The Matchmaker's Playbook

“Erotic point?” Vivian frowned.

Lex sighed as if he were teaching math to a first grader. “Pecs, dick, hips, elbows, shoulders, thigh. But in this case, I said no below the belt, so touch my elbow. Or if you really want to go big, go ahead and touch his thigh.”

“His thigh.” She nodded. “Okay, so we’re sitting?”

Lex groaned. “Dude, I really don’t have time for this.”

I intervened. “Viv, if you’re standing, go for the bicep. Like this.” I pulled her into my arms. “And if you’re sitting, yes, graze his thigh. But don’t grope. A graze is how you touch a flower; a grope is how you grab a stress ball.”

“Flowers, not balls.” She nodded. “Got it.”

Lex burst out laughing. “Alright, my work here is done. Have fun, kids.”

He walked off whistling while girls stared after him.

“You think you got it?” I crossed my arms. “Because we’re running out of time, and I have things to do.”

“Yup.” If she nodded one more time, her head was going to fall off.

“No more nodding, no more short answers. Say ‘yes’ instead of ‘yeah.’ Always answer with full sentences—you aren’t sixteen anymore. And don’t nod. If you nod, he can’t hear your voice. And we need him to hear your voice. We want it to torture him when he’s in bed. Alone. Got it?”

She nodded, then stopped and said, “Yes.”

“Good girl. You have my number. Text soon.”

I walked toward my car. I was going to be late for dinner, but that didn’t matter. I just wanted to see Blake.

Hell, I didn’t even need sex.

Which meant something was seriously wrong with me.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

“I think you should fake the flu,” I said while Blake rushed around her room to get ready for her dinner with David. I’d stalled her as many times as I could. First in the shower, then before she got dressed. And now, as she slid on heels, all I could think of was her wearing those heels with me, naked. “On second thought.” I tilted my head. “Wear those for me tonight?”

Blake laughed and stood on wobbly legs. “So how do I look?”

I sighed and closed my eyes. “Gorgeous.”

“You’re not even looking.”

“Because looking at you pisses me off. It reminds me that he’s going to be looking at you, and every time I think about him in the same damn room as you, I want to cut off his shooting hand and bury it in Gabs’s yard.”

“That’s really graphic.”

I groaned. “You have no idea”—I stalked toward her—“how graphic I can really be. Care for an example? I have several.” I nipped her lower lip and tugged the strap to her slinky black dress down her shoulder, kissing the spot the strap had just occupied and trying to shove the material farther down.

“Oh no you don’t.” Blake wagged her finger at me. “Think of it this way—the sooner I go out with him and tell him how blissfully happy I am with you, the sooner we can get this whole David thing behind us. Besides, like I said, he’s a friend.”

“My point exactly. You sleep with your friend every night.”

Blake sighed. “Ian, trust me. I want you. Not him.”

It was in that moment that I realized she had me by the balls in a very disturbing way, because for the first time in years I was insecure. Fearful that our relationship was too new and that she’d default to what was comfortable.

Fearful that she would settle.

Then again, what made me better than David?

Shit. What if she was settling by being with me, not him? What if I was holding her back? What if . . .

And this is why guys like me should never date, because guys like me have way too many thoughts. Guys like me help girls get guys like David. I knew exactly what he would do to woo her. I knew exactly how he’d respond to every laugh, every sigh. Damn it. It was like sending her out unarmed. She wasn’t ready for battle, not when it came to the stacks of childhood memories David had against me.

I really should have read through the compatibility results that Lex had given me. At least then I’d know who was the better man, even though the very fact that it could be him made my chest tighten with rage.

If she was meant to be with him, she would be.

But she was with me.

“Ian?” Blake waved in front of my face. “Are you okay?”

“Go,” I huffed. “I won’t drive you to dinner like the crazy-ass boyfriend who can’t trust his girl. Seriously, go. I’ll, um, I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yeah.” She frowned. “I’ll stop by your house afterward. Is that still okay?”

“Of course.” I forced a smile, then kissed her briskly on the cheek. “Just don’t let him touch you. Anywhere. Not even your back, which means he’s thinking of touching your ass, alright?”

“Promise.” She held up her hand. “Go watch a movie, relax. Maybe do some homework.”

“Hah.” Like I wanted to do statistics while he was looking down her dress and imagining her naked. Like hell. “Great idea.”

“Trust me?” she said in a hopeful voice.

“Yes.”

She left me standing there in her room, wondering how the hell I’d gone from being a guy who was confident in every area of his life to a guy wondering if I’d made a huge lapse in judgment by giving her a chance. Because the minute you’re in a relationship, like really in it, you have the potential to fail.