The Matchmaker's Playbook
As the bartender slid me another beer, she leaned over, her perky tits damn near falling out of her low top. “Rough night, Lex?”
“Does it matter”—I said with a grin—“when you know you’re going to be making it even rougher?”
She smirked. “What makes you so cocky?”
“Look at you,” I said. “Two minutes in, and you’re already talking about my favorite subject.”
Her eyebrows arched. “Even drunk you’re good.”
“Baby . . .” I stood, placing my hands firmly on the bar and leaning in so that I could brush my lips against her ear. “I’m the best.”
“Hmm.” She nodded. “My break’s in five minutes.”
“Of course it is.” Their breaks were always in five minutes, just like they never did this. I was more used to girls screaming that during sex than my actual name. But whatever made them feel better about getting screwed in the hallway of some cheap bar.
I felt a slap on my back as Ian fell onto the barstool next to me, followed by Blake.
“So . . .” Ian said, his eyes darting between me and Blake. “I have this idea.”
“I’m drunk. Let’s have you and your ideas tomorrow.” I eyed the hot bartender over the mouth of my beer. “Besides, in five minutes I’m getting laid.”
“You’re always getting laid in five minutes, sometimes ten. Learn to last longer, dude.” Ian smacked my cheek twice. “In any case, not the point. Focus.”
My eyes blurred as I stared into his face. “You have three minutes. She’s giving me sex eyes, and I’m bored.”
“When are you not bored?”
“When I’m having sex.”
Blake cleared her throat. “I’m sorry he asked.”
“Jealous?” I winked at her.
Ian punched me in the arm. “Sorry,” I wheezed. “Drunk, remember?”
“Gabs is in,” Blake blurted.
“Smooth.” Ian nodded, then looked heavenward. “You couldn’t at least lead with ‘This really hot chick that we both know, who needs to pay for college, needs a job. Oh, hey, look we have an opening!’”
“Gabs.” I could taste her name on my tongue, like she was a red Sour Patch Kid that I’d just accidently ingested. “Hell. No.”
I moved to stand.
“Wait.” Ian grabbed my arm, pulling me back into the barstool. “She has to pay out five grand in tuition before the end of the semester. It’s an easy way for her to make money, and you did say you wanted to branch out and start accepting guy clients. So why not? What’s the harm?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” I chugged my beer, then pounded my chest a few times to alleviate the air. “She might kill me? Run me over with her car? Poison my Lucky Charms? Oh.” I snapped my fingers. “Also, she hates me. And I hate her. It’s a very mutual hate that works really well for both of us, so”—I stood—“sorry, but not sorry.”
Ian shifted in his seat, his eyes meeting Blake’s, hers looking down at her clenched hands.
“Aw, shit, what did you do?”
“I kind of”—Ian waved his hand into the air—“already told her it would be cool.”
Beer rolled around in my stomach, then did some flip-flops, a couple more tumbles, and a jumping jack, then threatened to come right back up.
“No chance in hell I’m training her,” I spat. “No. Freaking. Chance. I will literally strangle her to death.”
“Great,” a light feminine voice said from behind me. “Then the feeling’s mutual.”
I turned, slowly, and came face-to-face with my nemesis, the one girl I seriously couldn’t conjure up anything but hate and distaste for, no matter how sexy her ass was. “Oh baby.” I leaned down and bit the outside of her ear just to piss her off. “You know I’d dig the strangling part if I could have my dick inside you at the same time. I heard you’re into that.”
It happened all at once.
The beer bottle flying across my head.
The knee to the groin.
And then the searing pain as I fell to the floor, with the devil standing over me, her hot-as-hell heel pressed hard against my chest.
“Yeah.” Ian nodded. “I think this new partnership is going to work just great. Don’t you?”
“Just great,” Gabi said.
“Yeah,” I grunted as all the beer I’d consumed threatened to come back up and make an appearance across her shiny red heels. “Freaking. Great.”