The Matchmaker's Playbook (Wingmen Inc., #1)

by Rachel Van Dyken

Before you ask—yes. It sucks. I’m pissed I can’t play in the NFL. But when one can’t play . . . one teaches. And I was more than just a football player. I was the player. Of sports. And . . . of women. The best of them all. So who better to teach women how not to get played than an actual player? Exactly.

Gabi is like a sister to me—as in, the only time I even thought about kissing her was during eighth-grade skate night, and I’m pretty sure that’s because someone had spiked my Mountain Dew. Regardless, we kissed, and it was awful. She actually puked. But we’re 99 percent sure it was the stomach flu and not my bad kissing skills that caused it.

Blake wasn’t staring, but she was texting. During GoT. Which was the equivalent of falling asleep during a Marvel movie.

“Your eyes.” I squeezed by her and whispered in her ear, “They’re a really pretty ice blue.” “Like my soul.” Her eyes narrowed. “Now, will you please leave me alone?” “Why would you want that?” I fell into step beside her as she lengthened her stride. “Besides, any friend of Gabi’s is a friend of mine.” “That’s really unfortunate for me.” “So you saw me naked,” I said loud enough for people walking by to hear. “Big deal.”

Men are suckers for long hair. I think it goes back to the early days when cavemen would grab women by the hair and tug them back to their sad little hay beds and make sweet love to them.” “That’s”—Blake shook her head—“probably one of the most offensive things I’ve ever heard.” I shrugged. “Get used to it.

Offering a guy a cookie after sex is like telling a kid to pee before you put them in the car for a long road trip. Suddenly they’re all Yeah, I really do need to go to the bathroom. You plant the thought.

I’d never given a girl a second thought. I never took business home with me. But I was still thinking about Blake long after she left. And it wasn’t in a sense of Gee, how can I help her? It was mostly about why the hell she was chasing after some guy who clearly hadn’t seen that he’d had a good thing in front of him for over ten years. I was reading too much into it. Guys were blind, end of story. Damn egg rolls.

“You do realize I’m talking about the Kama Sutra, right?” More confusion. “Is that a type of food?” A guy next to me grunted, and his face fell as if saying, Poor bastard has to go home with her?

And that was the kicker. She was saving herself for someone important, while I’d never saved myself for anyone, ever. The thought haunted me the entire walk to my car.