Dylan Wayne

Seattle, WA

There are ninety-four celebrities listed with the last name Wayne. I'm not one of them. Around Seattle, I have a small amount of notoriety for developing a popular dating app with my buddies and hanging with my high-profile billionaire bud Lazer Grayson. If it's just the two of us chilling, without the rest of the guys, we take crap from smartasses for being Wayne and Grayson, like Batman and Robin.

If that were the case, and we were in any way like the caped crusader and the boy wonder, our personalities are switched. He's the playboy and I'm nothing like Robin. For one thing, I'm not a boy. For another, I'm about twice Robin's size, and tights make my thighs look big—which I consider an asset. Those are just the obvious physical differences. The personality differences are even starker.

I'm more like John Wayne—a big cowboy. I grew up on a ranch in Central Washington watching Wayne's movies with my grandpa. Both Granddad and I are big men. When horses see us coming, the smart ones bolt and run. The dumb ones cringe.

I need a big horse to hold me. Give me a horse that's seventeen hands and we'll both be happy. I wanted to be a rodeo cowboy when I was young and enthralled with the annual stampede suicide race my hometown is famous for. My aspirations were doomed from the start. I don't have the build for rodeo. I'm not fast and I'm not wiry. So I lost the cowboy hat and became a software developer instead. Now I'm more geek than cowboy.

I like country music, but I don't flaunt my taste for it. When I cosplay with the guys, my costume of choice is a space cowboy. I like the duster. Ladies do, too. It makes me look dark and mysterious, the strong, silent type. The look isn't far off reality—I'm not a talker. I've cosplayed a wide variety of characters, including a Scottish warrior sidekick for my buddy Austin. I didn't do much talking in that role, either.

As I walked to meet with my matchmaker, Lazer's fiancée Ashley Harte, at Jet City Coffee near my downtown condo, I was in trouble. I hadn't been doing my homework—dating. Ashley screened all of the women she sent me out on dates with. That was the beauty of working with a matchmaker.

In theory, any of the dates Ashley sets up should be good matches for me. But you know the problem with theory—it's all theoretical. Yeah, I know, circular reasoning. I mean that theory isn't reality. It's just a plausible idea, and plausible isn't probable and is a far cry from certain. Looking good on paper was one thing, making it work in real life another.

Ashley was on my case to get my butt in dating gear. I'd been working with her for over a year and still hadn't found "the one." As she reminded me at every opportunity, I was bringing her success rate down. How the hell was she supposed to build a stellar reputation as Seattle's premier matchmaker with me sabotaging her numbers? We were friends, after all. The least I could do was put some effort in.

Yeah, I could be a real douche sometimes. To be fair, Ashley put it more nicely. Ashley was a class act and a true friend.

My lack of dating, and dating success, wasn't intentional. Lately, I'd been short on time and patience. Dating was work. It required socializing and lots of chatting.

Chatting, chatting, chatting. Small talk. More small talk. Inane pleasantries. Shudder. You could call me a damned introvert's introvert and I'd smile and nod at the compliment.

Since selling our dating app, the guys and I had been working long hours on an exciting new software venture. Now that Austin was married and Lazer and Jeremy had fiancées, our venture wasn't making as much forward progress as I wanted. Cam and I were left carrying the weight. Women messed with your head and success if you weren't careful.

When Austin, Jeremy, Cam, and I first signed up to be matched, I hadn't wondered who'd be the last of us to find a wife. I knew—me. I'm a big guy. So big I scare a lot of women off just by my size. If I were a star athlete, this might not be a problem, but I'm not. I used to be a soft teddy bear. But since working with Stryker, the trainer Ashley hired to pretty me up, I'm solid muscle. If I'm walking down a street at night and meet a woman, or a group of women, they cross the street to avoid me. Or I cross, if I can beat them to it, just to show I'm no threat.

Added to my scary size, I want a big woman, preferably one over six feet. A big woman I can make big sons, or daughters, with. I have no illusions that I'll ever make petite daughters, so I may as well go for broke. The size of woman I'm looking for would make her a height one-percenter like me. My six-feet-and-over plan makes Ashley's job that much harder. Hell, it's a point I could give on, given the right woman. But I've been using it as an excuse lately so I didn't have to be distracted with dating.

I turned the corner. The Seattle Jet City Coffee came into view. Since Ashley was a friend as well as my matchmaker, I had invited her to my place. But she preferred to keep our matchmaking sessions "professional" and meet on neutral ground, the same way she did for the rest of her clients. I had a feeling this was so she could chew me out without guilt.

I was delayed by an ambulance at the streetlight across from Jet City. I hustled across when the light finally changed, glancing at my watch as I hurried in. Damn, I was late. Ashley was already waiting for me with her laptop open on the table in front of her. I had yet to beat her. She was almost always early.

She looked up. "Look what the cat dragged in." She stood and hugged me.

"I look that bad?" I finger-combed my hair.

"You look tired."

"I was up late coding. Then Stryker kicked my ass at the gym this morning to wake me up."

She shook her head. "Good old Stryker. I knew there was a reason I liked him." She sat and pointed to a paper cup of coffee across from her. "I got you your favorite."

"Not wasting any time?" I sat across from her at our table in the middle of the room. This was our regular meeting place. People were used to seeing us. We didn't draw too many stares. I was used to people gawking and wondering if I was a former football player, which made me laugh. I'd never been athletic, but now I looked like a linebacker.

"I'm always on a tight schedule," she said. "I have places to go. Clients to see—"

"And I'm usually late."

She smiled, not moving a muscle to correct me.

I picked up my coffee. It was still hot. I cautiously took a sip. I'd burned my tongue here too many times. Jet City made their coffee extra hot. At home, I had a high-tech mug that kept my coffee at the perfect drinking temperature. It even alerted me via an app on my phone when it cooled to the temperature I preferred. No such accommodations with a paper cup. I was becoming a pampered douchebag. "Who do you have for me today?"

She cocked her head and gave me an eager, hopeful look. To her credit, Ashley was usually good with a poker face. If she was letting her excitement show, she must really be excited about someone. I put up my guard.

"I've found her—a woman I think will be perfect for you. She has everything—personality, looks, intelligence…height." She shook her head, amused with me. "You know, it's usually my female clients who are on the six-foot-and-over plan."

"Yeah, well, I like to challenge you," I said. "Somebody has to or your work will grow stale. You love it, you know you do. Think how boring life would be without stretching yourself."

"Yeah?" She grinned. "I'd take boring."

I laughed. "I'll bet you wouldn't. Not for long. Who do you have for me?"

Ashley liked to give me a rundown selling the woman and then show me a picture to seal the deal.

Her eyes lit up, emphasizing her passion for her craft. "As I said, she's tall—six feet, to be exact."

I perked up. "Nice."

Ashley nodded. "She's your age almost exactly. Your birthdays are within a few days of each other. She grew up in the country in Eastern Washington. She loves horses—her grandpa used to breed them. She likes country music. She lives in the city and works in the tech industry as a software engineer. I'm hoping that means she'll understand more than half of what you guys talk about and say."

I grinned. "Yeah. It can be like speaking a foreign language."

"You think?" She was in a good mood. "And she has a dynamite sense of humor."

"My type of humor?"

"Naturally." Ashley humored me with a smile.

My sense of humor could be too offbeat for some women.

"And…she's gorgeous and charming." Ashley beamed. "Really, as I listen to myself enumerate all her many attributes, she's too good for the likes of you."

"I'm sure she is. Don't let that stop you. It's my goal to marry above my station." I craned to try to get a glimpse of Ashley's computer screen, guessing she had the woman's picture up.

Ashley slyly half closed it so I couldn't get a sneak peek. "Her name's Laura."

For protection, and to protect client and member privacy, Ashley didn't give out last names before the first date. She left important information like that up to us to find out from the other person.

I frowned. "Laura?" My defenses went up. My age. Small town in Eastern Washington. Grandpa who raised horses. This wasn't looking good. Too many coincidences.

Ashley furrowed her brow and looked at me suspiciously. "What's wrong now?"

I shrugged. "I don't like the name Laura. Bad association from my youth." Half lie. Also one of the best memories from growing up. You don't forget your first love, even if it was young love.

"Anyone ever tell you you're entirely too picky?" Ashley sighed. "For a guy who used to be a geek—"

"Still am a geek," I said. There was no point in denying the truth. "I can't help my past. Are you going to let me see this gorgeous woman with the distasteful name?"

Ashley narrowed her eyes. "Are you going to keep an open mind and get past her name?"

"Cross my heart." I looked heavenward as I motioned crossing my heart. Looking heavenward negates the promise.

"Dylan."

"Mom."

"Open mind. You can always give her a nickname."

"Yeah, Pookie comes to mind."

Ashley rolled her eyes and opened her laptop, turning it so I could look at the woman on the screen.

The moment I saw her, my pulse galloped into action just as it had since the first time she walked into my field of vision. I'd been five. She'd had that effect on me for my entire childhood, and it only got worse from there. Right now got worse, too. Industrial-strength teenage hormones I'd forgotten long ago roared back to life like it was still yesterday.

I studied her photo. Nope. Not mistaken. It was her, looking more gorgeous than she had as the teenager I'd been hot for. "Laura Fox?"

I swallowed hard against the irrational pull of attraction I felt. That I'd always felt for her.

"No. No way." I shook my head. "No."

I could tell by the way Ashley stiffened that she took offense at my abrupt rejection. I grinned to soften the blow and laughed softly at myself.

"Wait. What's wrong with her?" Ashley's eyes narrowed. "Oh." She shook her head. "You know Laura, don't you?"

I nodded and pointed at the screen. "I'm not going on any dates with Laura Fox. And even if I would, she sure as hell wouldn't go out with me."

She'd made that clear enough back then. I'd been keeping a secret for Laura since senior year in high school. You know how it goes when you know something someone else is embarrassed about—they don't like being around you.

Ashley got that determined look of hers. "But she's perfect—"

"Definitely not perfect, not by a long shot."

"I screened her myself. She was funny, pleasant, and charismatic." She tapped her computer screen. "Look at her. She's tall and gorgeous. Are you blind, man?"

"Probably talked your ear off, too," I said.

Ashley narrowed her eyes even further. I hadn't thought that was possible. She should bottle that look and sell it to mothers everywhere. It was damned intimidating.

If I'd been a smart horse, I'd have bolted. Instead, I stared back at her.

"One of you is going to have to be a talker. If not, the two of you will just sit around staring at each other. Very boring."

I grinned.

"Lottie met her, too," she said, as if that settled things and validated her point. "She agrees with me—Laura is perfect for you."

Lottie was Ashley's office manager and assistant, kind of the mom of the office. Patient. Funny. Loved to take care of everyone. I liked Lottie. But in this case, she was as off-base as Ashley. I knew better than to disagree out loud. I let silence speak for me.

Ashley couldn't stand it. "What did Laura do to you? What do you have against her?"

"She humiliated me." That was part of the truth. A small lie of omission. She'd been the hottest, funniest, sweetest, kindest girl to me, seeing past my gawkiness and nerdiness. Letting me believe…

What did it matter now? She was all that and then she abruptly broke my heart. Who was she, really?

Ashley raised an eyebrow.

"It was childish crap." I wasn't in the mood to elaborate. We'd been kids. We'd handled the whole thing badly, both of us. I'd never gotten over my guilt. I could have done better. I could have done more. It hurt like hell then, but there was a lot more to it.

"Childish crap as in you were children?"

"Yeah." I nodded.

Ashley pursed her lips. It was clear the wheels of her mind were turning as she tried to come up with a way to spin this to her advantage. "Children can be cruel. Fortunately, most people grow up and out of that phase. Laura is a wonderfully charming woman—"

I held a hand up. "Stop right there. If I wanted to date a woman from my tiny hometown, I would have stayed there and worked the ranch with my granddad, dad, and brother."

I set my coffee down and crossed my arms. "You're just pissed that now you have a giant woman on your hands. You're going to have to pawn her off on someone else. That isn't going to be easy. Got any pro basketball players on your roster?"

Much as I wanted another shot with Laura, my desire was irrational. A fantasy. A dream. There was too much water under our bridge.

Ashley didn't scare easily. She wasn't dissuaded easily, either. "Give me a hint—what, specifically, do you have against Laura? She was senior prom queen—"

I rolled my eyes. "My graduating class had sixteen people, and only three of them were girls. Every girl had to take a turn being homecoming queen, prom queen, Miss Okanogan County, you name it. Just like every guy had to play football, even the ones who sucked, like me."

"You still haven't said what, exactly, you have against her. She's six feet tall and gorgeous. Successful. Just what you're looking for. With girls in such great demand in your high school, you must have something."

I frowned. I had a hundred somethings. "I went to school with Laura, K through twelve. Isn't that enough?"

Ashley's determined look made it abundantly clear it was not. "Look. You know I have gut feelings about certain pairings—"

She was famous for her gut instinct. It made her a damn fine matchmaker. And annoyingly arrogant at times.

"I had one about Jeremy and Crystal." She shot me an optimistic look. "Jeremy fought me on that match at first, too. Look how great that relationship turned out. They're perfect together."

I shrugged. She had a point, but I didn't like it. In my case, it was moot.

"I've been optimistic on one level or another about all of the women I've matched you with. But I haven't had a hunch like this, this powerful and insistent, about any them. You know that. I've never been this excited about any of them or this sure."

I didn't reply.

"Will you trust me on this?" She raised her eyebrows. "Let me at least talk to Laura, show her your picture, and see if there's any interest?"

My heart was still galloping away, riding a trail of hope. Enough so, that I couldn't bring myself to shut her down completely.

"You'll be wasting your time." But it might be amusing to watch her try.

"Maybe," she said in a pragmatic tone. "But it's mine to waste."

I shrugged. "Suit yourself. Go ahead, if you must." I was confident in my position.

"I will." She set her jaw. "But if she says she's interested, you have to promise you'll take her out at least once." Her tone was so pointed that she may as well have been poking me with a cattle prod. Or wagging her finger at me.

I furrowed my brow, giving her my dark, brooding look. "I don't like wasting time, either." Or getting my hopes up for nothing.

Ashley pinned me with her penetrating look. She was so damn good with that look that resisting was pointless.

I held my hands up, defenseless. "All right. Fine. You honestly convince her to go out with me, with full knowledge of who I am—and by the way, you have more chance of teaching a pig to fly—I'll take her out. But I'm not promising anything more than coffee and as few minutes of my time as she and I can tolerate."

Ashley's answering smile was the smug, self-satisfied look of a conquering matchmaker. Her expression made me extremely uneasy. I liked Ashley. But she was about to get burned by a flaming arrow from her Cupid's bow.