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Chapter One
From the Twitter account of @BlindDateBitch:
#NewRule: For a matchmaker with the mostest, ensure they have fully operational #gaydar. 100 NONNEGOTIABLE. If it’s faulty...DUMP THEM!
‘You’re absolutely positive you’re gay?’
Tally Gladstone battled with a whine of dismay as her latest blind date’s brilliant blue eyes twinkled with mischief and her brain—and several other key parts of her anatomy—knotted with frustration.
‘Totally, 100 per cent positive. Sorry.’
‘Seriously?’ The whine won.
It cannot be true. Not again.
In one tiny corner of Tally’s mind, it registered that Sam Grady’s revelation was going to make great fodder tomorrow morning when Blind Date Bitch reported back to her five hundred thousand followers about her latest disaster date. But for once she had actually been more excited about the date itself than what she was going to tweet about it. Plus her appalling luck and her consequent online success was getting to be beyond a joke. She’d set up @BlindDateBitch as an anonymous ego boost to support her through the early stages of her search for a superstud—not to shatter her ego entirely with a never-ending running commentary on her failure to get laid.
‘No equivocation whatsoever?’ Tally soldiered on, drowning out the clatter and hum of the Kensington bar on a busy Friday night.
Sam’s diamond-bright gaze dipped to her cleavage, temptingly displayed in her best LBD. It remained there for several pregnant seconds, while Tally’s lungs seized to a halt—and she crossed her fingers under the bar.
Could a really good pair of double Ds turn a gay man straight—even a little bit? Surely it was a possibility. She had exceptionally nice tits—and her push-up bra helped turn them into the eighth wonder of the world.
‘Your rack is very aesthetically pleasing.’ His burning gaze lifted back to her now burning face. ‘I could write a song to those puppies. But would they give me a boner?’ He shook his head, his sheepish expression not doing a thing for her blush. ‘Doubtful.’
‘Oh, fuck it. I give up.’ Tally took a long swallow of her strawberry daiquiri. ‘I’m going to kill Melody. I can’t believe she set me up with a gay guy again. I’m beginning to think she’s doing it deliberately.’
Melody was her best friend. But how could anyone be so totally rubbish in the matchmaker stakes?
‘How many times has this happened?’ Sam asked, his husky voice still sending annoying shivers up her spine—which were now, she reminded herself, completely beside the point.
Get a grip spine. Project Get Laid Some Time This Millennium is not happening tonight.
She drank in one last long forlorn look at Sam. He’d seemed like such a fabulous prospect earlier in the evening when Melody had introduced them. Attentive, gorgeous blue eyes, ripped abs from what she could tell beneath his T-shirt, solvent—according to Melody—a delicious aroma of laundry detergent and clean male enveloping her when they’d got stranded together at the bar, and a great conversationalist. And not noticeably camp.
Maybe his job as a graphic designer should have been a hint—and the fact that his gaze hadn’t strayed to her cleavage once during the entire evening—but seriously, after two solid years without a sexual encounter of any description that didn’t involve batteries, she needed a much bigger hint than that... A pulsing neon sign on his forehead with Boys Only written in large flaming-pink letters, for example.
Tally huffed, holding up three fingers. ‘Three dates. Three gay blokes. In the space of a month. That’s a 100 per cent record.’
Sam choked out a laugh. ‘Well, her gaydar’s off, that’s for sure.’ He rested a warm palm on Tally’s shoulder. ‘Hey, look, I’m sorry, Tally. You’re great and I’ve had a fun time. I didn’t know Melody was trying to hook us up. I thought she knew which way I roll. I sure as hell don’t keep it a secret.’
‘That’s okay,’ Tally murmured, feeling more humiliated by the second. ‘Not a problem. Although I’d suggest you use a different cologne when chatting to women. Because the one you use now is sending out all the wrong signals—pheromone-wise.’
One dark brow hiked up his forehead. ‘But I don’t use cologne.’
‘Precisely. Something flowery and exotic with Hawaiian undertones would be much more appropriate. Might give a girl a clue. You know. To your sexual preferences.’
He laughed again—and her humiliation and annoyance eased. He really was a lovely guy. And it was hardly his fault he was extremely hot, yet played for the other team—nor was it his fault that Melody was to matchmaking what her eight-year-old cousin was to mature and sensible behaviour. Basically, a disaster waiting to happen. Plus, she’d probably get another thousand followers after this fuck-up—not that it felt like much of a consolation anymore.
‘How about I make it up to you?’ he said in his deep American accent. ‘Maybe I could set you up with someone. I know a lot of guys.’
‘Straight guys?’ Tally heard the eagerness in her voice. But sod it, she was desperate here. And extremely turned on with nowhere to go but back to her lonely bed and the company of Victor, her vibrator. The sad fact that she’d given the bloody thing a name was all that needed to be said on that score.
‘Yeah, straight. I guarantee it,’ he said. ‘Because unlike Melody, my gaydar is never wrong.’ The twinkle of mischief returned. ‘Either that or I’ve hit on them myself and discovered how they roll the hard way. No joke intended.’
