Chapter
Thirty-Two
Lex had left the results in the living room, where he normally does his work. The dining room table was clear except for a few stacks of file folders and Lex’s ever-present MacBook Pro.
I pulled out one of the metal chairs and sat, my eyes never leaving the stack. Shit, it wasn’t like it was paternity test results. It was just a number.
A number that would tell me once and for all if I was the settler or the settlee.
Damn it.
I tapped my fingertips against the table, then with a curse pushed back the chair and stood, looming over the laptop, still staring but having second thoughts. What would this really accomplish? If I was wrong, if she really was better off with David, then . . . if I really cared for her, I’d let her go, right? Why would I want to hurt her? I had started Wingmen Inc. for people exactly like her.
To protect her from guys like me, guys who were players. Is that what was really happening right now?
“Oh shit,” I grumbled.
I was turning into a chick—thinking of every possible outcome, analyzing every angle of the situation. So basically I was like Lex with tits.
“So you are going to read it?” Lex’s voice interrupted my stare down with his laptop, causing me to curse again and nearly push the computer to the floor.
“Haven’t decided yet.” I crossed my arms. “What are you doing home?”
“I live here.” Lex’s face was tight. “Unless you’re kicking me out, which you may do after you take a quick read through.”
“That bad?” The files mocked me with all their organizational brilliance. There was a tab for each client, and I could see my name. I really didn’t want to see my name.
“Two-shots-of-whiskey bad.” Lex started moving around the kitchen, cupboards slammed, and then suddenly a glass of whiskey was thrust into my hand and he was pulling out the stack of papers labeled “Ian Hunter.”
“Have a look,” he said. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. But if this helps, then I’m all for it.”
“How the hell is this going to help?” I tossed back the entire drink, wincing as the dryness burned like fire down my throat. “Bring the bottle.”
Lex exchanged my glass for my file and walked back into the kitchen. The file was thick, and holding it made me think back on all of the shitty things I’d ever done to girls. I couldn’t believe my sneaky roommate had kept a running track record just in case I ever decided to be stupid enough to fall for someone.
“Tell me the truth,” I said once Lex returned with the bottle as well as a full glass. I ignored the glass and swiped the bottle away from him before he could argue. “Did you record all this shit knowing that one day I’d finally jump off the ledge into commitmentland? Or are you really just looking out for our clients?”
“Odd.” Lex pulled out a chair. “Because it seems like you’re asking me if this is personal or business.”
“And every single business ethics class has suddenly thrown up inside my head. Thanks for that.”
Lex smirked, jerking the bottle out of my hand. “To be honest, I did it for our clients, because at the end of the day it’s about them, not us. I input your information the minute I saw things start to change between you and Blake. Hell, the minute I noticed the linger.”
“Come again?”
“Don’t play the dumbass. It doesn’t look right on you.” Lex rolled his eyes. “The linger. You lingered. You leaned. Every single muscle in your body tensed when she walked into the room, you clenched your fists when David walked into the room, and your eyes did that weird narrow thing where it looks like you’re just trying to concentrate or maybe do statistics homework in your head when really you’re just doing everything in your power not to kill the unlucky bastard you happen to be glaring at.” Lex tilted back the bottle and took a giant swig.
“I mean this in the most complimentary way possible, Lex, but if you were a chick, I’m pretty sure the knowledge you have on me alone would constitute stalker-like tendencies.”
“Don’t I know it?” He barked out a laugh. “I can’t help that I’m a genius. My blessing, my curse.”
“Right.” A headache started throbbing between my temples. “Fine, it’s like a Band-Aid. I’m just going to rip it off and look.”
“I can read the results out loud in my sexy voice if that helps.”
“You have a sexy voice? No shit?” I laughed, stealing the bottle again and taking a smaller sip this time.
“Yeah, one of my conquests said that just this morning, though I think she was just trying to get me to come back to bed rather than jump out her window because my house was flooding.”
I glanced around. “Wow, yeah, I see what you mean. So much water. Good thing we have insurance.”
“Hey, that’s exactly what I said.”
“You’re a bastard—you know that, right?”
“Says the guy whose dog’s died how many times in the past year?”
I scowled. “No more than ten. Totally different.”
“Dude, you kill imaginary dogs. At least I make up an excuse about a very possible home disaster.”
“Fine.” I held up my hands. “I’m not going to argue with you. I’m just going to read, process, and then”—a deep sigh shook my whole body—“get drunk.”
“Right on.” Lex stood. “Maybe wait to drink more out of the bottle until you’ve read and fully understood all the calculations, alright?”
I nodded and pushed the bottle away. I’d had maybe two swigs, hardly anything noteworthy, but still, maybe I’d want to go for a drive afterward—you know, off a cliff.
The first page wasn’t so bad.
Then again, it only had my name, age, height, and weight. Shit, wouldn’t surprise me at all if Lex had my social security number too.
Next page had Blake’s information, everything I already knew.
And the third page had our results.
Her match with David had been in the eightieth percentile. I had that freaking number memorized. Hell, the stupid bar graph was cemented in my mind like a nightmare that came back every time I closed my eyes.
Fifty.
The number was daunting. Our match was in the fiftieth percentile. Numb, I continued reading.
I scored below average in the following areas: ability to commit and relationship history, and above average in sexual promiscuity.
Swallowing the giant lump in my throat, I kept reading.
Stats show that if Client A were to embark on a relationship with Client B, there is a 50% chance one or both hearts will be broken and that the relationship will end within two months once the honeymoon stage is finished.
Two months.
Our program even gave a freaking timeline of the relationship demise.
I shoved the papers to the side. I didn’t need to read anymore. Curiosity was an evil bitch, so I grabbed David’s info and read.
Stats show that if Client A were to embark on a relationship with Client C, there is an 88% chance that the relationship will bloom into success. The relationship will have an even higher chance of success once passing the three-month mark.
No shit.
I shut the folder and checked my watch.
She’d been on her date for one hour. And I was sitting at home, well on my way to getting drunk and feeling sorry for myself because of a few stupid numbers.
Without thinking, I grabbed my keys and marched toward the door.
“Oh no you don’t.” Lex’s voice echoed through the hallway. “I’ll drive. I had one drink. You had . . . who knows how many. Where are we going?”
I refused to answer.
“Oh, good, so a stakeout? Sounds fun. I’m in.”
“Don’t you have homework or something?” I pushed past him and grabbed my jacket. “Anything?”
His smile fell. “No.”
“What?” My eyes narrowed. “You’re never home on a Thursday night, or any night for that matter. What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” His answer was quick, and his jaw ticked into place like he was trying to crack an entire row of teeth. “Drop it.”
“Okay.” Pain pounded through my head. “And we’re going to U Village. He took her to dinner at Pasta and Co.”
“Hah.” Lex laughed, then sobered. “Oh, you’re serious? Pasta and Co?”
“Not everyone’s an expert in seduction, thank God.”
“Pasta. Hands down the worst date food next to ribs.”
“Again, thank God for that.”
Lex paused in the doorway. “Look, do you really think this is a good idea? As much as I’m against any sort of relationship where you hang up the cape and actually stay committed to one person, this could end badly, you spying on her.”
“Superheroes don’t spy. We . . . check in.”
“And as the villain to your hero, I would just break in, so who am I to talk?”
“Exactly.”