THE
MATCHMAKER’S REPLACEMENT
Wingman
rule number two: never reveal how much you want them.
Lex hates Gabi. Gabi hates Lex. But, hey, at
least the hate is mutual, right? All Lex has to do is survive the next few
weeks training Gabi in all the ways of Wingmen Inc. and then he can be done
with her. But now that they have to work together, the sexual tension and
fighting is off the charts. He isn’t sure if he wants to strangle her or throw
her against the nearest sturdy table and have his way with her.
But Gabi has a secret, something she’s
keeping from not just her best friend but her nemesis too. Lines are blurred as
Lex becomes less the villain she’s always painted him to be…and starts turning
into something more. Gabi has always hated the way she’s been just a little bit
attracted to him—no computer-science major should have that nice of a body or
look that good in glasses—but “Lex Luthor” is an evil womanizer. He’s
dangerous. Gabi should stay far, far away.
Then again, she’s
always wanted a little danger.
TAKE A LOOK AT THE EPIC COVER HERE
Excerpt
I
hated him.
HATED
him.
Hate,
hate, hate. I chanted the words to myself that very next morning as I stomped
toward his ridiculously expensive house, next to the ridiculously nice lake,
with his ridiculously loud red Mercedes parked out front. Jackass.
I’d
be doing society a favor if I set it on fire.
Seriously.
The
thing was probably filled with so much bodily fluid and disease that if he got
in a car accident he’d infect the entire freeway and start a citywide epidemic.
I
shuddered.
I
compartmentalized Lex into two boxes.
The
first box was Childhood Lex, the friend who used to hang out with Ian and me
before he moved across town, never to be seen again. He used to ride with me to
school, and when I was sick he gave me my own box of Kleenex—never mind that he
stole it from his teacher’s desk. The point is, Childhood Lex was a keeper.
Box
number two?
Asshole
Lex, also known as the version I was walking toward. The Lex I met when I was
eighteen, who momentarily stunned me speechless with his godlike beauty, had
been a figment of my overactive, sad, hormone-riddled imagination.
On
the outside? The perfect man.
With
a brooding and sultry smile.
Biceps
the size of my head.
Who
gave me the distinct feeling that if I ran my hands over his buzzed hair I’d
orgasm before he even touched me.
Whatever.
I was over it. So over it.
A
lot of people had stupid crushes when they were eighteen, right?
Now
all I saw when I looked into his stormy blue eyes was syph or the clap, and
that was being generous. The dude was a walking STD and seriously tried every
nerve I had. He was an ass. Plain and simple, no sugar coating. He was the type
of guy who’d tell a chick that she looked fat in a dress or who refused to
share the communal breadbasket. See! He couldn’t even adhere to typical manners
during mealtime! Just thinking about him had me tied up in knots.
Last
year, when I went shopping and stupidly invited Ian along—which of course meant
Lex had to come—I was told in no uncertain terms that if I would just stop
drinking chocolate milk in the morning I’d be able to fit into a smaller size.
He’d
smiled.
His
dimples had deepened.
He’d
even crossed his arms as if to say, Look, I did you a favor, pat me on the
back.
Instead
I had kicked him in the balls and tried to give him a black eye, clocking Ian
in the face.
My
point? Lex. Was. The. Devil.
I
made a point of only hanging out with Lex when absolutely necessary, and even
then I almost always had Ian as a buffer. But now that he was playing love nest
with my ex-roomie, Blake? Well, I was on my own.
Lex
opened the door after my third aggressive knock. Black sweatpants hung low on
his hips, a vintage Mariners shirt fell open around his neck, and he was
wearing black-framed glasses that made his eyes more appealing than should be
legal.
“Sunshine,”
he said, his smirk deepening as he crossed his burly arms over his chest.
“Dickhead.”
I smiled sweetly. “New glasses? They look thicker than last time.”
“Better
to see you with.” He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing into tiny slits. “There
they are.” He reached for one of my boobs.
I
slapped his hand away so hard my palm stung.
“Probably
not the best way to treat your new male clients.” He shook his hand and turned
towards the living room leaving the door wide open. Manners were completely
lost on him.
Gritting
my teeth, I slammed the door behind me and took off my shoes because I knew if
I didn’t he’d give me hell.
He
was a freak like that.
For
as much ass as he got, it was shocking how much Lysol he used around the house.
His clothes were never wrinkled; everything was pristine.
Even
his breath.
Damn
him.
He
drank coffee like a Starbucks employee but never had coffee breath.
It
was almost painful, staring him in the face, knowing that everything on the
outside appeared perfect—but didn’t match the inside at all, not even close!
Beauty
like Lex’s was dangerous and wickedly tempting, like something out of a
paranormal romance novel. Sometimes, at night, when I dreamed of Lex getting
hit by a car, I imagined him as a vampire roaming the streets in his favorite
black sweats, shirtless, shimmering under the streetlights, just waiting for
whores to line up so he could take a few bites.
A
pencil flew by my head.
“Yo.”
Lex’s eyebrows shot up. “We have a lot of work to do if we’re going to get you
ready for the next two clients. Daydream about chicks on your own time.”
“I’m
not a lesbian.”
He
bit on his bottom lip, sinking back in his chair as his eyes slowly roamed from
my mismatched socks all the way up to my head. “Okay, whatever you say, Gabs.”
I
will not commit homicide. I will not commit homicide. “You know,” I said as I
tossed my purse onto the table, “it’s offensive that you assume all lesbians
dress like crap.” So what? I was wearing a ratty white T-shirt and ripped
jeans, and I was pretty sure I still had mascara on from the night before. It
was my Lex repellant. He hated sloppiness.
“Offensive.”
He nodded. “Also true . . .” He used the spare pencil from behind his ear to
slide my purse over to the farthest side of the table. “It wouldn’t kill you to
wear something other than jeans and T-shirts, Gabs.” He sighed. “Say it with
me: dresssss—”
I
grabbed the pencil from his hand, broke it into two pieces, and handed them
back to him. “I wear dresses, just not for you. Dresses are your kryptonite,
especially short black ones. I refuse to be a part of your ‘shower time.’”
He
snorted. “You wish.”
“Yes.
Every night when I go to sleep I pray for Lex to dream of me while he jerks off
because yet another girl refused to follow his instructions in bed : ‘Damn it,
use the manual!’” I said, using my best imitation of Lex’s voice. I’d only
heard him shout instructions to a girl once, and it had scarred me for life.
What the hell are you doing? Do I look like I’m satisfied? There’s a diagram!
Ugh.
Lex
rolled his eyes. “Very funny, and the manual is there for a reason. Do you even
know how many chicks get confused when I call out sexual positions? It’s like,
get there faster, you know?”
My
feelings were torn between fascination and disgust. “So,” I changed the
subject. “Let’s train, because I have about ten years worth of Organic Chem
homework.”
Lex
sighed and held out his hand.
“No.”
I crossed my arms. “I don’t need help.”
Okay,
I needed help, desperately needed help, and Lex wasn’t just passably smart but
a certified genius, at least when he applied himself. I refused to ask him to
go over my homework just because Organic Chem was, to me, like reading a
foreign language.
He
cleared his throat.
I
didn’t move.
Finally,
he stood, slowly walked over to the end of the table, and fished the chem book
from my oversized purse. “What chapter?”
“Lex—”
“If
I’m teaching you Organic Chem, at least say Professor Lex.”
“Listen
very closely, Lex.” I went over and jerked my book out of his hands. “I didn’t
need your help last year when I almost failed biology, and I sure as hell don’t
need your help now. Let’s just get this training done so I can go home and
suffer in silence, alright?”
“Fine.”
He dropped my book against the table and then, without warning, grabbed me by
my shoulders and pushed me against the counter that bordered the kitchen. My
butt hit the cupboard . “Up until now we’ve been helping people find their
perfect match. Basically acting like a wingman so that the idiots of this world
see the girl who’s been standing in front of them all along .”
Why
was he standing so close? Did we have to be touching? I told my body not to
respond to his proximity, but Lex was magnetic, even if every part of him was
evil. My brain was having trouble functioning while his large palms were
pressed into the tops of my shoulders.
“Okay.”
I swallowed. “And now that you’re allowing guys to become clients of Wingmen
Inc., I basically do the same thing. Give them confidence, help them capture
the one girl who’s always seen them as the friend—or worse, who they’ve been
invisible to.”
“What’s
that like, I wonder?” Lex still didn’t release me. “Being invisible . . . Maybe
next time a dude ignores you, take notes.”
And
another insult.
“Lex.”
I huffed out a breath. “Just get on with it.”
“Right.”
His eyes momentarily locked on mine before he rubbed the bridge of his nose
where his glasses were perched. It was not sexy. It wasn’t. Really. That. Sexy.
“So whenever we take on a new client, we give them a list of questions, meet
them in a public place, and then use the power of human emotions like jealousy
and curiosity to get the other person interested. That’s where you come in. If
another girl sees our client as desirable, he becomes desirable.”
“That
easy?”
“Sort
of.” Lex leaned forward. “But you can’t suck.”
“Suck?”
“At
anything.” His lips hovered near my mouth. He was starting to freak me out. I
wanted to run away, but I was pinned.
“Lex,
if you kiss me I will bite your tongue off. I swear.”
“If
I was actually kissing you”—Lex released one of my shoulders and placed a
finger against my mouth—“you’d know it. This, my frumpy friend, is training.”
His
lips descended.
They
pressed against mine, then pulled back. “Yeah.” He shook his head. “Gabs,
you’re going to need to open your mouth a bit more. Guys are stupid. They
always assume that more tongue means better kissing, when the opposite is true,
but you still need to have your lips parted, not locked down like Fort Knox.”
“What’s
happening?” I tried to push away from him.
Lex
rolled his eyes. “Gabs, believe me, this is all business. You can even keep
your hand on my junk the whole time.”
“What!”
I roared.
“So
you know without a doubt that nothing about you turns me on.” He grinned
menacingly. “Seriously, I don’t mind.”
“I
do!”
“Hey!”
He chuckled. “I was just trying to help.”
“Grabbing
your penis is not the answer, Lex!”
“Weird,
because it so often is.”
“I
hate today.”
“Is
it the rain?” He frowned.
“It’s
not—”
“It
is.”
“Stop
that!” I shoved him. “Hurry up and grade my kissing skills so I can go home and
study.”
“Kissing,
hand holding, hugging, cuddling, laughing, winking—just a few things you need
to master.” He was firing off so many horrible, body-numbing words.
“Just
hurry up,” I grumbled in a defeated voice as I tried to block out the fact that
he was a good-looking ass who offended me with every single breath he took.
“Ah
. . .” Lex held up his hand. “One never hurries a kiss.”
“What
about a passionate kiss?”
“A
passionate kiss isn’t hurried, it’s frenzied. Damn, don’t you know anything?”
Heat
swamped my cheeks.
“How
many guys have you kissed, Gabs?”
“Plenty!”
Five. I’d kissed five.
“You
blush down your neck when you lie.” Lex cupped my chin and then brought his
lips down against mine again. “Part.”
Sighing
against his mouth, I relaxed my lips while his slid across.
He
pulled back, wearing a frown of irritation. “A bit more, Gabs. Guys want
access.”
I
kept my eyes open.
So
did he.
I
didn’t want him assuming I was into it, which was probably his exact line of
thinking. Only keeping my eyes open was an entirely raw experience, watching
him watch me while I felt him.
I
shivered.
“Cold?”
That stupid smirk was back.
“Frigid.”
I glared, putting myself down before he had a chance to.
“You
read my mind.” He nodded seriously. “Now stop being a bitch, and let me teach
you how to kiss.”
“I
know how to kiss!” I don’t know what came over me—maybe it was the need to
prove myself, or possibly it was just stress over the entire situation. Needing
to stay in school and hating that he was the answer, I wrapped my arms around
his neck and jumped, my hips colliding with his as I mauled his mouth with as
much passion as I could conjure up, this time closing my eyes and putting
everything I had into it.
With
a growl, Lex pushed me back against the countertop. As my butt collided with
the edge, his tongue plunged into my mouth and his hands dug into my hair,
pulling it free from its ponytail while he changed positions his lips demanding
a punishing kiss from a different angle as his he gave my hair a harder tug
back.
I
grasped at his T-shirt, pulling him closer and nearly falling backward into the
sink.
And
then, just when I was in danger of losing myself to the kiss that would
probably be the best kiss of my life, I bit down on his bottom lip.
That
move didn’t work out the way I’d planned, not at all. In my head it was smart.
I’d piss him off, get him to pull back and leave me alone.
It
did nothing of the sort.
Nothing
of the sort at] all.
With
a hiss he pulled back, fire blazing in his eyes. For a split second that seemed
to go on for an eternity, he hovered and I waited, both of us on the edge of
something. He wet his lips, I mimicked the movement, and then, like a snake, he
struck. His mouth fused to mine in a punishing kiss, one that bruised my mouth
while imprinting its essence on my soul.
Other Books in the Series
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…
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?
