Breaking the Bachelor (Entangled Lovestruck) (Smart Cupid) (5 page)

The Laundromat’s red neon sign blinked in the window.

Wash. Fold.
Oh, yes, Charlie, put your lips on me.

Wash. Fold.
Kiss me.

Wash. Fold.
Do not stop kissing me.

Her pulse rushed ahead, but despite her body’s longing for this man who was singularly bad for her psyche, her brain fought back for some control. No matter how good she felt right now, he was still the same Charlie…sexy, impulsive, rule-breaking Charlie, kissing her senseless in the middle of a Laundromat. Yes, the way the fresh, soapy scent of Tide mixed with the deep spice of him made her want to stay in the Fluff ’N Fold kissing him until all of New York stood still. But she’d created her list of must-haves for a reason, to ensure her relationships would be risk-free, to protect her heart, so if she was smart, she was going to stop kissing him right now.

Like this very second.

As if he could read her mind, he pulled his lips away, lingering for a moment before ending the mind-blowing kiss. “Definitely a good kisser.”

She released her hold on his shirt and blinked up at him. “A good kisser?”

“My criteria—a good kisser,” he said, reaching past her for the Downy. “My easy-going blonde needs to be a good kisser.” He tossed a capful of fabric softener into the machine next to them. “And she needs to like dogs…and kids…oh, and pizza.”

Blindsided. That’s how she felt. By seeing him again, by her reaction to him. “A good kisser who likes dogs and kids and pizza,” she repeated numbly.

“Exactly. Everyday stuff.”

She dropped her gaze to the linoleum. “Charlie, if I’m going to find you a blonde who likes dogs and pizza, we can’t—”

But before she could explain all the reasons why Laundromat kisses were not a good idea—the risk to her company, her renewed dedication to her man criteria, and the undeniable fact that his lips on her skin made her tingle from the center of her body to its fraying edges, a feeling that scared the hell out of her—he went and played the candy card.

“Wild cherry,” he said, holding up a red and silver roll of the best Life Savers ever. “Your favorite.”

A lump rose in her throat and she swallowed past it, mustering a short smile and a nod at his memory. She’d met Charlie when she was eight years old and he was ten. Her brothers, Nick and Jake, brought him home to Brooklyn for macaroni and cheese one night after lacrosse practice. They’d all made some citywide team, and Jane still remembered the way her breath caught in her throat at the sight of uptown Charlie Goodman. Rebellious, sad, beautiful. Hard not to love.

When they got a little older, if her mom was on a date with another less-than-great guy and her brothers were off studying, Charlie would show up on her doorstep and they’d walk down to the corner store together, buy some Bull’s-eyes, a pack of wild cherry Life Savers, and a couple of Cokes.

By the time they were in junior high, he’d carried the candies in his pockets, occasionally played hooky from his uptown school to hide a few in her downtown locker. Charlie had certainly felt safe then. She reached for the sweet candy and wondered why great sex ruined everything.

He nodded toward the vending machine near the front of the Laundromat. “I’ll treat you to a Hershey bar, too.”

She gave him a smile, the best one she could safely offer. “How about a pack of Twizzlers? Since you’re buying.”

“My ex loves Twizzlers.”

“Charlie—”

“Don’t worry, Janey,” he said, his hands buried deep in his pockets, “Twizzlers aren’t on my list anymore.”

“Okay, then. Good.” The words were exactly what she wanted to hear, so why did she feel so…sad? “We’ll be playing it strictly by the rules from now on.” She ran down the updated list. “No kissing. No flirting. No laundry. No candy.”

Reaching out, he tucked a curl behind her ear. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

She pushed him back a few inches with the edge of the tablet. “I need to go back to the office and set up your first date. My assistant will call you with the details and help you finish your criteria matrix. She’ll be your contact now. Better for us to keep everything professional.”

He rolled back on his heels and let her pass. “You bet.”

Like the driver of a getaway car, she grabbed her parka, purse, and tablet, and made a break for the door. The digital bell clanged repeatedly as she burst through the threshold onto the sidewalk.

Despite the bracing air, she felt rattled and off-kilter. Damn, she hated feeling off-kilter. Off-kilter left little room for logic. She dragged her coat across her shoulders and stepped to the curb to hail a cab.

Her cell chimed inside the pocket—
My Funny Valentine
, the Sinatra version.

She fished the phone from her coat and answered without thinking. “Jane Wright.”

“Janey?” The sound of her name on his lips re-lit the maddening fire burning inside her, a fire she refused to ignite again. “Yes?” She struggled to keep her tone even and calm.

Rattled.

Off-kilter.

Finding the right match for an ex-friend was not as easy as it sounded. Yellow tape was everywhere. Even his voice reminded her to proceed with caution.

“Don’t forget,” he said, “a good kisser and a blonde.”

“A good kisser, a blonde, a Beatles fan.” She turned to give him a short wave and the storefront sign blinked back at her like a neon warning. “Check, check, and check.”

She ended the call with a swift stab at the end call button and prayed for a cab. The Laundromat had made one thing clear. She needed to hunker down and find that man true love, and fast. Because Charlie Goodman was the only man who’d ever gotten in the way of her commitment to love by criteria. The only one.

Six months of distance should’ve made their chemistry fizzle, but that kiss in the Fluff ‘N Fold told a different story. Good thing she was still in charge of how that story ended.

She pivoted away from the window to hail a yellow cab careening to her rescue.

Breathing room.

Starts.

Now.

Chapter Five

@smartCupid Don’t check out the cutie in the corner when you’re on a date with someone else. Ever. No take-backs. No do-overs.

@AdamDatesRUs Kiss enough frogs, and eventually, one of them will say, I love you.

Jane opened the top drawer of her desk and wrinkled her nose at the candy selection. One laundry cycle and she had been
this close
to giving it up faster than a quick rinse. One laundry cycle and she’d become an addict, strung out on Charlie all over again. All that kissing on top of the Maytag? Exactly why she’d been avoiding him. Passion led straight to unadulterated anguish, the kind ready to kick a girl in her teeth when love deserted her, and she wasn’t going to end up like her mother—on a love high until she was alone. Not. Going. To. Happen.

She took a deep breath closed the desk drawer. It was only chemistry. She was smart enough to recognize the signs, the hypnotic pull. And, same way she’d put on the breaks six months ago, she could apply the e-break now. Granted, she hadn’t anticipated how difficult it would be to see him again, or how so many memories—a lifetime of them, really—would come crashing back. But awareness was ninety-nine percent of the battle. They called her SmartCupid for a reason, damn it.

Her phone chimed and she snatched it up, glad of the distraction. “Morning, Smart Cupid. Smart choices, real love.”

“You ready to admit defeat?” Adam Walters’ smug tone snaked its way through the phone line. It took everything she had not to slam down the receiver.

“How the hell did you know I was here?”

“I can see the light in your office. I’m outside your building.”

She glanced at the window overlooking the Greenmarket and wondered if she should consider a restraining order. “You need therapy.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I met a prospective client in the District, figured I’d check on the competition. Any luck with the true love deal?”

She opened the candy drawer again, raced down to the R’s, and ripped open a two-pack of peanut butter cups with her teeth.

“I take it your silence means no?”

“Take it however you want.”

“I brought you coffee.”

“One of the signs of the Apocalypse?” She walked over to the window. There he was on the sidewalk, holding two Dunkin’ Donuts cups in hand. The big oaf. Did the devil have no shame?

“Funny.” He held up an orange and pink lettered cup. “Congratulate me. I’ve got six matches on the books already this morning.”

More silence, followed by a little extra squint in the death stare she reserved just for him.

“No coffee then?”

“I’m a Starbucks girl.”

“I’ll remember that. Keep me posted on the whole true love thing, Cupid.” He ended the call with a short salute and moved down the street. Watching him turn the corner, Jane swore violently under her breath. If she’d had a bow and arrow, he’d have taken one right in his camel-coat-covered backside.

She dropped the phone on her desk and it skittered across the wood, stopping in front of the framed photo on the corner. Her thirtieth birthday party. Group shot, birthday girl, happy and smiling, front and center, and yet, as usual, the guy standing second from left drew her attention. Charlie smiled wickedly into the camera as if to say, “Meet me in the coatroom in three minutes.”

Damn, she really needed to change out that picture.

A sharp series of five knocks on the door interrupted her thoughts. She glanced up and smiled. Nick stood in the doorway, dressed to the nines in a blue-pinstripe suit, his jet-black hair neat, as always. He flashed a quick smile, full of fun, teasing charm. He was all kinds of trouble, a man with commitment issues so deep, the matrix didn’t apply. A matchmaker’s worst nightmare. But whether or not he’d ever cop to it, her brother had a heart of gold.

“Always thought you were the go big or go home type,” Nick said, moseying into her office. “But even I didn’t see that one coming.”

“Guess you watched
The Today Show
this morning.”
Like most of New York City.

“DVR’d it, too.” His phone pinged.
A text from his current friend with benefits, no doubt.
“Not every day my baby sister goes down in the annals of television history.”

Another ping. She tried not to roll her eyes. “Don’t you think that’s a little much?”

“After the whopper you pulled? No, no, I don’t.”

“I meant the texts. Your phone is literally going to explode one day.”

He threw out a fast grin and a wink. “Can I help it if I’m just that charming?”

This time, she did roll her eyes, saved from commenting by the appearance of Smart Cupid’s match recruiter and hard-core numbers girl, Marianne McBride. She’d only joined the company five months ago, but they’d grown close and she’d been a better friend than she could’ve ever hoped for. “Got the match analysis for…” M.A. stopped mid-sentence and blinked at Nick, her blue eyes wide behind her glasses.

Jane sighed into the silence and pulled back the wrapper on the Reese’s. Mid-sentence speech deficiency. Her brother had that effect.

“Hello, new girl,” he said, reflexively offering that full-wattage smile. “I’m Nick.”

She shot her brother a pointed look. “Don’t you have a case to go win, Romeo?” Another ping of his damned phone. Her eyes narrowed. “Maybe a phone call to return?”

He cruised over and planted a fast kiss on her cheek before leaving. “I am due in mediation actually, but I wanted to stop by and remind you.”

“Remind me?” she asked.

He stopped briefly in the doorway. “To go big or go home,” he said with a mischievous grin. He winked at M.A., who blushed a bright Crayola pink, smoothed her A-line skirt, and watched as he disappeared down the hallway.

Jane sighed and bit into a peanut butter cup.
Didn’t she have enough trouble?

A minute later, the recruiter blinked her way back to the office and turned around all aflutter, waving her ubiquitous tablet. “Omigosh, Jane, where was I? Oh, right, the match analysis for your ex.” She strode fully into the office. “With his photograph splashed across the newsstands, clients are calling in, begging for a date. The online response is incredible, too. An early morning thread about his bachelor status crashed the NY Singles page on Facebook.”

“You’re joking.”

Her eyes widened behind the oversized tortoiseshells. “I never joke about bandwidth.” She handed over the tablet and pointed at the top screen. “Take a look. The site posted a photo of Charlie and a quote from his
New York
interview.”

Jane focused on the quote beneath Charlie’s photo, a photo so hot she wasn’t surprised it had ignited a five-alarm fire across the Internet. “Love is the only good kind of accident.”

She winced. For a guy who’d lost his mother in a car wreck, that was one hell of a definitive quote.

“Forget the quote, focus on the numbers.”

Jane looked back at screen. “Over fifty-thousand Likes?”

“That’s over fifty-thousand singles waiting to fall for our bachelor,” M.A. said. “Even better, I think I’ve found The One.”

“The One?” She handed back the computer.

“Summer Sweet, a neonatal nurse, originally from California, currently residing in Tribeca. She has a Bachelor’s Degree from NYU and a Master’s from Columbia.” Marianne tapped to another next screen. “A health food nut, she makes an exception for ice cream, enjoys sports, yoga, and taking a well-timed risk. Loves dogs and wears glasses.”

“And she’s a blonde?”

“She’s a blonde.”

Jane rolled her eyes. “At least we got the specifics. Any significant stats?”

“Strong on the Shared Humor Index.”

Her fingers tapped on the desk. “Critical for Charlie.”

“Positive scores for affection and intellectual compatibility with an overall algorithmic calculation of ninety-six.”

“A ninety-six point match. Not a mathematically perfect correlation but…”

“Practically perfect on paper.”

“Exactly. Practically perfect on paper.” Jane opened her candy drawer and grabbed a Snickers and a Twix. “Did you make a reservation at the new sushi place in SoHo?”

Marianne’s blue eyes blinked repeatedly behind her glasses. “No, he preferred Temptation.”

“The
bar
?” She took an extra-large bite of the candy and reached for her Diet Coke. Shit, at this rate, she’d better tear open the Twizzlers, too. “Okay. Not the most romantic place on earth, but it could work. Did you FedEx his wardrobe?”

A set of eyebrows rose above the tortoiseshells. “I did.”

“Perfect.”

“Maybe not.” Marianne turned the tablet to reveal a document scan from FedEx.
Delivery. Declined.
In bold red lettering. Her friend offered up a tight smile. “Apparently, he told the guy, he’d be wearing Levis and a Rangers tee and you could kiss his…”

Jane popped the top of the can and the soda exploded like an exclamation point. “I get the message.” A low sound of frustration rumbled in the back of her throat. “Why does he have to make everything so difficult?”

Tonight’s date needed to be a success. A mark in the win column offered proof that smart love works, safety for Smart Cupid and Company and freedom from her less-than-logical physical desire for Charlie. “Damn that Rangers t-shirt.”

Marianne cleared her throat. “Jane…are you sure you feel okay about matching Charlie?”

Jane’s eyes snapped to attention. “Of course. Don’t I look okay?”

“You look great, I’m just wondering…” In an obvious stall tactic, she readjusted her glasses against the bridge of her nose a second time. “I was wondering if matching him is tougher than you expected.”

“I’m fine.”

There was another slightly longer pause. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. One hundred percent sure.” That twinge of disappointment? She swallowed it down with a mouthful of processed corn syrup and red dye #40.

She waved a candy wrapper in the air, chasing away the thought. “I have my list. I know the type of criteria best suited to long-term compatibility—loyalty, intelligence, reliability.” She crumpled up the empty wrapper. “My ultimate man is sweet and predictable…like a Twinkie.”

“A Twinkie?”

“Yes, a Twinkie. You always know what you’re getting when you bite into a Twinkie.” She grabbed a King-sized box of Whoppers and a Zero bar from her drawer—might as well polish off this pity party, A to Z. “Charlie Goodman is no Twinkie. Charlie is spicy Cajun food and a Hurricane in the middle of Mardi Gras, a great time until the hangover the next morning.” The last thing she needed was another hangover.

“So you feel comfortable matching him even though you two dated last year?”

“Technically, we were not dating. We were friends who fell into bed together, hyped up on pheromones, and it only took six, lousy days for him to lose interest and flirt with some island bartender.” She spilled the M&Ms onto the desk and began sorting them by color. “Typical. No idea why I failed to see it coming. The man has a little black book that’s a three volume set.”

“Are you talking about the blonde again?”

She moved the stack of blue candy off to one side. “If by the blonde you mean the Rum Runner blonde, then, yes, I’m talking about the blonde again.”

Her friend shook her head. “She was a bartender. Didn’t she just ask him how to make a Rum Runner?”

“Marianne, we’d just indulged in a six day friends-with-benefits marathon, and crazy me, I thought I was falling for him. Even though I knew he was physically incapable of saying ‘I love you’ and of being in a committed, long-term relationship, I was falling for the guy. Next thing I know, he’s flirting with some bartender while he’s on a date with me.”

“You’re certain. We’re talking about the same guy? Charlie, your best friend for twenty years. He—right in front of you—opted to hit on another girl. Sounds kinda suspect to me.” Marianne adjusted her glasses. “Did you know that men are much more likely than women—forty-eight versus twenty-eight percent—to fall in love at first sight?”

Jane picked up the pile of green candies and popped them into her mouth. “He was flirting. With another woman.” She picked up a second heap of color-coded candy. “And, honestly, a Rum Runner? The least he could have done was flirted with a woman who wanted to know how to make a classic. A Sidecar. Or a Manhattan.”

But Marianne wasn’t buying it. “Are fight-or-flight management skills on your list?”

“I left for a good reason. I have no willpower where that man is concerned.”

Jane wrinkled her nose Okay, so, maybe M.A. had a point, maybe he hadn’t
actually
been flirting, but the memory of his bartending lesson still stung, not so much because he’d done something wrong, but because of the way it’d made her feel. One moment she’d been envisioning them cohabiting back in NY and the next, she was envisioning herself coming home and catching him “in the act” with another woman. The effect? Devastating. As in, gut-wrenching, heart-bursting, I-couldn’t-possibly-hurt-worse pain.

So, yes, she’d hightailed it out of there just as quickly as her platform sandals could carry her. Breaking it off was the right choice. She refused to be a chemistry addict, strung-out on Charlie Goodman until he decided to move onto the next available woman. Her mother had taught her all about the world’s most dangerous cocktail—love.

“Break-ups happen all the time.”

“Not on a cocktail napkin,” Marianne said, with barely disguised impatience, her intelligent eyes telegraphing her frustration. “Not with a man you’ve known your whole life.”

“I left him a handwritten note. A handwritten note is legitimate and personal and direct, and yes, okay, in this case, flamingo-pink. But why is everybody acting like my actions fell below the last rung of some sliding scale of emotional acuity? Besides, we weren’t dating, so technically, not a break-up. What’s the big deal?”

She wanted to bang her head against the desk, but none of this was M.A’s fault. None of it. She let go a sigh. “Anyway, I’m fine matching Charlie, and tonight’s date is a good fit. Shared values, geographical proximity, and an identification on the Shared Humor Index are all positive indicators.”