The Matchmaker's Playbook (14 page)

C
HAPTER
E
IGHTEEN

“Ian?” Blake said. Somehow she’d managed to make her way from her end of the couch over to mine. Our leather couch was nice; one end of it had the longer side without cushions or whatever the hell you called it, so a person could lie back with their feet up and watch the movie.

“What up, sweet cheeks?” I yawned and wrapped an arm around her, then froze. Shit, it was too natural.

She cuddled into me.

My entire body seized with pleasure as she placed a hand on my chest and let out a heavy sigh.

“Out with it,” I said. “And know the only reason I’m not pausing
Game of Thrones
is because I’ve seen this episode a thousand times. Otherwise, I’d duct-tape your mouth. You’ve been warned.”

“Wow.” She exhaled loudly. “Thanks.”

“So . . .” I ran my fingers up and down her arm. It was instinctual; I couldn’t keep my hands to myself and didn’t want to. She was wearing a loose pink racerback tank top and a pair of spandex shorts that showed off a good chunk of her curvy ass and nice legs. “What’s on your mind?”

“Do you ever . . . ?” She tensed a bit then, as if telling herself to relax, and leaned into me. “Do you ever think that what you thought you wanted isn’t actually what you want anymore?”

“You mean . . . like you’ve lived your whole life in pursuit of one goal, and suddenly the goal changes?”

She jerked away from me and stared at me directly in the eyes. “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”

I sat up a bit. “Blake, that’s life.”

“But”—she ran her hands through her hair and retied it back into a low ponytail—“it just seems too wishy-washy, to go from one thing to another.”

“That’s part of what college is for.” I frowned. “Discovering yourself . . . Realizing that, hey, maybe wearing Adidas flip-flops from 1992 isn’t as cool as I originally thought.” I smiled.

Blake burst out laughing. “They aren’t mine, you jerk.”

“So you stole a stranger’s ugly flip-flops and decided,
Hey, let’s bring these suckers back.
”

She scrunched up her nose. It was freaking adorable. “Not really. They used to be my brother’s, and . . . after he died, I don’t know . . . I just . . . wanted to be close to him.”

“So you raided his closet?”

“Everything smelled like him.” She glanced away, her face distant. “It was comforting.”

“Until you had to wash them.”

She burst out laughing again. “Until my dad forced me to wash them, yes. It’s only been two years. I still miss him.”

“How’d he die?”

“Car accident.” She ducked back under my arm. “Drunk driver. The usual. Used to piss me off talking about it, but when I started wearing his clothes, it almost felt like this invisible armor.”

“I hate to break it to you, sweet cheeks, but those shoes are anything but invisible.”

A pillow flew at my face.

“Hey,” I yelled as she tried to get up and escape from me. “Oh no you don’t.” I grabbed her by the waist and tossed her back onto the couch, then hovered over her.

“Stop!” She flailed underneath me, laughing her ass off. “You can’t make me stay!”

I quickly leaned down and licked her cheek. “Sorry to break it to you, but if you lick it, it’s yours.”

Her laughter faded.

“Is that so?”

I nodded seriously. “First rule of kindergarten. Didn’t you listen in class?”

“Must have missed that lesson.”

I nodded. “It’s right up there with fire safety.”

She gripped my head with both of her hands and pulled. Our foreheads nearly touched. Breathing suddenly became extremely difficult as her eyes stared down my lips. And then very slowly, she turned my head and licked up my cheek.

Every single part of my body felt that lick.

And wanted to feel it a second time.

I closed my eyes and shuddered. “Thought I told you not to play a player?”

“Just following your rules.”

“Sometimes”—I cupped her cheek with my hand—“I really hate my rules.”

She swallowed. “Me too.”

I wasn’t sure who did it first, me or her, but suddenly we were kissing, or more importantly, I was straddling her, and kissing the shit out of her while she hooked her legs around my body and jerked me against her.

It was heaven.

It was hell.

Moaning, we both tumbled to the floor, her on top, then me, then her, then me.

She didn’t kiss like she was innocent. She kissed like her mouth was starving for mine. And kissing her back was like finally finding the one girl I wanted to kiss, possibly even more than screw.

Because her lips felt so damn good that releasing them to take off her clothes would have been a crime.

Our tongues tangled as she ran her hands through my hair. I moved to her bra, and she kicked off her flip-flops, nearly hitting me in the head.

“Easy, tiger,” I mumbled against her mouth.

She laughed, then kissed me harder, our teeth nearly knocking together as I deepened the kiss. Doubt became a fire alarm clamoring in my head, but I ruthlessly hammered it away, desperate for more of Blake. Her lips moved beneath mine—hot, wet, welcoming, and so demanding that she was nearly sending me over the edge.

The front door closed.

We stopped kissing.

But we didn’t pull apart.

I knew there wouldn’t be time.

“Whoa.” Lex surveyed the situation. “Either he drugged you, or—”

“Training,” I blurted, sharing a look with Blake. “We’re setting up a date night for her and David. He’s moving through the stages so fast I imagine he’ll try something during the movie.”

Blake’s body went rigid, and she averted her eyes from mine, then gave Lex a forced smile. “I think I got it.”

With a shove, she had me on my ass and was grabbing her phone and purse.

“Thanks, Ian.”

“Blake—”

“Really.” She turned, and her smile was so fake it hurt to see. “I, uh, I’ll text you tomorrow about the details for the date.”

Shit. I wasn’t going to actually allow the date!

The door slammed.

I flinched.

Lex let out a low whistle, then patted me on the back. “Good job, dude. Why not just be honest? For once.”

“She’s a client.” I was convincing no one with that convictionless statement.

“She’s more.”

“She’s . . .” I punched the pillow, then threw it hard against the couch. “She’s my client. If David’s what she wants, I’ll help her. She deserves at least that much.”

“What if he isn’t what she wants?” Lex asked quietly. “What will you do?”

“I . . .”

“That’s what I thought.” He walked over to the light switch and flicked it off. “See you on the other side.”

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

The next few days flew by. Blake answered my texts politely, and the kiss was never mentioned.

I knew I’d hurt her. When I closed my eyes, I still saw the look of disbelief on her face, which had quickly turned into anger as she hung her head and walked out of the house.

And that was why women weren’t allowed in the house.

Why I had rules, damn it!

I stared at the couch. Like it was going to suddenly give me a replay of what had happened a few nights ago.

Her mouth had tasted so sweet, so luscious. Just thinking about it was making my dick strain against my jeans. My physical reaction was alarming enough without adding in the fact that I couldn’t stop thinking about her, wondering if she was okay, and wanting to talk to her.

Just talk.

About nothing. I just needed to hear her voice.

Shit.

Lex waltzed into the room, took one look at me pouring myself a glass of orange juice, and smirked. “Oranges do it for you now?” he said. “Should I hide those orange-blossom candles in the living room, or is this just a stage?”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not the juice. Or the oranges.” I sighed. “It’s the couch.”

“Uh.” A perplexed look crossed Lex’s features. “The couch?”

I nodded.

“So your new dirty words are big cushions? High thread count? Soft leather? Ikea?”

“Shut it.” I covered my face with my hands and let out a few curses. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

“Dude, if a couch gave you an erection, you tell me.”

“It’s because of what happened on the couch.”

“Ohh.” Lex nodded and swiped his keys from the table. “You mean the practice kiss that really wasn’t practice at all but you breaking your own rules, and had I come in, oh, I don’t know, say a half hour later, said couch would be soiled with all the sex you’re currently not having.”

“Why are we friends?”

“See ya.” Lex saluted me with his middle finger. “And not that I’m a relationship expert, since I’d rather bang ’em than lose ’em, but maybe you should talk to her.” He nodded slowly. “Use your words.”

“Bite me.”

His laugh had me wanting to key his car.

Or maybe drive it into Puget Sound.

Fine. I could use my words. I could fix this. I
would
fix this.

I checked my watch. I had two hours before class, and Blake didn’t have any morning classes.

“Words,” I mumbled, reaching for my phone. “Use my words.”

“This isn’t coming out right,” I blurted as Blake lifted a couch cushion high into the air, aiming for my face, and then, as if thinking twice about it, lowering it toward my groin.

I’d been at her house a total of five seconds before World War III broke out.

“You think?” she said, seething.

“I’m trying to make things better!”

“Is that what you’re doing?” she screeched. “You apologized for kissing me, then kissed me again.”

“About that.” I winced. “I got caught up in the moment.” Actually, she looked so damn pretty that I’d forgotten all about my huge speech. I’d just apologized for last weekend, then, two seconds later, fused my mouth against hers.

She kissed me back.

For around four seconds.

And then she shoved me back so hard that my coffee spilled and ran down my chest, probably leaving a burn trail all the way to my dick.

Wrong day to freeball it. That was for sure.

“Ian.” Why did my name have to sound so good coming from those swollen lips? Probably because God was punishing me. The one girl I craved and she was ready to suffocate me. Great. “You’re not that guy, the relationship one. That’s what I want. Not fleeting kisses. Because”—she swallowed—“well, because it confuses me. And that’s not fair.”

I sighed, hanging my head. “I know, Blake. I’m sorry. I got carried away. You know the song ‘Blurred Lines’?”

“Not helping your case.”

“Sorry.” I managed a weak smile. “Again.” But what I really wanted to say?
Let me take you out on a date. Give me a chance. I could change.

But I knew better than anyone.

Guys didn’t just change. I mean, I’d never tried, but the thing about Blake? She was sweet, innocent, and what if I ruined her? What if I told her I wanted to commit, jumped in with both feet, only to cheat on her?

“I swear”—I gulped, hating every word I was saying—“I’ll help you with David. And then . . . I’m hoping we can still be friends.”

Her face fell. “Friends.”

“Funny how words that are supposed to make people happy kind of make
you
want to punch a tree like Chuck Norris.”

Blake burst out laughing. “Yeah, well . . .”

It wasn’t awkward. If I had to describe the moment—me still dripping-wet with coffee, Blake holding a pillow to keep my mouth from assaulting hers—I’d say it was sad.

That’s what I felt.

Sad.

Because I liked her.

Clearing my throat, I held out my hand. “Friends?”

She dropped the pillow, took a few steps, closing the distance between us, and shook my hand. “Friends.”

“Good.” I dropped her hand, flexed my fingers, gave myself an internal pep talk where her boobs weren’t the main attraction, and stared her down. “Then let’s get to work.”

“Didn’t you say you had class?”

“Skipping. We’re going to basically bump into David all day long, and make him want to kill himself. You up for that?”

She nodded, but it wasn’t an excited nod—more like she didn’t know what else to do.

“You still want David, right?”

Dear God, please say no.

After a few seconds of hesitation, Blake answered. “David’s . . . a good guy. He’s the guy you marry, you know? The guy you take home. He’s always been there for my family, and he’s—”

“Safe,” I finished for her, hating the word almost as much as I hated the word “friends.”

Blake made a face. “Do you think that’s wrong?”

Hell, yes. It was almost as bad as settling. But it wasn’t my place to tell her that. Plenty of girls liked safe, only to fall in love with the comfort it brought later. Safe wasn’t settling, but it sure as hell looked like it. Especially the way that Blake’s shoulders suddenly slouched.

“Blake.” I gripped her arms and pulled her forward. “Snap out of it. You’re sexy as hell, know how to kiss so well that I’m pretty sure I’ll never forget the way your mouth tastes, and you’re sweet.” I rolled my eyes. “Stop making that face. Sweet is good. You’re the perfect balance of sexy and sweet. Think of your personality as catnip.”

“Does that make David a cat?”

“Yeah.” And I was a tiger, damn it.

“Okay . . . also, I never thought you’d ever call me sweet, especially with our first meeting not going so well.”

I laughed. “But now we’re friends, so you no longer want to gouge my eyes out.”

The daggers she shot at me with her eyes told me to piss off. Obviously she didn’t agree.

She held up a hand. “Only half the time. When you’re asking me to play nurse and patient, or when you tell me to get naked, or when you grab my boobs without permission, or kiss me just because you have issues keeping your hand out of the cookie jar.”

“Is that so wrong?”

“According to the contract . . .”

I rubbed my hands together. “I’m changing the subject now. Go put something on that screams sexy, and we’ll get going.”

Blake glanced down at her baggy black sweats and tight blue tank top. “What’s wrong with this?”

My eyebrows shot up. “What’s wrong?” I circled her, then slapped her ass and gripped it so hard she let out a little yelp. “There it is. Sorry. Couldn’t find it underneath all that heavy black material.”

Grumbling, she stomped away, then paused at the stairway and very slowly turned back to give me a coy gaze.

“Dude, hurry up,” I said.

Her sweats dropped to her ankles.

Revealing ass cheeks with a string of fabric pressed between them.

Sweet glorious Lord.

“Not funny,” I growled. “I will seriously own your ass if you do that again, and I don’t mean that in an ‘oh, I’ll just tackle you and spank you’ way. I will breach my contract as many times as I can within a twenty-four-hour period. Now, if you’re game for that, then by all means keep stripping. But if you can’t hang with the big boys, I suggest you march that cute ass up the stairs, put on some clothes—ones that hide the white thong—and get back down here within five minutes. I still have to change, and you ruined our coffee.” I hoped I still had something clean left at Gabi’s house.

Her smile fell, and suddenly she was dashing up the stairs like the fires of hell were licking at her heels. Which, technically they were, since my tongue had fallen out of my mouth and a puddle of drool was pooling at my feet.

I took a deep breath, trying to soothe myself.

She wanted David. She deserved David. I’d get her David if it killed me.

While she changed, I pulled up Blake’s profile summary and glanced at David’s class schedule. He had a class in an hour and would most likely be hanging around the gym soon after for a light weight session followed by practice.

“Ready!” Blake appeared in front of me.

I lowered my phone, eyes narrowing as I examined her from head to toe. I circled her like she was my prey, and wished it were actually true.

“Who got you that tank top?”

“You don’t like it?” She looked down and gripped the loose-yet-sexy tank top with a leopard print sports bra underneath. “Gabi loaned it to me.”

That Gabi was really trying my patience. First, she got me sick, and now? Now she’s loaning sexy clothes to her roommate?

“It’s nice.” With a shrug, I turned my head to the left, then leaned over, my face staring directly at her tight ass. “New spandex?”

Blake did a little wiggle. Or actually, her ass did.

When asses wiggled, I had a tendency to pet them.

Because really, that’s what an ass shake was—an invitation to touch, and as a man it was my job to make sure that the ass knew that, yes, I would be paying a lot of attention to it later.

“Great,” I croaked, peeling my eyes away from the gray-and-black tiger-striped spandex. “No.”

“What? You just said ‘great.’” She turned around, her eyes lowered to where mine were still fastened.

“No.” I pointed at the offensive flip-flops. “If you want David, you have to give these to the Goodwill, or better yet, burn them, or”—I paused and added a small smile so she wouldn’t be too offended—“leave them on your doorstep so I can steal them and stash them under my pillow. We’d always have the flip-flops.”

I was turning into a lunatic.

Another reason she needed to get with David sooner rather than later. If I kept this up, I was going to grow ovaries and ask the clerk at Walmart where the tampon aisle was.

“I’m wearing them.”

“No.” I crossed my arms to match her stance. “You aren’t.”

“Make me take them off.”

“You don’t think I can?” We were chest to chest. I could smell her vanilla ChapStick. Her wavy golden-brown hair spilled over her shoulders.

The room was so tense I was surprised I could even breathe.

“Ian.” She purred my name, and I was done for, seriously done for. Damn woman. “Please?”

“Stop that.” I pointed at her eyes. “Stop batting your eyelashes. I’m immune!”

She kept batting them, her smile growing wider and wider, making her look more adorable than sexy. Which was a hell of a lot worse, because sexy you slept with, adorable you kept.

Forever.

I needed to look away. “Damn it.” I rolled my eyes, breaking contact. “Whatever. Just remember, I warned you.”

“Thanks.” She slapped my ass just like I had done to her a few minutes ago. It tingled. It tingled hard. It tingled good.

With a groan, I followed her peppy steps to the door and mentally moved up the timeline. She wanted David?

She was going to get him.

By this weekend.

My heart did a little skip.

I brushed it off as heartburn and rushed her to my waiting SUV, my eyes lingering on her ass the entire way.