The Matchmaker's Playbook (8 page)

“Didn’t know you were dating,” David muttered as his gaze drifted toward her chest, then flashed away.

I burst out laughing. “What are you? Her dad?” When he didn’t say anything, I pushed further. “Aw, how cute. Have you always been like a father figure to my Blake?”

Blake made a whimpering noise beside me as I held out my hand to her and helped her stand.

“What? Hell no!” He let out a nervous laugh. “We’ve been buds since we could walk.”

“Cute story.” I nodded like I was faking being impressed. “Well, it was nice meeting Blake’s dad.” I laughed. “Kidding. It was nice meeting you, man.” I shook his hand, then draped my arm over Blake’s shoulder, waving good-bye to DJ as I dropped our tray off and left the eating area.

Blake was deathly silent until we reached the parking lot.

This was usually the part where the girl freaked out and jumped up in down in triumph, or tried kneeing me in the balls.

Granted, I’d never actually groped any of my other clients, but desperate times and all . . .

Kissing them? Yeah, that’s typically how I got the first reaction out of the clients, but Blake had never been kissed, and I was still a gentleman. It wouldn’t be my right to take that kiss from her, not when she’d clearly been saving it for him.

A voice in my mind screamed that I’d done a hell of a lot more by touching her boobs, but the ass in me shrugged off the voice.

Hormones released. Reaction given. It worked. Bingo!

“You okay?” I let go of her.

“That was”—she pressed her hands to her temples—“really stressful.”

I let out a laugh as adrenaline surged through me. “It usually is.”

Her bright eyes met mine. “Thank you. I think that was the first time he’s actually looked at me—”

“Like you had boobs.”

Blake laughed harder. It was deep, and a bit addictive to listen to. She nodded in excitement. “Exactly.”

“So now will you go to Victoria’s Secret?”

Sheer delight made her eyes sparkle. “Only if you go with me.”

Shit.

Typically, I didn’t need to do this much work. Typically, my clients knew what lipstick was.

I eyed her up and down. Yeah, she wasn’t typical. Not at all. She was special, but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out why.

“Fine,” I grumbled. “But you better treat me to froyo after.”

I waved good-bye as she jogged off toward her dorm while I slowly made my way back to my car.

My phone buzzed with a text.

I knew it was probably Shell, but I didn’t want to think about my other clients. I wanted to think about Blake. And in all my time being a wingman, I’d never done that.

I’d never given a girl a second thought. I never took business home with me.

But I was still thinking about Blake long after she left.

And it wasn’t in a sense of
Gee, how can I help her?
It was mostly about why the hell she was chasing after some guy who clearly hadn’t seen that he’d had a good thing in front of him for over ten years.

I was reading too much into it. Guys were blind, end of story.

Damn egg rolls.

Yeah, let’s blame those.

C
HAPTER
N
INE

“I’m going to count to five.” I banged on the dressing room door one last time. “And then I’m coming in.”

“No!” Blake’s voice was muffled. “I’m . . . It’s . . . I’m . . .”

Cursing, I pressed my forehead against the pink wood door. “Blake . . . I’m starving!”

“You’re always starving! Why don’t you eat before our meetings?”

“I’m busy! I hate protein bars. I forget. And Gabi didn’t pack me a lunch!”

She was quiet. And then, “Gabi packs you lunches?”

Groaning, I made another feeble attempt at grabbing the doorknob and twisting. Still locked. “Gabi sucks. She was supposed to come.”

“Gabi had a test.”

“Wanna know how many tests I’ve flunked because of her?”

Absolutely zero, because she’d never needed me during a test, but I would have gone to her. Maybe. If she was dying, or if the only way for her to pass her class was for me to have sex with her professor.

“Seriously?”

“No. But best friends make sacrifices!”

Blake let out another pitiful groan. “I don’t think it fits.”

“They measured you. It fits. Just tell me if it looks okay so we can go.” I checked my watch. “Gabi said dinner was at six, and it’s already a quarter till.”

“This is too much pressure.” Her voice was frantic. “I can’t do this. I mean, how do I know if it looks good? They’re boobs.”

I groaned. “Boobs always look good. Believe me.”

“Boobs are gross!”

Said no man ever. Even the gay ones.

One of the salesladies eyed me up and down. “Are you two okay?”

“Great,” I chirped. “Just having a very heated discussion about the beauty of breasts.” I dipped my chin to the sales lady’s chest. “What are you? A double D?”

Scowling, she marched off.

Thank God.

“Blake,” I hissed.

No answer.

I’d never had such a difficult client. If anything, they jumped when I told them to, asked how high, and then kept jumping until I was satisfied. Blake fought me at every turn.

“Open the door before I crawl underneath it. I’ll pick the bras—you can close your eyes if you want so you don’t have to watch me look at you, alright? My stomach literally just ate my liver. I need protein. Open. The. Door.”

The door slowly creaked open. Taking advantage of the small crack of air, I pushed it farther, then clicked it shut behind me and turned around.

Blake was facing me, hands on hips, face beet-red, body . . . freaking perfect. My tongue almost lolled out, like a dog.

Most girls starve themselves to have abs like that, which was disgusting. But her abs? They had muscle, actual muscle, but still appeared feminine.

She also had a nice tan, just enough to show that she spent time outside, or maybe she just had naturally darker skin.

My throat went completely dry as I continued to stare.

“Well?” Her voice was weak. “How awful do I look? On a scale of one to ten?”

I’d convinced her to buy some new workout clothes to replace her old ones. I knew I’d never get her to actually completely change her style. She liked workout clothes? Fine, at least buy the kind that fit and actually point to the correct gender. I tried to steer her away from the boyfriend sweats and sweatshirts, but she eventually wore me down, so I told her if she bought at least five new pink outfits that had spandex in them, I’d let her get one pair of ugly slouchy sweats. You’d think I’d just given her a million dollars, from her reaction.

Currently, she was sporting a short pair of bright-blue yoga shorts.

And a black push-up sports bra that did wonders for her boobs.

And the world just in general.

Holy shit.

I gulped as I became more and more irritated with the fact that my body was reacting as if it had never seen a girl without her shirt on before. “Blake, it’s great.”

“You sound bored!”

I had to, damn it! What did she want me to do? Sound interested? Turned-on? Intrigued? Curious? I was all those things. I just tried to ignore the insanity bouncing around in my head and blurted, “Your boobs look really good. Perky, happy, just . . . awesome.”

Did I just call her boobs “happy”?

“You think?” She stared down at her breasts, then grabbed them.

Holy shit, was she seriously feeling herself up? I braced my hand against the door and sucked in a breath.

“They still feel comfortable,” she said.

“Do they?” I managed to choke out while she continued bouncing them a bit in her hands. Dear Lord, did she know what she was doing? Waving a flag in front of a bull. My jeans suddenly tight in all the wrong areas, I tried to envision Lex naked, anything to get my dick to clue in to the word “client,” meaning I was in a no-play zone.

Another first.

It was because I was hungry.

And Marissa? Melissa? Hadn’t satisfied me. I’d gotten off, and made sure she did too, but the entire experience left me feeling empty, bored, and—if I was being completely honest?—a bit depressed. Besides, her tits paled in comparison. I had to wonder what the hell I’d been doing all my life if this was the first time I was having such a strong reaction to boobs.

Something about Blake had me wondering if I’d been satisfied at all up until this point. And I had no idea what the hell was so confusing about her, and about the situation. I was unable to put my finger on it, and the more I thought about it the more my head hurt.

Hunger does weird things to guys.

“Yeah.” More bouncing, then turning and staring in the mirror. I wasn’t sure what was worse. Her staring at her own boobs or touching them. “I’m just no good at this stuff. I didn’t grow up with a mom, and I hit puberty really early. The girls made fun of me, and the boys pointed.” Her shoulders slumped inward again.

Could we please go back to the bouncing? I was a fan of that Blake. The one that rolled up like an awkward armadillo? Not so much.

Which was a good reminder of why I was helping her. Sprinkle a little confidence fairy dust all over her tight little body, throw her in some hot workout gear, and steer her in the general direction of the gym for round two. Piece of cake.

“A woman should be proud of her body.” I met her gaze in the mirror. “If you feel good about the outside”—my hands twitched to cup her breasts, to outline the silhouette they gave off, to point out the all the angles and curves that drove a man insane, that made a man want—“then it directly reflects in the way you carry yourself.” I pulled back as we locked eyes in the mirror, and then took a step closer, this time placing my hands on her hips and lightly running my fingertips up her sides. “Guys are turned-on by sight, girls by touch. By wearing something that fits, you’re guaranteeing that he won’t still see you as a buddy, but as a partner. And that’s what you want . . . right?”

She licked her lips and nodded. “Right.”

My heart sank.

I had no idea why.

I quickly released her and laughed out a simple “You look fantastic. David’s going to be a very lucky man. He’ll be eating out of your hand in no time.”

The moment was lost.

If that’s what you could call it.

Food. Low blood sugar. Aliens invading my body. I needed to leave that small room before I did something stupid, something undoable.

“That confident in your abilities?” she said. Her eyebrows arched.

Staring at her in the mirror, I could already visualize him falling for her. Underneath all that hair, she had a really pretty face, a gorgeous body, and a full C cup that would make any guy with two eyes weep with thankfulness.

“No,” I said honestly. “But I’m pretty confident in yours.”

The saleslady knocked. “Everything okay in there?”

“Yup,” I answered for Blake.

“Sir, you need to get out of the dressing room. We don’t allow customers to . . . er . . . play in the product before they purchase.”

“Play?” I said dumbly.

“Hanky-panky.”

“Oh,” I said loudly, winking at Blake in the mirror. “Do you mean sex?”

She knocked louder. “Sir! Get out this instant.”

Blake’s horrified expression made it all worth it. I smirked. She needed to step outside her comfort zone if she was going to make it to that first kiss with David.

Her cheeks reddened.

Virgins.

“Almost . . .” I started panting, then hit the wall with my hand. “But it’s so good.”

“Sir!”

“Wait for it.”

“
Sir
, right now! I’m going to call security!”

Blake opened her mouth, but I covered it with my hand. “Oh yeah!”

She bit me.

“Ouch!” I jerked away, shaking my hand. “Did you draw blood?”

“What’s wrong with you?” She smacked me on the chest and jerked open the door. Three salesladies and at least a dozen customers waited on the other side, mouths open. “He was kidding.”

I poked my head out. “Not kidding. Have you seen her? Oh, and we’ll take it all.” I pulled out my platinum Visa and winked.

Nobody moved at first, then the saleslady closest to us grabbed the card while Blake handed her the clothes. “Anything else?”

“Yeah.” I gave her a wicked grin. “Do you have security cameras for each dressing room, or is that illegal? Because whatever just went down in there really should have been on tape, you know?”

Blake ducked and covered her face with her hands while a few of the salesladies gave me sultry nods of approval.

“He’s kidding.” Blake smacked me again. “He’s been drinking all day. All week, actually.”

“Stone-cold sober.”

“He’s a pathological liar too.” Blake pushed me toward the sales counter while we made our purchases.

“This feels wrong.” She watched as the woman went to the counter and started ringing things up, then swiped my card.

“What does?”

“You paying for my lingerie.”

“I always pay for my clients’ clothes, makeup, yoga, whatever’s necessary, then I bill you at the end. It’s easier on my taxes.”

“Yoga?” Blake asked once we walked out onto the street.

“Yeah, once. I had a client who really needed to learn some new moves. Missionary was her one and only trick, and even then her guy still had trouble taking her to O-Town.” I threw on my sunglasses and laughed. “To this day, she still thanks me for the suggestion.”

“O-Town?” Blake frowned. “Like the boy band?”

I froze, then very slowly shook my head. “Riggins, Idaho, you say? Do you even have Internet there? McDonald’s? Tell me you at least have Taco Bell.”

Blake still looked genuinely confused. “What kind of moves did she need? You know, besides”—she gulped—“the other.”

I gave her a soft pat on the shoulder. “Baby steps. You just bought your first real bra. You can barely crawl. Those types of moves are for sprinters.”

“I can sprint.”

I winced. “No, you can’t.”

“Yes, I can!”

“You do realize I’m talking about the
Kama Sutra
, right?”

More confusion. “Is that a type of food?”

A guy next to me grunted, and his face fell as if saying,
Poor bastard has to go home with
her
?

“No.” I shook my head as we pushed our way through the crowds at the University Village shopping center. “And the fact that you actually asked that—out loud—greatly disappoints me.”

“I was a tomboy,” Blake said defensively.

“Tomboys should still know the terminology, Blake.” I opened the door for her, ignoring the fact that she’d said “was,” as in past tense. Someone really needed to buy her a mirror, then burn all the boy clothes in her room.

“One more thing,” I said. Speaking of rooms. And beds in general.

“What?”

“It’s day two.”

She chewed her lower lip. At this angle, I could imagine myself tasting her, meeting her mouth, teaching her the art of kissing. “Okay?”

“Typically”—my eyes trained in on the pink color of her tongue as it slid over her top lip, wetting it—“by day two I know what skill level you’re at.”

“Because of my questionnaire?”

I nodded. “And a few other . . . tests.”

“I thought you were hungry. Spit it out already.”

My stomach growled on command. “You know what? We’ll talk about it tonight after dinner.” My attitude perked up. “Dessert?”

“Sure.” She grinned. “Okay.”

Yeah. We had two very different meanings for that word. And she was about to find out very soon. She may have just gone through one stage of my training, but she was about to start the boot-camp phase, and I was very thorough when it came to making sure my clients knew just how to handle the guy they were trying to land.