Mister Match (The Match Series Book 1) (11 page)

Lisa sighed, and reached into her purse to unzip the inner pocket. “Yeah... He actually did.”

She pulled out the ring Adam had given her earlier, and held it out for her friends to see. “He said I could keep it. I mean, either way—whatever I decide. He said I can keep it or sell it, or whatever I want.” She frowned at the thing, glinting in her palm. “It’ll definitely help pay off some of my debts,” she admitted.

Willow and Clare weren’t listening. They were too busy squealing over the ring and fighting over who got to try it on first.

“Look at this thing!” Clare exclaimed, jamming it onto her ring finger and holding up her hand to admire it.

“It looks like an antique.” Willow’s eyes were wide. “Lisa, it’s gorgeous.”

“I know,” Lisa agreed uncomfortably.

The problem was, Willow was right—it was gorgeous. And it was an antique, which meant it was one of a kind. It was a scalloped design, with two large diamonds set in platinum, surrounded by smaller diamonds. It looked like fine lace, or a cluster of delicate flowers.

Somehow, Adam had gone to a jeweler and found the exact kind of ring Lisa would have wanted from a real boyfriend with a real proposal of marriage.

How had he known? How had he chosen just the type of ring that would make her pulse speed up and make her wish, in her heart of hearts, for the impossible—that this thing between them could actually be real?

“Try it on,” Willow was insisting. “I want to see it on you. Does it fit?”

“It’s perfect,” Lisa said, shaking her head. “Seriously, I have no idea how he knew my size or my taste, but somehow, he did.” She slipped the ring onto her finger, and the table went quiet as all three friends simply gazed, dazzled, at the ring.

“I’m giving it back to him, of course.” Lisa started to pull it off again.

“What!” Clare exclaimed. “No!”

“But he said it’s yours to keep,” Willow protested.

“I can’t keep it,” Lisa began, and then broke off abruptly, because her stomach suddenly felt like a bucket full of concrete. Ice-cold concrete.

Willow was watching her. “Lisa, sweetie, what’s wrong?”

Lisa couldn’t answer. She couldn’t even breathe. She might want to throw up, except none of her bodily functions seemed to be working—except her heart, of course. That was pounding triple-time. She could feel it in her chest, in her ears, and of course behind her right eye in the usual stress-headache spot, where its hammering actually felt very much like a hammer.

“What’s going on?” she heard Clare ask in a hushed voice. Apparently she’d figured out that Lisa wasn’t just taking an especially long breath.

And still, she couldn’t do anything except stare as Rodney—AKA the Rod, her ex, the despicable piece of pond scum who’d cheated on her and then left her to deal with the IRS on her own while he moved on to his next victim—approached their table.

Chapter
11

____________________________________

R
odney wore an oily smile, and his glossy head of curls was as big and luxuriant as ever—a crown for the king, Lisa thought distantly. He also wore some fucking blonde on his arm who looked about eighteen years old. She appeared yoga-toned and irritated, like Bambi with a gym membership and an attitude.

God, Lisa wondered, was this the woman Rodney had cheated on her with? She’d never known who it was, or anything about her, really, beyond her name—
Becca.
Lisa’s lip curled just thinking it. It was such an ordinary name to inspire such revulsion.

Was this Becca, in the flesh?

Suddenly, all her functions kicked back into gear at once: Her throat started working, air started rushing in and out of her lungs, and she definitely wanted to puke. Preferably projectile, and preferably on the blonde.

“Well, if it isn’t the Rod,” Clare said flatly. “To what do we owe this—wait, what’s the opposite of a pleasure?”

“Clare,” he returned. “Sweet as you always were, I see.”

She eyed him with a bored, bland stare. “And I see you’re still as full of shit as the sack of shit you are.”

Lisa smiled grimly. If she wasn’t able to come up with insults or the guts to hurl them at the man, she was glad at least her best friends had her back.

The blonde—Bambi, as Lisa was calling her in her head—was frowning and pulling visibly on Rodney’s arm. “Let’s just go,” she said, but Rodney wasn’t paying attention. He was smiling down at Lisa.

She felt like someone in a horror movie—paralyzed, strapped down to a table as a leering madman descended on her, a whirring saw blade in his hand aimed straight for her jugular.

“Lisa,” he said, still grinning that huge, greasy, Joker smile of his, “it’s been too long.”

She tried to say something sharp and cutting, but all that came out was a strangled noise that sounded like the grunting, popping nose made by grackles—downtown Austin’s signature trash bird.

She was dimly aware of Willow frantically kicking her under the table. To snap her out of her daze? Lisa wasn’t sure. All she knew was her shin hurt.

Clare’s torso suddenly loomed in Lisa’s peripheral view as she half-rose and stuck out a hand toward Bambi. “I’m Clare. I don’t think we’ve met.”

Bambi looked as if she’d caught a whiff of Clare’s aforementioned sack of shit, and didn’t shake her hand. “I’m Barbie.”

If she hadn’t felt so ill, Lisa would have burst out laughing. Not Becca, and not Bambi—
Barbie
. It was too perfect
.
And she’d thought she was just stereotyping the poor girl.

Judging by her she-wolf grin, Clare also thought the name fit like a glove. “Wow, Barb, great name. Great rock!” Unfazed by having her offered hand rejected, she zeroed right in on the ring on Barbie’s left hand, grabbing her wrist to draw it out for everyone to see.

Lisa felt Willow grab her own hand under the table and squeeze, hard. Only by the contrasting warmth of her friend’s fingers did she realize how cold her own had suddenly gone.

“Hoo-
wee
!” Clare hooted. “Look at the size of that thing! Did the Rod buy that for you?”

Barbie pulled her hand back, frowning up at Rodney before looking at Clare like she was thicker than a brick. “Obviously. We’re engaged.”

“Obviously,” Clare repeated. She leaned in a little closer for the kill. “So, let me ask you, Barb. Did he use his own money for that, or did he get you to pay for it? Because the Rod, here, he’s got some cash-flow issues, not to mention a little problem with theft. And lying. Oh, and cheating.” She shrugged. “But you’re the one who’s engaged to this prize, so I’m sure you know all about all that.” She shook her head admiringly. “It’s so big of you to be able to look past it and love him anyway. You must have the hugest heart.”

Barbie took a step back, yanking at Rodney’s arm. “Let’s go. Rodney. Now.” Her voice had gone shrill, but Rodney didn’t look at her or respond.

“Seriously, sweetheart, watch your valuables around this one,” Clare was saying. “He’s got a history of taking whatever the hell he wants, and making everyone else pay for it.”

Rodney didn’t seem to be paying any more attention to Clare than he was to Barbie-doll. Somehow, he was still standing next to the table, staring down at Lisa. “I’ve been wanting to run into you for a long time,” he said to her. “I’m so sorry, Lisa.”

Why hadn’t he left yet? And why couldn’t she look away?

“Huh?” she said. Her voice sounded to her like dry grass in the wind—something thin and insubstantial that could shrivel and disappear under the tiniest amount of heat. “Wait—you’re
sorry
?” He was apologizing? Now, here, after all this time?

“I am. I’m truly sorry to see you’re still not in a good place, after all this time.” He shook his head. “Still spending your time with toxic people who can only drag you down with them.”

“Toxic people?” Lisa repeated dully. Was he actually referring to Clare and Willow as toxic?

“You know, Barbie and I were grabbing a drink at the bar, and I was genuinely excited to see you sitting over here. I’d been wanting to tell you the news, about us getting engaged. I really hoped you’d be happy for me.” He shook his head again, as if not receiving her heartfelt congratulations on his impending nuptials caused him depths of sadness that he could hardly express.

Lisa could hear a swelling noise in her ears, an odd buzzing that blocked out almost everything else.

“Actually,” she heard herself say—it was as if the woman speaking were someone else, someone nearby—“I am in a good place. A really good place.” She jammed her left hand into the air. “I’m engaged, too. I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it. My fiancé’s kind of famous. And rich. He’s filthy rich. And hot. Sorry, Barb. I’m pretty sure I win this one.”

She heard Clare snort with laughter, and felt Willow give her hand a hard, victorious squeeze. She was dimly aware of Barbie-doll finally managing to yank the Rod away from the table.

She couldn’t pay attention to any of it. Her stomach kept wanting to revolt against what had just happened.

What
had
just happened?

“That was hilarious,” Clare was saying. “You were awesome, Lisa. God, the Rod, after all this time—and he’s still a complete asshole. What a sleazebag. What a total douche-nozzle. Why the hell you were ever attracted to that guy, I’ll never know. Thank God Willow and I are in charge of your love life now. I will die before I will allow you to make a colossal mistake like that ever again.”

“Lisa, honey,” Willow said quietly. “Are you okay?”

Lisa took a moment to consider the question, searching through her feelings the way she might prod at a bruise to see if it still hurt. “That girl couldn’t have been more than twenty years old.”

“Cradle robber,” Clare sneered.

“He’s started a new yoga studio.” Lisa glanced at Willow and then across at Clare. “You guys heard about that, right? And now apparently he’s engaged. He cheats on me and screws me over, he sends me into financial ruin, and the fucker gets away with it, completely unscathed. He gets to live this great life with his hot little fiancée in a pretty little house in Hyde Park. They have a porch swing, for shit’s sake. I’ve seen it. I’ve driven by, like, ten times.” She slumped back against the booth. “They probably have amazing hardwood floors,” she moaned.

“You’ve been stalking him?” Clare looked at her like she’d gone crazy. “Wait, who gives a crap what kind of floors they have?”

Lisa lifted a hand, let it fall. “I have old, beige, stained carpet. I’m living with my cat, in a one-bedroom apartment with a window unit and a box fan for A/C. I eat popcorn on a regular basis because it’s only three dollars for six bags—” She stopped abruptly.

“And you’re engaged to Mister Match,” Clare said into the silence.

“Fake-engaged,” Lisa qualified flatly.

“You know what? Who gives a damn if it’s fake or real?”

Both Lisa and Clare swiveled their heads to stare at Willow, who didn’t normally curse, and rarely spoke as sharply as she just had.

She made them both jump by smacking a palm against the tabletop. “Seriously. So it’s a pretend engagement. Who cares? It sounds like you’re about to have an incredible adventure for the next few weeks. And Clare and I have been working hard to find just the right man on Mister-Match.com to steal your heart, so your regular life is about to get a lot more exciting, too.”

She leaned in close enough that Lisa could see fiery determination in her friend’s wide gray eyes.

“Clare is right—you are so lucky,” Willow said, softly but fiercely. “You’re lucky you got out of that relationship with Rodney when you did, with nothing worse than financial problems that can be fixed. You’re lucky you’ve got a great job, and now you’ve got a weekend gig, if you want it, that includes first-class travel and a huge paycheck, not to mention a ridiculously hot boss who seems to want to jump your bones at the soonest possible juncture. So, let’s see: hot men, piles of money, and the promise of what’s most likely going to be great sex.” She sat back and crossed her hands primly on the table in front of her. “I don’t know. It seems like things are starting to look up for you, sweetie.”

Lisa blinked, and began to smile.

Clare raised her glass with a broad grin. “Cheers to that, ladies.”

As they touched their glasses together, Lisa felt The Shiver steal up her spine. Willow’s pronouncements always seemed to have a touch of prophetic truth to them. If her friend said things were about to get exciting, then Lisa had better hold on tight for the ride of her life.

Chapter
12

____________________________________

T
he next morning, Willow called from Indulgence.

“Can you come in?” she asked. “You’ve got an appointment by special request.”

Lisa leaned against her kitchen counter, where she’d been making a pot of coffee while giving Mr. Monkey his morning top-of-the-tail scratches. “Sure. What’s up?”

“Adam Match,” Willow said. “He’s hired both of us for the Dream Date couple’s his-and-hers massages.”

“Oh. Great.” Lisa stopped scratching as a little jolt of excitement ran through her. Clearly annoyed, the cat reached around and bit her hand.

Lisa yanked her hand back. “Ow!”

Mr. Monkey just glared at her.

“Instead of doing the sessions in the couple’s room, like usual,” Willow went on, “he wants us in separate rooms. I guess he has a video team, and he wants to get a little interview time with the couple—I mean, with each of them, separately—before and after the sessions.”

Lisa frowned. “He’s not planning to film the massages, is he?”

“Absolutely not,” Willow said primly. “I told him that was against Indulgence Spa policy. Of course, he said that hadn’t been his intention. It sounds like he just wants to get their real thoughts and reactions, before they actually meet in person. And it sounds like he really hopes the massages will help them fully relax, to create some very positive, optimal energy for their Dream Date weekend.”

However Adam had actually worded it, it had clearly gone through Willow’s good-vibes filter. Still, Lisa thought, it was just sweet—that he cared this much about helping Mister Match users relax into their new relationship.

“Oh,” Willow was saying, “one more thing. He’s going to pay us double our normal rate.”

“Really?” Lisa couldn’t help but do a little happy dance, right there in the kitchen. Mr. Monkey shot her a bland look, clearly telegraphing,
Stop, you aren’t that cute.

W
hen she entered room seven at the spa an hour later, her client, Deb Wayson, was lying down on the massage table, grinning with her eyes closed.

Lisa drew the door quietly shut behind her. “Hi, Ms. Wayson, I’m Lisa DeLuca. How are you today?”

The girl pressed her palms to her lower abdomen. “Oh my God, I’m all, like, totally—
ahh!
You know what I mean?” She giggled.

“I know exactly what you mean,” Lisa said, doing her best to keep any hint of sarcasm out of her voice.

“The video people were just in here,” Deb bubbled on. “It only took, like, five minutes, but I guess it got me all—
eee!
You know?” She wiggled her fingers in the air and giggled again.

The woman looked young, in her early twenties, and she had the highlighted hair, manicured nails, tanned skin and country club-toned body that Lisa associated with privilege and affluence.

“This is a big weekend for you, isn’t it?” Lisa dimmed the lights and moved around the room, setting things up for the session.

“Yeah.” Deb giggled some more as she rolled her eyes. “I can’t even believe what’s happening. Mister Match is, like, my personal savior. Doug and I are supposed to meet in, like, just a little while—I mean, we’ve been talking online for weeks, but we’re finally going to meet in person. My stomach’s been, like, totally tied up in knots all week, ever since we found out we won the Dream Date weekend.”

“Wow.” Lisa suppressed a smile. “That sounds exciting. So, besides your stomach, is anything bothering you this morning? Anything in particular you’d like me to focus on, during the massage?”

“Um, is there, like, some kind of pressure point you can do for self-confidence?” Deb let out her bubbly laugh again, and Lisa felt herself warming to the girl in spite of herself. “I, like, totally want to wow this guy. I want to be, like, really confident around him.”

Lisa smiled at her. “I’m sure you’ve already ‘wowed’ his socks off. Now, if you’ll turn onto your stomach, I’ll start with your back.”

The hour-long session was more enjoyable than Lisa would have thought. Deb was more talkative than most of her clients, but somehow, Lisa didn’t mind the chatter.

Plus, she got more dirt on Adam and the Dream Date weekends.

“It’s just, like, the coolest thing that’s ever happened to me,” Deb enthused at the end of the session. “I’ve always had boyfriends, but just never really, like, clicked with anyone. And then Mister Match turned everything around for me. Doug is just, like, the sweetest guy ever. And, seriously, the smartest. And we both go to UT, but there’s, like, no way we ever would’ve met on our own.” Her exquisitely smooth brow crumpled in a frown. “I’m a cheerleader, so all I ever meet is football players.” Her face brightened again in the next instant. “Anyway, so then we won this Dream Date, which is just, seriously, the awesomest! I never win anything!”

“That’s great.” Hanging a plush Indulgence bathrobe on the hook beside the door for Deb to change into, Lisa felt The Shiver sneak through her.

It had been happening a lot lately—that trembling little quiver, that sense of gratitude and anticipation, blended together. That intuitive feeling that something was about to happen—that something incredible was just around the corner.

She tried not to pay too much attention to it. Hoping for the best always seemed to lead to disappointment, for her. Of course, she did hope for the best for Deb and Doug.

And secretly, she hoped for the best for herself, too. What if there really was something to the Mister Match method? What if she actually found a new boyfriend through Mister-Match.com? What if she fell in love, for real this time, with someone who actually loved her back?

No way.
It wasn’t going to happen. Not through a dating website, anyway.

“Doug and I have been messaging each other for three weeks,” Deb confided. “Sometimes we send, like, twenty or thirty messages a day. He’s so smart. And he’s just so—I don’t know. He’s different. He makes me laugh.”

“That’s important,” Lisa agreed. “I hope your date goes wonderfully.”

“Me, too,” Deb said on a giddy sigh. She sounded like a little girl, full of hope, and Lisa felt her heart squeeze in hope for Deb and Doug and what was sure to be their rose-colored future together.

And even if they didn’t turn out to be “The One” for each other, she thought, there were worse ways to spend the weekend than dual massages, a boat ride, a catered dinner and a private Willie Nelson concert.

Out in the reception area, she found Willow at Clare’s desk, entering data, and Doug Chu waiting shyly for his dream date to return.

Lisa smiled at Doug, inwardly wanting to laugh. This was the man who had bubbly Deb Wayson completely under his spell? He was probably all of twenty years old, with the delicate build and hands of a concert pianist or a chess prodigy. His own plush spa robe nearly swallowed him up.

She extended her hand. “Doug? It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Lisa DeLuca. Deb will be right out. She’s just talking with the video team for a few more minutes.”

“Great,” he said. “I just finished my interview.” He looked like he had stars in his eyes, and he kept glancing down the hallway as if trying to catch a glimpse of his date. Lisa smiled at Willow, who wrinkled her nose as if to say,
Isn’t he just too cute?

Straight, inky black hair fell into his eyes as he looked nervously around the room. “So you guys, like, work here?”

Lisa grinned. Apparently Doug and Deb spoke, like, the same language.
Good start,
she thought. “We do.”

“Right on,” he said, nodding.

“And what do you do?”

“I go to UT. Engineering.”

Lisa nodded. “Good for you.” Then there was an awkward silence, blessedly broken when Deb entered the room. “Ah, here she is.”

The look on Doug’s face as he stood and beheld his dream date was eloquent—even more so than his breathless greeting: “Wow. Hi. You’re, like, even prettier in person than you are in your profile pictures.”

Deb blushed, Doug stepped forward to shake her hand, and Deb pulled him into a hug, punctuated by a cascade of her trademark giggles.

The girl, Lisa thought, had absolutely nothing to worry about. The Doug and Debbie Appreciation Society had obviously been founded quite mutually. Deb had clearly wowed the pants off the poor guy.

A moment later, the spa door opened and Adam poked his head in, and Lisa felt her stomach dip and thrill.

Maybe absence really did make the heart grow fonder, she thought dimly—if eighteen hours could be termed “absence.” The man was even hotter and more handsome than he’d been yesterday. His grin was wide and genuine, and somehow intimate as he locked eyes with her.

He pushed the door the rest of the way open. “How’s everyone doing?”

“Fine,” said Doug, sounding nervous.

“Great,” piped Deb, her voice strong with faked confidence.

“Wonderful,” said Willow, sounding as if she wanted to laugh.

“Um.” Lisa cleared her throat and brushed an imaginary strand of hair out of her eyes. “Fine. Great. Wonderful. Thanks.” She smiled at him.

“Good.” He kept his blue eyes on hers as he addressed the room. “Everybody happy?”

Doug and Deb nodded exuberantly. Lisa just stared at Adam, because she couldn’t seem to look away.

He was just such a presence in the room.
God,
Lisa thought—she was starting to think like Deb. But she couldn’t help it. Adam’s shoulders were just so broad, his arms so tanned and strong, his blue eyes so penetrating as he stared back at her.

“Perfect,” he said, and finally broke their shared gaze. “So,” he said, turning to Deb and Doug, “I just wanted to run through a few things with you guys.” He gestured for them to sit, and sat next to them. “I know this was in the contract you signed, but I’ll just recap it for you. The interview footage we just shot will be edited along with the rest of the footage my team captures this weekend, and they’ll turn it into a three-minute video to post to the site next week.” He grinned. “We love giving Mister Match users a view into a really awesome date between two perfect matches who found each other through our site. There’s no better advertising than happy customers, right?”

Deb and Doug smiled shyly at each other, and Lisa saw Doug take Deb’s hand and give it a squeeze.

Oh, to be young and in love again,
she thought wryly.

“The car is coming for us at twelve-thirty,” Adam went on. “That gives you guys about forty-five minutes to shower and change. Which I know isn’t much.”

Willow stepped forward. “Let me show you back to the changing rooms,” she offered, motioning for them to follow her down the hallway.

When they had gone, Adam stood and joined Lisa at the reception counter. “So, everything went all right?”

“It was fine. Great.”

“Good.” He smiled. “I gave the payment to Willow beforehand, and I included your tip in the total. I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s great,” Lisa said, wincing inwardly. Apparently
great
was her new catch-all word of choice. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure.” He lowered his voice to a more intimate timbre. “Can I ask whether you’ve been thinking about my proposal?”

She nodded, her throat feeling suddenly dry. “I have.”

Adam waited for her to say more. When she didn’t, he gave her a smile that was adorably hesitant and filled with hope. “And?”

She bit her lip. “I, um.” She cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders. If Deb Wayson could fake confidence, so could Lisa. “I’ll do it.”

His expression lightened instantly. “You—you will? You’ll do it?”

She smiled up at him. “Yes.”

He took her by surprise by catching her up in a bear hug, twirling her around for a couple of full turns. “That’s great!” he exclaimed, laughing. “That’s so—that’s just— Thank you.” He set her down and then reached out hurriedly to straighten her shirt, where he’d wrinkled it by grabbing hold of her. “Sorry. Thank you so much. Seriously. You have no idea.”

“No problem.” She grinned. “It’ll benefit us both, right?”

“I hope so,” Adam said. “I definitely hope so.” Still looking immensely relieved, he ran a hand through his hair. “Well, I should go. I should catch up with the video team.”

“Sure. Good luck today,” Lisa added. “With Doug and Deb and their date, and everything.”

“Thank you.” He gave her another smile, this one slow and intimate. “Let’s talk later, then, all right?”

And then, a heartbeat later, he’d closed the distance between them.

Lisa had only a moment to process the fact that his broad, muscular chest was suddenly looming in front of her before she felt his strong, warm arms band around her.

He grinned down at her for a brief moment. “This,” he said, “is going to be fun.”

And then his mouth was on hers, hot and insistent.

Every single cell in Lisa’s body strained toward the man, fighting to get closer—as if that were possible. They were already pressed against each other, as close as two bodies could get. She clung to his shirtfront and then reached up to wrap her arms around his neck, to pull him more firmly against her.