The Matchmaker's Playbook

“Pagliacci delivers, man. Can’t beat that. And no hangover.”


“Look.” A thick folder landed in my lap.

“What the hell is this?”

“Your background info against hers.”

“Lex.” I growled his name like a curse. Sure, grab some salt and pour it into the gaping hole that is my heart. Really, I’ll just sit here and take it. “I don’t want to get more depressed.” I shoved the folder away.

Lex sighed loudly. “I love you like a brother. But this folder is ruining your life. I want you to see the stats. The real stats.”

“Real stats?” I repeated, sitting up straighter, interest suddenly piqued. “What do you mean real stats?”

“Look.” Lex held up his hands innocently in front of him. “I may have . . . tweaked the numbers a bit . . .”

“‘A bit,’ meaning you rounded up instead of down?”

Lex coughed into his hand.

“Lex!” I lunged for him, but all the pizza made me slow and sluggish. “What the hell did you do?”

“What I had to do,” Lex shouted. “You are seriously such an idiot.”

“Thank you?” I shook my head. “And I repeat, what the hell did you do?”

“I know you.”

“I know me too, thanks.”

“No, I really know you.” Lex ran his hand over his buzzed head. “You slept with a client. A client, Ian. Our business is based off your ability to, first off, not do that, but also to be damn good at what you do. Remember when we first started? What’s the oath we both took?”

I swallowed the bitterness in my throat. “Never fall in love.”

“Right.” Lex nodded. “And on that same drunken night, what did you make me swear to you?”

I didn’t answer.

“Ian, damn it! What did you force me to do?”

“I made you promise not to let me.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I was tired of losing shit . . . I lost my ability to play, and I moved on, but I didn’t like the emotional pain. Hell, who would? So I told you to always have my back.”

“So”—Lex opened the folder—“I did.”

I glanced down at the sheet and nearly tackled him to the floor. “Holy shit! How is this supposed to make me feel better?”

Lex burst out laughing. “I couldn’t do it. I changed the numbers by five points, man. Five whole points. And it was enough to ruin you. Don’t you get it? Fifty percent? Fifty-five percent? It doesn’t matter. Numbers can lie. The heart—”

“Damn poet. That’s how you get so much ass,” I said in an irritated tone.

“I rarely have to use my words, Ian. Rarely.”

“So she’d still be settling with me.”

“Only one way to find out.” Lex stood and offered his hand. “I know for a fact where David’s partying tonight, and word on the street is he’s at it alone while Blake hangs out with Gabs. Care for a drink?”

My eyes narrowed. “What? You think Mr. Goody Two-Shoes Oh Look a Butterfly Let’s Rescue It Then Go Hug a Tree is actually as bad as I wish he was? Believe me, I wish that were the case.”

Lex shook his head. “No, man, because you look like shit. I highly doubt you could even board an airplane without hitting the weight limit.”

I lifted my shirt. “Six-pack, you were saying?”

“Stop flashing me.” Lex looked away and covered his eyes. “Where the hell do you put it?”

“You know, a girl asked me that once. I didn’t answer, just shoved my giant—”

“Clearly you’re feeling better.” Lex held out his hand again. “Let’s toss you in the shower and get some ‘sex me’ clothes on. Remember one of the most important stats? Guys typically mess up within the first two weeks of a new relationship. And why is this?”

“God complex sets in,” I grumbled. “They finally won the lottery, and they want to buy everyone a drink.”

“God complex.” Lex nodded. “Translation: I stole a sexy piece of ass away from Ian Hunter, which means I could have any chick I want, so come hither, my little pretties, and let me show you what a real man can do.”

I made a face. “Please, like they’d even feel him.”

“Hah.” Lex nodded. “Alright, my work here is done. Go get your shit together. We leave in fifteen.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

The bar scene had always been my thing. Actually, give me any location with willing girls and alcohol . . . and you’d have my perfect night.

Except tonight.

The girls all seemed too eager and fake.

The lights too dim.

The crowds more irritating than exciting. And to top it off, Lex had already claimed the one chick who looked exactly like Gabi. When I pointed that out, it must have traumatized him, because after that he took three shots of tequila and mumbled, “Not a chance in hell.”

We’d taken a cab to the bar, and it looked like I’d be riding back solo. Something that hadn’t happened in years.