Breaking the Bachelor (Entangled Lovestruck) (Smart Cupid) (8 page)

He stormed over to her. “You think that’s everything I mean by chemistry?” He dragged the T-shirt over his head. “That I’m down for a slam-and-send-off? After I’ve had a
date
. A date that you set up, by the way. With a perfectly nice, perfectly
sane
woman.”

Her chin angled up, daring him to push it a little further. So, he did.

“Tell me now that a relationship doesn’t need chemistry—the zing, the pheromones, the animal attraction.” His eyes perused her face. “Because we have some incredible chemistry, angel. We could build on that. We could have something real. Hell, yes, we’ve got chemistry to spare, but what is so wrong with that?”

The silence between them grew and he wondered if she’d finally admit that passion mattered. But she gave him nothing. Instead, she stood there, staring at her damn untied shoes, chewing on her gorgeous bottom lip, and screwing up his equilibrium a little bit more.

“Exactly.” He brushed a curl away from her cheek. “Nothing’s wrong with all the passion between us and that’s my point.”

“So, you’ve been kissing me to prove a point about chemistry?”

And like a needle scratching across a vinyl record, everything stopped. “That is not what I said.”

“Because this kind of really hot, sexy
zing
is
just
chemistry.” Moving past him, she grabbed his jacket from the floor and threw it square at his chest. He caught the coat in mid-flight. “This kind of chemistry doesn’t add up to anything else.”

“Bullshit.” She opened her mouth to object, but he waved her off. The more she pretended there was nothing between them, the more he wanted to prove she was wrong. “You know this is more than great chemistry, Jane, and you know it doesn’t come along every day.”

“But
you
know what all this heat
isn’t
, don’t you, Charlie? It isn’t love, because you don’t believe in real, true, ‘I love you forever’ love, do you?” Her jaw was on lockdown. “Do you?”

“Maybe I don’t,” he said. “Not the kind you seem so sure of.”

A wave of frustration rolled off her, crashing at his feet. “
Exactly
. And if it’s not real and true, big guy, if it’s not
love
, then it’s just chemistry, which will eventually die when one of us gets bored, or spots a hot Rum Runner girl, or loses one more bet. You will eventually walk out, and I am not ready to fall, crash, and burn.”

He made a move toward her, but she held up both palms and backed away.

“I am not your dad, Jane.”

Her voice grew quiet. “Don’t you dare toss my father in my face, and insinuate my conclusions about tonight result from some unresolved daddy issues. I have a perfectly well-earned and scientifically-based distrust of chemistry.” Hard tears shimmered in her eyes. “This chemistry between us?” His gaze took in the line of her trembling body. “This is nothing. This means nothing. Because
we’re
nothing.”

“How can you say that?”

But she stood there, dangerously quiet, refusing to give him even an inch.

He’d had enough.

“Fine.” He pulled his jacket over his shoulders and strode across the hallway. “That’s the way you’re going to play it, then I am so fucking out of here.”

“Don’t let the door hit you in the ass.” She opened it wide and waved him out.

He raked a hand through his dark hair, stalked over to the door and turned back to look at her. “For the record, I wasn’t just trying to prove a point about chemistry.” He gripped the edge of the door. “I was trying to prove a point about
us
, and you reduced me to a kiss on some island six months ago.”

Anger burned inside him. After all their years of friendship, if she could still reduce their relationship to a chemical addiction, then there was nothing left to say. No matter how much he adored her great laugh and her off-the-rails candy addiction, no matter how strong the pull of past memories on his emotions, there was nothing left to fight about.

Nothing left to fight for.

Earlier tonight he’d felt hopeful that they could salvage something from the wreckage of the past six months, even if it was only their friendship. Now, he stood there ready to walk out—all because of some crazy idea he’d had about payback.

Part of him wanted to confess the whole damned scheme, convince her that chemistry or no chemistry, there was so much between them. Part of him wanted to take her back in his arms and kiss her and show her—okay, yes,
prove
to her—that statistics and logic were nothing when compared with a person’s emotions. But mostly, he wanted to end the crazy ache in his heart, the one that started when he’d picked up a damned cocktail napkin.

“Call me when you grow up and decide you can handle a real relationship instead of some perfect-on-paper, passionless dead-zone.”

He released his death grip on the door, and finally did the one thing he thought he’d never do. Not to Jane.

He walked away—and he didn’t look back.

Chapter Nine

@smartCupid Dating is a test of long-term compatibility. Chemistry, not included.

@AdamDatesRUS Need any help finding true love, Cupid? #runthenumbers

@KathieLeeandHoda Is NYC’s sexiest bartender still a confirmed bachelor? Or is Charlie Goodman ready for a new lease on love?#thelovegamble #today

Jane sat in the middle of her bed and made an indentation in the covers for her phone and a short stack of breakfast bars. Cranberry and Almond. Peanut Butter Crunch. Chocolate Chip. Every flavor sounded like a good alternative to starting the day. The clock was ticking on her bet, and unfortunately, the knock-down drag-out she’d had with Charlie last night made her want to pull the covers over her head and sleep until spring. She kicked at the tangled sheets.
Prove his point?
He’d always played his cards close to his vest, but not everything was about the zing.

Chemistry was chemistry. Love was love, and love needed to make sense. Her Ultimate Man List made sense. Her straightforward dating app made sense. Her out-of-control need for Charlie—zero sense. More like diving into hell buck-naked, knowing the dive meant an agonizingly slow burn, but craving it enough to deal with the heat. She pushed aside the breakfast bars without taking a single bite and clicked up the volume on the television.

Day Three of The Love Gamble. Will Cupid be crying in her heart-shaped box of Russell Stovers, or will Adam Walters be passing out candy hearts that say, ‘Date Me, I’m with Cupid?’

Jane fell back against her pillows. Finally, some good news.

I don’t know about you, Kathie Lee, but if I were Cupid, I’d have that bachelor on a twenty-four hour date cycle. She’s got a lot on the wagerline and as far as…

She pressed mute, but kept staring at the screen. Hoda was right. There was a lot to lose. A hell of a lot.

From this day forward, her relationship with Charlie Goodman was one hundred percent professional with no margin for error. She’d worked hard to get out of Brooklyn, to build her company from nothing. Smart Cupid was the one thing she’d done right in her life, offering real choices about real love to people whose hearts had been crushed, and she wasn’t about to let her company go.

And what about Marianne? Her friend had trusted her with her job, her livelihood, and last night, she’d failed to live up to that trust. Failed. But not again.

Time to go to the mattresses. A sudden rush of heat flooded her system. Definitely not to the mattresses. An involuntary storm of memories hijacked her brain, sinful, enticing, Class A felony kinds of memories of watching island sunrises together in bed…no, definitely not time to go to bed. Or to the mattress or…to bed…damn. She threw back the comforter.

No. All she needed was a better plan. Strike that. She needed more than a better plan. She needed backup. And some serious willpower. And probably candy.

…

An hour later, dressed in a pair of sleek jeans and a pink cashmere sweater, Jane met the world’s greatest backup girl in front of Ray’s Candy Store in the East Village. A twenty-four hour, neighborhood eats emporium, Ray’s was perfection. Jane would consider marrying Ray, simply for the fact that his beignets were always steadfast and dependable, sweet and yummy, always good, always reliable. Like her Ultimate Man.

Marianne warmed her hands on a cup of hot chocolate. “Okay, so, you corralled me into supplying your weekly Ray’s fix. Can you please tell me what happened last night?”

“Last night?”

“Yes, last night. The bet. Charlie’s date.”

“Last night.” Jane bit down hard on the inside of her mouth. She needed to tread carefully here. Take her time. Make M.A. understand about the whole experimental chemistry situation and the possibility that she’d been narcotized by Charlie’s heavenly kisses.

“Last night, I had, um, almost-sex, with Charlie.” Jane shoved a beignet in her mouth to muffle her confession. “Well, there was kissing. Lots and lots of kissing.”

Shit. Not exactly treading lightly, but if she needed to backtrack, she could always chew and pretend she hadn’t said anything.

There was a moment of stunned silence or shock or maybe a
Full Metal Jacket
effect of some kind before Marianne turned mid-stride and said, “You had ‘almost-sex’ with Charlie?”

“Mostly, it was kissing, but I wanted to dive into the whole enchilada. I really, really wanted to dive.” Jane kept walking, but the guilt quickly overtook her. “And yes, before you ask, it was wonderful, but it was just chemistry, which as you know, I don’t believe in.”

“Wait a minute. Chemistry?” Pulling herself together, Marianne lengthened her step to catch up. “What happened to finding his true love? His criteria? His matrix?”

“I’m still looking.”

“And are you going to keep kissing him?”

“No. No more kissing.” Jane dusted the powdery sugar off her fingers. “It was unprofessional, even borderline unethical, and yes, the heat between us could power a backup generator and light up Chelsea like a Christmas tree, but there will be no more kissing. I am re-committed to finding Charlie’s one and only true love. In three days.”

Marianne’s expression conveyed her total disbelief. “And you’re sure you don’t want to dive into the enchilada? If you do, it’s okay. Just tell me, so I can start looking for a new job.”

“He only wanted to prove a point to me about the significance of chemistry in a relationship. Point taken, and now I’m more determined than ever to make this work.” She shoveled in another beignet. “In fact, we need to choose his second date this morning.”

“This morning? While you’re power-eating sugared doughnuts?”

“Yes, this morning. I assume you have Cupid’s database on your tablet.” Even to her own ears, her voice held a note of irritation. Needing some distance from the argument, she crossed against the light on Seventh and headed toward the swanky New Age bookstore on the corner. Normally, she wasn’t a fan of New Age philosophy…astrology, tarot, fortune telling, Dr. Phil. She found it all…suspect. Instead, she believed a person made her own way in life, settled her own scores, and found her own safety zones. But Marianne had seen a photo of the shop that sold tarot cards and love spells on NY Singles and wanted to check it out.

Marianne caught up with her on the corner. “Was he as good as you remember?”

Avoiding a few scattered snowflakes, Jane ducked beneath the collection of elm trees lining the sidewalk. “As good as I remember?”

Sipping the steaming hot chocolate, Marianne looked meaningfully over the top of the red paper cup. “Ignoring the fact that your ex is an amazing kisser won’t make him go away.”

And didn’t she know it. “He’s not my ex.”

But if last night was any indication, Charlie’s ex-factor would haunt her morning, noon, and night, or at least until she found him the right match, a prospect that grew more difficult every time he looked at her with those crinkly eyes. And even though she’d kicked him out of her apartment last night…even though she knew he’d always hold back, and never commit one hundred percent for the long-term, a part of her had wanted him to stay and work it out.
The stupid part.

“So?” Marianne lowered her voice to the frequency of female secrets. “Was it good?”

Jane felt as guilty as a Catholic in confession. “Good? No, not good. Great? Fantastic? Run screaming-like-a-lovestruck-loon-through-Manhattan wonderful?” She shoved her hands into her leather gloves a little more violently than necessary. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“Unfortunately?” Marianne fanned herself with a stack of paper napkins.

“Yes, unfortunately. Everything from the way he delivers his heart-stopping kisses to the way he looks at me with his warm, crinkly eyes, everything is better than I remembered, and frankly, every minute I spend with him makes me want to jump his bones.”

“So maybe you should.”

“I cannot jump his bones.” She crumpled up the Ray’s bag and shoved it into her coat pocket. “Why do you think I ran from him in the first place?”

“Because you need therapy?” Marianne opened the door of the sexy little shop and a soft welcome bell chimed in agreement.

Jane pulled up the UML on her phone and waved it in the space between them. “I do not need therapy. All I need is a reliable, intelligent, rule-abiding—”

M.A. ushered her through the door. “Following the rules tends to be stifling.”

“I just need somebody safe.” She shoved her phone back into her pocket as the aggressively mystical aroma of ylang ylang and musk assaulted her senses.

“Safe?” M.A. picked up a set of flavored massage oils. “We screen all of our match candidates, and they consent to background checks. We would never—”

“No, not like safe from serial killers.” She let go a sigh and continued. “Safe as in not reckless, as in not kissing-me-senseless-on-top-of-a-vibrating-Maytag.”

Hot chocolate spilled over the edge of M.A.’s cup. “You and Charlie? On a Maytag?”

Jane shrugged. “He has a thing for laundry dating. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Marianne put down the massage oils and removed the tablet from her bag. “Statistics show almost thirty percent of adults enjoy sex in unusual places, so just because the idea of you and Charlie on a washing machine lights you up like a candle…”

“I can’t be with Charlie—anywhere—because he’s hotter than the burning fires of hell.” Jane’s voice echoed through the hushed, intimate store, loud enough that the woman behind the counter shot her a nasty look. “Shit.”

Marianne bit back a smile. “Try not to get us thrown out of here.”

She stalked over to a private corner of the store and kept her voice quiet. “We’re not here to discuss my love life.”

“Why not?” she asked, her gaze drifting to a collection of wish fulfillment candles. “You’re only dating the sexiest mixologist in town.”

Jane ignored the candles. “We are not dating. Trust me, we run the right combination of criteria through the matrix, Charlie’s perfect woman will show up, and if I give in to all this chemistry now…later, when I find him the right match, I’ll be standing on the sidewalk in the freezing cold, gluing together the pieces of my shattered heart.”

“You don’t know that.”

She tore open the buttons of her coat. “I do, Marianne, I really do.” Her friend tried to object, but she barreled ahead. “I’ve known Charlie forever, and I’ve seen him date tons of women and none of them last more than a couple of months. He’s like a revolving door.”

M.A. shot her a pointed look. “Maybe he had a reason to date a lot of different women.”

“Exactly, like a short attention span.”

“No, not a short attention span.” Marianne’s gentle tone made Jane felt like a chastised preschooler. “Maybe he’s been waiting for the right woman to come to her senses.”

Jane ignored the sharp pain in her chest. “Marianne, I’m his matchmaker.” If only she’d saved a beignet to help her to stuff down the truth—that every time she imagined Charlie with another woman, holding her, kissing her, touching her with those criminally sexy hands, she felt like the Coney Island Cyclone was coasting through her stomach. “I believe in the matrix.”

“So do I,” she said, tapping her fingers on her tablet for emphasis. “But in this one case, maybe trusting passion is better than calculating probabilities. Maybe you need to trust Charlie.”

Jane pressed the heels of both palms against her eyes to hold back tears. Her emotions were spilling out of every pore lately like she was the Bethesda fountain without a shut-off valve, and she wanted her usual emotional sense of control back—the sooner, the better. “I can’t trust Charlie. He’s too…too…”

“Too what? Too heartbreakingly passionate?”

“Yes.” She picked up a few romance novels and pressed them defensively against her chest. “Too heartbreakingly passionate for my long-term piece of mind.”

Marianne stared at her for what felt like a solid seventy seconds. “You need some Dr. Phil. To recalibrate your love strategy.”

“There’s no love to strategize. Charlie and I were friends. Maybe there was one kiss a million years ago, but we’ve always managed to stay friends without a serious hookup up because he doesn’t believe in love, and I don’t believe in chemistry, so in some reverse way, we fit. But after all that sex in the Caymans…” Her gaze drifted to the passion candles in the front window. “If we were ever going to make a run at it after that kind of passion, we needed rules, clearly defined terms…and Charlie Goodman does not play by the rules.” She hugged the books closer. “So, clearly, I do not need to recalibrate my love strategy.”

“No, you do. You really do.” Marianne walked over to the self-help section and built a small stack of books. “
Life Strategies
comes first, then, move on to
Relationship Rescue
.”

“I refuse to read one word.”

“Next is
The Relationship Rescue Workbook
.”

“Not one single —wait a minute—there’s a workbook?”

Another book hit the stack. “Better toss in a copy of
Emotional Intelligence
, too. The updated version. You definitely need the updated version.”

“Hey—”

“Maybe it’ll save you.”

“From what?” Jane asked.

“From yourself.” Marianne set her tablet on top of the books, and with a few keystrokes, opened up the Cupid database. Two photographs scrolled across the screen. “In the meantime, since you seem committed to matching your sort-of-ex, the chemically-irresistible guy you can’t help fooling around with, here are our best two options, based on the updated criteria. Trish, a surgeon for Doctors Without Borders. Originally from Jersey City, she loves hockey and a great burger. Needs a non-smoker and a flexible schedule.”

“Next?”

“Marisa, an accountant. Loves movies, classic rock, and long walks in Central Park. A Sagittarius.”

“Any significant turn-offs?”

“Not really, except—well, except Brooklyn.”