it’s…”

A second later, she fell sideways into the couch.

“I think you’ve had enough.” Marianne picked up the tequila and walked into the kitchen, reappearing a few minutes later with two pints of ice cream. Not a bad trade really.

Jane flung her arm over the back of the couch and pulled her body upright, gratefully accepting the consolation pint of her all-time favorite. Plunging the spoon into the New York Super Fudge Chunk, she said, “I’m sorry I have no willpower where he’s concerned. If he’s within three feet of me, I’m a puddle of desperate, hopeful emotion and raging sexual need. It’s pathetic.” She spooned some of the ice cream into her mouth. “And afterwards, when he wanted to bet on us, I panicked, total full-blown panic, like you see in the movies.”

Pain surged between her eyebrows and she wasn’t sure if it was from the ice cream or the tequila. Not that it mattered. Tomorrow morning, she’d regret both and the ache in her heart would still be there. She already regretted not taking Charlie up on his offer to bet on love.

“Wait a minute. Charlie wanted to make a bet? What kind of bet?”

Jane shoveled three spoons full of ice cream into her mouth. “He wanted to bet on us, on building a relationship that was part chemistry, part compatibility. And before you say it, I know it’s impossible. Passion burns out before it hits the long-term, and it always does, no matter how much you love
Rocky
or the Fluff ‘N Fold. So, I can never bet on love with Charlie because it’s fueled by the passion, and once the passion fades, so would the commitment, right?”

Silence met her words.

“Exactly.” She tilted forward and waved a spoonful of fudgy ice cream into the air in confirmation. “He’d leave me. Eventually, someday, he’d walk out, and he’s been at the center of my life for so long, I don’t think I’d survive him leaving.”

Marianne’s face scrunched up behind the glasses. “But that doesn’t make sense.”

“Makes perfect sense to me.” Her spoon veered perilously close to her friend’s nose in an ice cream fueled rebuttal, but Marianne shifted to avoid getting smacked by the gyrating utensil.

M.A. grabbed at the moving spoon and shoved it back into the pint. “Jane, I added the sexual chemistry component to the dating app.”

“Let me guess,” she said, reclaiming her weapon and her ice cream. “The matrix saw all this coming.”

Smoothing the line of her skirt, she said, “Actually, according to the updated application matrix…you and Charlie are a perfect match.”

Jane shook her head several times. “No, no, and definitely not. Charlie and I are not a perfect match. I’m just another woman in the long Charlie train of love.” She pulled her arm up and down and whistled like the A Train. “All aboard that’s coming aboard.” The room shifted a little bit like a tilt-a-wheel. “Get it? Coming…aboard.”

The look on Marianne’s face was priceless. “Maybe the tequila wasn’t such a good idea.”

She stabbed at Ben and Jerry with her spoon. “I’m just another post in his bed notch. Or notch post, or something.” She offered Marianne the ice cream. If Charlie met his true love tonight, she’d be spared the pain of losing her company. A consolation prize at best. She’d return to her normal, straightforward life, and recommit to her criteria list, semi-hopeful that scientific love worked. But the part of her that Charlie had reawakened knew she’d never get over the way he thrilled her body and warmed her heart.

Ignoring the stab of pain in her chest, she raised her head and picked up the current issue of
Cosmopolitan
. Bold red letters across the silver and white cover spelled out a contemporary throw down,
Be Your Own True Love
. Maybe that’s what it boiled down to in the end. Not compatibility and shared values. Not kissing multiple frogs hoping for a prince. Not even chemistry and heart-searing sex.

Just
Be Your Own True Love
.

She handed Marianne the magazine and hugged Ben and Jerry. “Want to do the quiz?”