Mix 'N Match (No Match for Love) (22 page)

Kissing Mitch had been about as brilliant an idea as applying foundation to a face but not the neck.

Mitch’s shoulder brushed against hers. Zoey dug her nails into her palms and forced herself to focus on the luminescent cathedral as they floated past. She could hardly believe Mitch—
Mitch
, Mr. Conservative—had splashed her with a rain puddle mere hours before. It was like someone else had possessed his body. Or like he was finally letting loose and allowing himself to be the person he’d always been.

Zoey shook her head, trying to listen to Mitch’s history lesson on Victor Hugo and Notre Dame. But all she heard was
wah-wah-wah
like she was stuck in a
Peanuts
cartoon.

Had he known Alan was nearby when he kissed her? It had felt so spontaneous, but at the same time, so inevitable. She bit her lip, lost in the memory. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel his lips pressed against hers.

She’d been certain she’d built up that first kiss in her memory, but the second had definitely lived up to her expectations.

Her gaze drifted from the cathedral to Mitch. She absolutely positively could not grab his face between her hands and smash those soft, full lips against hers. They’d been there, done that, and both got burned in the process. Physical attraction wasn’t everything. Chemistry wasn’t everything. There had to be a basic level of compatibility, or the relationship would fail. Toujour clients had taught her that lesson over and over again.

She was pretty certain Mitch had been genuine at the top of the tower. But that was almost worse than if he was putting on a show. Because Mitch wanted a version of her that wasn’t real.

If Brooke—a dear friend, but still, at the end of the day just a friend—had the power to keep Zoey at a job she hated without even asking, what power would Mitch have over Zoey if she allowed herself to go down this path?

She couldn’t let that happen.

Zoey was off the boat as soon as it docked. She walked toward the metro at a brisk pace, keeping her eyes peeled for any sign of Alan. But he wasn’t anywhere to be found.

Mitch didn’t say anything, just kept pace beside her. The metro was blessedly crowded and noisy, with standing room only. Mitch kept trying to catch her gaze with those soulful black eyes. But if she let him speak, he’d insist they’d talk. And she wasn’t ready for that conversation.

What are you afraid of?
he’d asked. The metro rocked around a bend, and Zoey clung to the hand strap, struggling to maintain her balance. Mitch had said the kiss was real, but Alan’s arrival had shaken her confidence.

Was she more afraid Mitch was serious or that he wasn’t? He said he’d been all in, but was she?

She closed her eyes. Had he really danced with her in the rain? Had he kissed her on top of the Eiffel Tower? That was a version of Mitch that she could mesh well with.

Then she remembered him telling her to be more demure. She remembered him accusing her of being flighty and irresponsible.

Which version of Mitch was real?

A hand landed on her back, and her eyes flew open. The florescent lights of the metro had her squinting up into Mitch’s concerned face.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Her throat closed up, and she took a deep, shuddering breath. She and Mitch were . . . well, whatever. But she wouldn’t let them be more.

“I’m fine,” Zoey lied.

She needed to talk to Brooke.

Mitch stayed quiet as they walked from the metro station to the apartment, while Zoey shivered in her still damp clothes. It wasn’t like him to be so silent, especially when they were in the middle of a fight. Was he giving her space? Did she want it?

Mitch unlocked the door to the apartment, and Zoey stumbled inside.

“Goodnight,” Mitch said.

“Night.” Zoey tripped over her feet as she raced into her bedroom and shut the door behind her. Yes, she was definitely eager for some space.

She flopped onto the bed, not caring that her clothes were still damp. With shaking fingers, she fished her phone out of her purse and pressed the icon of Brooke pulling a silly face.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” Zoey muttered as the phone rang.

The phone clicked on, and Brooke filled the screen. The bookcases in the background told Zoey she’d caught Brooke at work.

“Hey,” Brooke said. “You’re right—the bridesmaid dresses are gorgeous. How did it go with the caterer?”

“Fine.” Had that seriously been only a few hours ago? Zoey felt like she’d lived an entire lifetime.

“Which soup did you end up going with? It’s so hard to pick from a photo, and they both sounded delicious.”

Yeah, like she could discuss soup right now. “I kissed Mitch.”

Brooke’s eyes widened. She leaned toward the camera, her face filling the screen. “You what?”

Zoey ran a shaking hand over her hair. “Yeah, I know. And it’s not the first time, either.”

“
What?
Zoey, how long has this been going on? And why the heck didn’t you say anything to me?”

“We might have sort of kissed at your engagement party, and then we might have sort of had a falling out with each other and just kissed again tonight.”

“Just a moment.” Brooke rose and disappeared from the screen for a moment, and Zoey heard a faint
click
like a door closing before Brooke reappeared. “Okay. Start at the beginning and tell me everything.”

When Zoey finished spilling the story fifteen minutes later, Brooke was smiling.

“Stop smiling,” Zoey snapped. “This is serious, Brooke. What am I going to do?”

“I always thought there might be something between you two. I bet if I ran your information through Toujour, the system would determine you’re a good match.”

“Then the system is flawed. Mitch and I couldn’t be more different.”

“Opposites attract.”

“Yeah, but Mitch and I are as opposite as opposite can be. We have nothing in common.”

“He ruined a suit to play in the rain with you. I think he’s loosening up.”

“We do nothing but argue.”

“Not all fighting is bad.”

Zoey held up a hand. “Don’t even go there. I am not . . . I mean . . . I can’t even begin to imagine . . .” She gulped, shaking her head back and forth vigorously. “No. Just no. Not happening.”

“Zoey.” Brooke put on her best matchmaker smile, which only made Zoey roll her eyes again. “I know that the intensity of your feelings for Mitch is probably scaring you, but if you open yourself up to love, you might find the happily ever after you’ve always dreamed of.”

“Don’t Toujour
me right now. I’m not a client, and I have no desire to be one.”

“It worked for me and Luke.”

“Yeah, in a bizarre, non-traditional way. Speaking of Luke . . .” Zoey chewed on her lip. “Well, if you hear through the grapevine that Mitch and I are engaged, you can ignore that.”

“Zoey!”

Zoey winced. “Okay, so there’s something else I need to tell you. But before I start, I want to assure you that Mitch and I have everything one hundred percent under control. One hundred and ten percent, even. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Brooke folded her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Should I remain sitting for this news?”

“Probably.” Guilt overwhelmed Zoey. How had she let this—any of this—happen? Talk about needing to reevaluate her decision-making process. “Don’t freak out. But Alan’s in Paris.”

“Alan? Of the paparazzi persuasion? Soda-all-over-his-camera-at-Disneyland Alan?”

“One and the same.”

Brooke slumped back in her chair. “Oh my gosh, this is a nightmare. He’s trying to get photos of the wedding, isn’t he? What am I saying? Of course he is. The real question is: how did he find you?”

Zoey swallowed, thinking of Mitch’s accusations. But he was wrong—there was no way Alan had slipped a bug into her purse. “We’re still trying to figure that out. He keeps showing up everywhere we go. So we kind of sort of told him the wedding is for me and Mitch to try and distract him.”

Brooke covered her face, and her shoulders started shaking.

“It’s fine,” Zoey said in alarm. “Don’t cry, Brooke. I swear, Mitch and I are doing everything in our power to convince him he’s on the wrong trail and to make him go home. I will have him arrested if that’s what it takes to keep him from showing up at your wedding. I will personally pay some thug to knife him in an alley if necessary.”

But when Brooke looked up, she wasn’t crying—she was laughing. “So you and Mitch are playing the happy couple while a reporter chases you all over the city?”

“Pretty much.”

“That’s the Zoey I know and love. Luke and I will be there in four days for the final wedding preparations. Think you can get him off the trail by then?”

“Absolutely.” Zoey seriously hoped she hadn’t just lied to her best friend.

“I trust you, Zo. My wedding’s in your hands. I’ve got to go, but give Mitch a chance, okay? He’s a really great guy, and I think the two of you could be perfect together.”

Zoey rolled her eyes. She and Mitch weren’t oil and vinegar creating a fantastic salad dressing. They were fire and ice, directly battling against each other until both had nothing more to give and all that was left behind was a steaming pile of ashes. “Fly safely, and we’ll see you soon.”

Brooke gave a little wave, and the screen went dark. Zoey flopped onto her bed, her head swimming. She and Mitch, a perfect match? The wedding must be rotting Brooke’s judgment, because her matchmaker six sense was way off this time.

She and Mitch were attracted to each other, but at the end of the day, that didn’t mean a thing.

Thump, thump, thump.

Zoey held the pillow tight around her ears, trying to muffle the sound. She’d been dreaming about something wonderful, and she desperately wanted to get it back.

She let herself drift again. A five o’clock shadow scratched against her soft cheeks. Lips teased her neck. Strong arms held her close. Dream Mitch whispered her name. She knew she shouldn’t want him to hold her like that, but it felt so right.

Thump, thump, thump.

Zoey groaned and threw her pillow on the floor, brought forcibly back to reality. No light filtered through the curtains, and the room was still shrouded in darkness. She grabbed her glasses and slipped them on, squinting at the digital clock on the nightstand.

Six a.m. Really? It was bad enough she couldn’t escape Mitch in her dreams, but now he was waking her up before the sun, too?

She stomped across the wood floor and yanked open the door. “What?”

Mitch was dressed for the day in a pressed black suit and red silk tie. The butterflies in her stomach flapped their wings in greeting, but she folded her arms and glared.

She couldn’t let her feelings for him make her forget how wrong they were for each other.

Mitch thrust his tablet at her. “Looks like our friend Alan’s following through on his threats.”

Zoey took the tablet, the butterflies dying as dread curdled in her stomach. She glanced down at the page he had open—a tabloid article with the headline, “The Wedding Might be Sooner Than You Think.”