Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Is this his way of letting me know he’s finally going along with this? That he’s stopped kicking and screaming into matchmaking and is actually having a good time?
That doesn’t entirely sound like him.
But he did say he’d be festive as fuck.
Maybe this is his way of saying that I got what I asked for.
He rises, giving me another view of his strong body, and a flutter has the audacity to appear in my chest. Annoying flutter. He moves over to sit by Imani. She runs a bookstore and loves rock music. She’s smart and stands her ground. In short, she’s perfect for him too.
So perfect, my jaw grinds as I watch them like a hawk. My eyes narrow. He’d better appreciate her. He’d better not ruin this. He’d—
Hannah turns around. “Isla? I think it’s time. The alarm just went off.”
Oh, shit. I’ve been staring at them so long I didn’t realize it was time to switch again.
“Of course, of course,” I say, bright and jolly, as they play musical chairs.
And at last, Rowan is with Emily. Now I really need to pay close attention here. For…reasons.
After I check in on everyone, I return to my perch—out of the way, but watchful—as Rowan eats a frosting-on-frosting cookie and clearly praises Emily’s creation.
He smiles.
He laughs.
He says, “Yeah, that’d be great.”
What would be great, Rowan?
The dull pain in my head morphs into a scream. I really need some ibuprofen. I hunt around in my purse, find a bottle, and knock two tablets back with some water.
Then, at last, the event is over. Hannah and Jalen walk to the door together. Sandeep smiles and says goodbye to Imani. Emily laughs once more at something Rowan says as he holds out her jacket and helps her put it on. I grit my teeth but wave brightly and say goodnight, assuring everyone I’ll follow up tomorrow.
But as the hockey star reaches the door, I call him back. “Rowan, do you have a minute?”
“Sure, Miss Christmas,” he says.
I ignore the subtle dig. I can’t wait till tomorrow. As the door clinks shut with a chime, I cut to the chase.
“So what did you think?” I ask, as peppy and upbeat as I can be. I have to be, after all. The more I show him I believe in this, the greater the chance he’ll start to believe too. At least, I hope so. “Who do you pick?”
He might pick none of them, but perhaps I can lead the witness and all.
With that to-the-moon-and-back smile, he crosses his strong arms, which only draws more attention to the muscles in them, the strength in them. The flutter taunts me once more. I kick it aside as I wait for his answer.
He says decisively, “Emily.”
And my stack blows. I see red.
“Rowan,” I seethe.
“What?”
“She’s all wrong for you,” I bite out.
“Why do you think that?” He seems genuinely confused, but I’m not about to tell him yet.
“Why did you pick her?” I ask.
“She made a good cookie,” he says, a crease digging into his forehead. “And besides, didn’t you want me to pick someone?”
“Of course I did,” I say, irked beyond all irking.
“So what’s the problem?” He sounds so innocent.
I breathe out hard, trying to loosen the valve on my anger, to let go of some of my frustration. But…I know what he did.
“She hates sports and is allergic to dogs.” I poke his sternum. It’s rock hard. I poke it again. “You picked her to purposefully sabotage the night.”
His face goes blank, but he swallows hard—a sign he’s been caught in the act. When he parts his lips to speak, nothing comes out.
Damn him.
“So you did? You’re confessing?” I ask, parking my hands on my hips.
“Why did you bring her for me then?”
“To test you. To see if you’d do just that. Purposefully choose someone who’s all wrong for you.”
“So she was a plant.”
“She’s allergic to dogs! I told her to tell you that! She detests sports. I made sure she’d drop that into the conversation.”
His lips twitch at the corners. “You coached her?”
“I’m a matchmaker and a dating coach. Of course I coached her. I’ve been coaching you too.”
“Yeah, but you coached her to drop in the details of how unmatchable we are?”
“Yes,” I say, stomping my booted foot this time. Because…this man. This infuriating man.
He takes a beat, nodding, as if he’s absorbing this. “So you set a trap?”
“I did,” I say. “To see if you’d deliberately pick someone wrong for you—as an act of matchmaking sabotage. You’re faking it to tank this. If you really wanted this to work, you wouldn’t pick someone so incompatible.”
His green eyes flicker with…curiosity. Fascination. “And you’re admitting you set me up?”
“Yes. Because you’re not festive as fuck…You’re a saboteur.”
He smirks. Shakes his head. Whistles. “And you’re an evil genius.”
15
THE SCENE OF MY MATCHMAKING SUBTERFUGE