The Matchmaker's Playbook(63)

My stomach growled at the thought. I don’t care what guys think girls want; there is nothing sexy about a chick eating a lettuce leaf while chugging a vodka soda.

First off, the lettuce almost always gets stuck somewhere, usually between the front four teeth, and the vodka soda gets them tipsy so fast that by the time you want to order dessert, they’ve already lifted their foot underneath the table and tried to get you off with their big toe.

Not gonna lie, it’s happened a dozen or few times. Meaning I know what small amounts of food and large amounts of alcohol do to the dumb ones. And the sad ones are no better. If anything, it’s worse, because they’re too nervous to drink, spill water all over you, and when the night’s over, when you’ve finally finished coaching them on why it’s smart to eat rather than starve themselves all day, they’re suddenly ravenous.

I had one chick steal a couple’s bread basket.

Another ordered so many desserts she puked on me.

Hmm. I continued scrolling through my phone and grinned when I found the perfect place. It would be . . . interesting, that’s for sure.

Lex let out a loud laugh. I glanced up and wasn’t surprised at all that Big Tits was already fondling his ass and whispering sweet nothings into his ear. Twenty bucks he was doing chem homework in his head while she touched him. Another hundred that during sex, he’d be organizing his notes for his test. Sometimes I wondered why he even bothered.

He was a bastard. But I loved him.

A week ago, I would have given him a high five.

Now, it just felt . . . sad. A bit empty.

I heard more laughter from Lex as they sauntered off.

I needed to clear my head, and fast. Lex said I had another chick who was meeting me in a few minutes, but she’d yet to show, and typically if they were going to show, new clients were really early, spying the bench, waiting, watching, in the creepiest of ways.

But today? I had shit to do. So I quickly glanced around the area, left to right, right to left. Bingo!

Aw, poor sad, confused single woman wearing Keds, ripped boyfriend jeans, and a white T-shirt. Shit, was that a red headband? Was it the Fourth of July? Damn, at least bring a hot dog if you’re going to dress like a barbecue.#p#分页标题#e#

You, I mouthed at her, then crooked my finger.

She paled, looked behind her, then back at me.

“Yes.” I nodded. “You.”

She looked behind her again.

Oh good Lord.

Was I seriously going to have to get up?

Finally, after a few minutes of hesitation, she hung her head and shuffled toward me.

When her small body cast a shadow over the bench, I leaned back and took inventory.

A-line haircut. Brown hair. Cute body, but very small, almost pixie-like. Zero self-confidence, considering she was hunched, and something about the way she dressed told me she didn’t actually dress herself, meaning her confidence had never been . . . poured into, if you will.

My bet was . . . she was still hiding underneath the shadow of her mom and was ready to break free and live. It was in the way she carried herself, the way she dressed, very prim and proper, like she was ready to go to Sunday dinner instead of class.

Too bad her parents were . . . hmm, I was guessing . . . local.

“You live on campus?” I asked.

She shook her head no.

“Still with the ’rents, huh?”

A small nod.

“You have friends?”

She nodded vigorously.

“They live on campus?”

Another nod that had me feeling like I was pulling teeth.

“Great . . . Are you poor?”

Frowning, she finally lifted her head so I could see her deep-green eyes. “No.”

Thank God. It spoke.

“Good.” I stood but quickly backed away, since she literally only came up to the middle of my chest. “Your first assignment is to tell the parents you’re moving out. The next is to find housing on campus or near campus. Cut the apron strings . . .” I tilted my head. “What’s your name?”

“Who are you?” She frowned. “I’m supposed to meet—” And she clammed up again.

I held out my hand. “Name’s Ian Hunter. I’m your new wingman.”

She stared at my hand, then placed hers across it, shaking it in such a wimpy, weird way that I shivered a bit.

“Assignment number two.” I gripped her hand hard. “Guys like soft bodies, not soft handshakes. Shake my hand the way you’d”—I coughed—“shake my hand.”

“What?”

“To quote a popular song, guys want ‘a lady in the streets but a freak in the bed.’ Judging by your shaking skills, I’m assuming you wouldn’t know the first thing about handling any part of me in bed. Firm grip, always important. Guys read into shit like that. I’ll send you the schedule later. Look over the information packet Lex sent you, and be sure to fill out the questionnaire. No calling. Only texting and e-mailing. Gotta run.”