About The Matchmaker's Playbook
Wingman
rule number one: don’t fall for a client.
After
a career-ending accident, former NFL recruit Ian Hunter is back on campus—and
he’s ready to get his new game on. As one of the masterminds behind Wingmen,
Inc., a successful and secretive word-of-mouth dating service, he’s putting his
extensive skills with women to work for the lovelorn. But when Blake Olson
requests the services of Wingmen, Inc., Ian may have landed his most hopeless
client yet.
From
her frumpy athletic gear to her unfortunate choice of footwear, Blake is going
to need a miracle if she wants to land her crush. At least with a professional
matchmaker by her side she has a fighting chance. Ian knows that his advice and
a makeover can turn Blake into another successful match. But as Blake begins
the transformation from hot mess to smokin’ hot, Ian realizes he’s in danger of
breaking his cardinal rule…
EXCERPT
Blake let out another pitiful groan. “I don’t think it fits.”
“They
measured you. It fits. Just, tell me if it looks okay so we can go.” I checked
my watch. “Gabi said dinner was at six, and it’s already a quarter till.”
“This
is too much pressure.” Her voice was frantic. “I can’t do this. I mean, how do
I know if it looks good? They’re boobs.”
I
groaned. “Boobs always look good. Believe me.”
“Boobs
are gross!”
Said
no man ever. Even the gay ones.
One
of the salesladies eyed me up and down. “Are you two okay?”
“Great,”
I chirped. “Just having a very heated discussion about the beauty of breasts.”
I dipped my chin to Blake’s chest. “What are you? A double D?”
Scowling,
she marched off.
Thank
God.
“Blake,”
I hissed.
No
answer.
I’d
never had such a difficult client. If anything, they jumped when I told them
to, asked how high, and then kept jumping until I was satisfied. Blake fought
me at every turn.
“Open
the door before I crawl underneath it. I’ll pick the bras, you can close your
eyes if you want so you don’t have to watch me look at you, alright? My stomach
literally just ate my liver. I need protein. Open. The. Door.”
The
door slowly creaked open. Taking advantage of the small crack of air, I pushed
it farther, then clicked it shut behind me and turned around.
Blake
was facing me, hands on hips, face beet-red, body . . . freaking perfect. My
tongue almost lolled out, like a dog.
Most
girls starve themselves to have abs like that, which was disgusting. But her
abs? They had muscle, actual muscle, but still appeared feminine.
She
also had a nice tan, just enough to show that she spent time outside or maybe
just had naturally darker skin.
My
throat went completely dry as I continued to stare.
“Well?”
Her voice was weak. “How awful do I look? On a scale of one to ten?”
I’d
convinced her to buy some new workout clothes to replace her old ones. I knew
I’d never get her to actually completely change her style. She liked workout
clothes? Fine, at least buy the kind that fit and actually point to the correct
gender. I tried to steer her away from the boyfriend sweats and sweatshirts,
but she eventually wore me down, so I told her if she bought at least five new
Pink outfits that had spandex in them, I’d let her get one pair of ugly slouchy
sweats. You’d think I’d just given her a million dollars, from her reaction.
Currently,
she was sporting a short pair of bright-blue yoga shorts.
And
a black push-up sports bra that did wonders for her boobs.
And
the world just in general.
Holy
shit.
I
gulped as I became more and more irritated with the fact that my body was
reacting as if it had never seen a girl without her shirt on before. “Blake,
it’s great.”
“You
sound bored!”
I
had to, damn it! What did she want me to do? Sound interested? Turned-on? Intrigued?
Curious? I was all those things. I just tried to ignorethe insanity bouncing
around in my head and blurted, “Your boobs look really good. Perky, happy, just
. . . awesome.”
Did
I just call her boobs “happy”?
“You
think?” She stared down at her breasts, then grabbed them.
Holy
shit, was she seriously feeling herself up? I braced my hand against the door
and sucked in a breath.
“They
still feel comfortable,” she said.
“Do
they?” I managed to choke out while she continued bouncing them a bit in her hands.
Dear Lord, did she know what she was doing? Waving a flag in front of a bull.
My jeans suddenly tight in all the wrong areas, I tried to envision Lex naked,
anything to get my dick to clue in to the word “client,” meaning I was in a
no-play zone.
Another
first.
It
was because I was hungry.
And
Marissa? Melissa? Hadn’t satisfied me. I’d gotten off, and made sure she did
too, but the entire experience left me feeling empty, bored, and—if I was being
completely honest? A bit depressed. Besides, her tits paled in comparison. I
had to wonder what the hell I’d been doing all my life if this was the first
time I was having such a strong reaction to boobs.
Something
about Blake had me wondering if I’d been satisfied at all up until this point.
And I had no idea what the hell was so confusing about her, and about the
situation. I was unable to put my finger on it, and the more I thought about it
the more my head hurt.
Hunger
does weird things to guys.
“Yeah.”
More bouncing, then turning and staring in the mirror. I wasn’t sure what was
worse. Her staring at her own boobs or touching them. “I’m just no good at this
stuff. I didn’t grow up with a mom, and I hit puberty really early. The girls
made fun of me, and the boys pointed.” Her shoulders slumped inward again.
Could
we please go back to the bouncing? I was a fan of that Blake. The one that
rolled up like an awkward armadillo? Not so much.
ENTER RACHEL'S GIVEAWAY!!
ABOUT RACHEL VAN DYKEN
Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author of regency and contemporary romances. When she's not writing you can find her drinking coffee at Starbucks and plotting her next book while watching The Bachelor. She keeps her home in Idaho with her Husband, adorable son, and two snoring boxers! She loves to hear from readers! Want to be kept up to date on new releases?
Text MAFIA to 66866! You can connect with her on Facebook www.facebook.com/rachelvandyken or join her fan group Rachel's New Rockin Readers. Her website is www.rachelvandykenauthor.com
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