Almost Matched (Almost Bad Boys) (6 page)

“That’s a bunch of crap,” Jena comments. “There are plenty of guys that will like you without Dolly Parton’s signature chest.”
 

“Not every guy on the planet looks for busty girls. They enjoy other body parts,” I add. Erm, that sounded… well, not very helpful.
 

Caroline snorts. “My between-the-legs landscape could get me some brownie points for sure. Come on, that’s not what they see first. Geez.”

Jena giggles. “No, wait. This is what Nat meant: ‘Hi, it’s nice to meet you too. Oh, my clothes are too revealing, you say? That’s because my hoo-ha must compete with the other women’s half-exposed boobs, since my own wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Jena puts her hand on Caroline’s knee. “Sweetie, you’re pretty, smart, educated, gainfully employed. You’re funny, and awesome to be around. Okay, so you need a different look. Fine. Get a perm, or—better yet—a wig. A few wigs—”

“Seriously, Jena?” Caroline snaps, sitting up straight. “Don’t you think this is just… just…
bad
advice?”
 

I groan. “We are not helping much. She has her mind set, and nothing is going to knock her off track.” I look at my bestie and consider raising the subject again another day.
 

Caroline has a stern expression on her face. I know that look—there is no way in hell we are going to change her mind; not even if we manage to permanently freeze hell over.
 

Jena looks concerned but she thinks better of continuing our lost battle and remains silent. Did we fail? Will we have to let our friend go under the knife? I shudder, thinking of it.
 

Ali comes out from the bathroom, rubbing her wet hair with a towel. Water makes her jet-black hair look even darker than normal.
 

Jena says, “Okay, Caroline. Let’s go get wasted. It’s Friday night after all.”
 

“Some of us work tomorrow. But I feel like going out,” I comment.
 

Ali grins at me.
 

Caroline shakes her head, “You two are freakin’ workaholics. Can’t you take a day off for a change?”
 

“We take days off,” Ali protests.
 

Jena stands up and collects our empty bottles. “I’ve never known anyone who worked so much.”

“When you have your own business, you better work or get your ass kicked by competitors.” I yawn and stretch. “Not a big deal. Ali and I rarely work past five p.m. We keep regular office hours.”
 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Jena returns from the kitchen. “Where are we going? Blue Fin?”

“Blue Fin it is!” Ali is first to the door.
 

I have a pretty good idea behind Ali’s reason. The reason is in the shape of the cute bartender.
 

FOUR

“There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.”

William Shakespeare.

It’s Saturday afternoon, and I just woke up from a nap. I look at Colin’s business card in my hand, deep in thought, contemplating the possibilities. Not really the good possibilities, but mostly the crazy-ass ones. I feel the weight of my past relationships, and all the baggage I’ve been left with. The guys I’d dated were mostly weird like Lee, who failed to mention that he preferred men, but wanted to
experiment
, as he admitted
after
the fact. That experiment left me puzzled, especially when he decided (and said so) that I was
worthless
in bed. Yeah, well, forgive me for not growing a dick on demand.
 

A few had a mean streak like Ray The Asshole or Marc The Nutcase Banker; some of the guys only wanted to have a one-nighter. Maybe that wouldn’t be too bad under the circumstances. But they made me feel used and discarded by not being honest up front, like Let’s-Screw-Fast-And-Move-On Ted. And then there was Rich. Ah, yes, the guy I fell for head over heels. Rich actually was married but never admitted it until I ran into him and his wife at the Flying Fish restaurant on Lake Union. Am I a total jerk magnet? So far I’ve been exclusively the asshats’ playground.
 

Ugh, have I ever dated a normal, nice guy? I don’t expect a lot. I just want someone who’s genuinely interested in me; someone who wants to hang out without the drama, lies, and deceit. Is that too much to ask? Or maybe I live in the wrong city—maybe Seattle is full of dickheads? Nah. Statistically speaking, that’s not possible. You can’t generalize the whole freakin’city.
 

The reality is ridiculous. I co-own executive dating company. A successful executive
dating
company. I match tons of professionals every month. I get thank-you cards and even gifts from the happy couples who would never have met if it wasn’t for me or my business partner Ali. But my private dating life totally sucks.
 

So now what? Should I call Colin? I don’t want to deal with yet another disappointment though. What if he’s just like the guys from my past? Is Ali onto something when she suggests that I find a sex buddy? As much as that idea makes sense, I’m not the right material. I’m not like Ali or Jena. No, I’m more like Caroline—romantic and sentimental. Or am I?

I put the card down, look at the phone, open my laptop, close it, and pick up the card again. “Ugh. Effin’ shit!” I slam my hand on the kitchen counter. That hurts. I slump down, resting my head over my fists, elbows propped on the counter.
 

“But what if I fall for this one too?” I ask my mom’s picture stuck to the refrigerator door in the middle of many other snapshots. “I don’t want to go through this again. I don’t want to be a mess.”

Mom just keeps grinning at me from the photograph, a glass of red wine in hand. A man’s arm wraps around her shoulders, and although the rest of his body isn’t visible, I know it’s my dad. We rarely spend any time together, since they travel excessively, always flying somewhere, or going on a cruise. I wish I could call them right now and see what they say. But they’re somewhere on the coast of Costa Rica, so I don’t even want to bother. If I only had a sibling—a sister—maybe things would be easier to manage.

My parents’ words of wisdom are just what I would welcome now, because I already know my girlfriends’ advice. It’s always pretty much the same—Ali and Jena: what are you obsessing over? Go for it, girl. Have fun. Caroline: I don’t know, maybe you should think about what you really want first. Remember last time?
 

Yeah, there are too many
last times
in my past. All of them suck ass.
 

I know what I want. I want to be happy for a change, and not burdened with heartbreaks or disappointments. Just for once, I need a break. All those losers I’ve crossed paths with have drained me clean from my positive energy. They took all the upbeat goodness right out of me and left me overanalyzing the possibility of dating ever again. Am I really such a screw-up? Or maybe I simply don’t belong in the same world with all those guys. So
where
do I belong?
 

I exhale a long sigh that ends with something like a growl. I rest my forehead on the cool kitchen counter and put Colin’s business card flat on top of my head.
Okay, if it falls with his name and phone number facing up, I will call. If it doesn’t, well, then not.
I decide. I think about our first encounter—him, dressed with that nonchalant coolness, and me, in my teensy bra and a sorry excuse for a mini skirt. I groan inwardly. Okay, concentrate on his card.
 

I shake my head and peak through my hair. The card lies, staring me in the eye with its black lettering. Destiny has spoken. I hope I won’t regret it.

I take my cell phone out of my purse and dial. The ring tone is almost intimidating. The call goes into voicemail. I hang up. Leaving a message would seem too desperate. It wasn’t meant to be after all. Destiny is chortling behind my back now. Whatever. I dial Caroline’s number. She picks up on the second ring.
 

“Hey, Natalie,” she says in hushed voice.
 

“Where are you? Can you talk?”
 

“Uhm… not really. I’m… well, I’m in church,” she whispers.
 

“Church? What’s going on?” Caroline is Catholic but not really a practicing one. She goes to mass twice a year—for Christmas and Easter. That’s it. Neither of these holidays is approaching anytime soon.
 

“Hold on. Let me walk outside,” she whispers again.
 

“O-kay. I’m starting to get worried. Should I?”

“Shhh.” A few moments later I hear the thud of a heavy door closing, and Caroline comes on the line, “It’s about Mallory’s wedding. You know that she wants to get married in the church.”

Mallory is Caroline’s younger sister. She got accepted to Columbia University in NYC a few years earlier, and that’s when she moved from Seattle to New Jersey with their parents. Mallory is planning her wedding in New York, and Caroline is going to be her maid of honor. Which is against Caroline’s own wishes. But she couldn’t refuse. I suspect that she blackmailed Mallory into inviting me (her bestie) and Ali (the sidekick) to the wedding. Why? Because Caroline is way too stressed out about Mallory’s egoistic ways. I know she needs her best friends with her or she’ll have a meltdown in the middle of the ceremony.
 

“Oh, crap. I totally forgot. Do
I
need to go to confession or something?”

“No, you moron. You’re not the one getting married, remember?” I can just see her shake her head and roll her eyes.
 

“So why are
you
in the church? You’re not getting hitched either.” I still don’t get it.
 

“Because. Mallory wants to have that full-blown Catholic wedding. I’m her maid of honor, but I have no idea what to do and how to act during the wedding. So I went to talk to a priest and see if there are any freakin’ classes for us, the uninformed.”

“Can’t you just Google it? What did you find out?”

“He explained to me a bit how this works and what’s needed from me. Like I don’t have enough to do.” She huffs, angrily.
 

“Hey, why don’t you come over? I will make you a mean margarita. We can watch some sappy movie too.” I know she needs to vent, and I’m just the person to listen. But I also have my own motives for Caroline’s company—I can’t get Colin out of my head and I want to get her opinion on what to do.
 

FIVE

“
The great question… which I have never been able to answer, despite my 30 years of research into the feminine soul, is ‘What does a woman want?’”

Sigmund Freud

I’m in my office, talking on the phone with one of our long-term customers when my cell phone chimes. I glance at the screen. The number seems familiar, but I can’t place it. A moment later the voicemail ding announces a new message.
 

Ali sticks her head in my office and mouths to me, “Are you about done?”

I nod, pointing to the phone and mouth back, “Esther Bosarge.”

Ali rolls her eyes. Esther is one of our first members. She is
still
a member. We’ve carefully matched her six different times, but Esther is never satisfied.