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“Thisdateis over,” I say through gritted teeth. “Have a good night. I’ll email you information for your date tomorrow night.” I’m all prim and proper now as I start toward the top of the alleyway. I really hope the police have sorted out whatever was going on, and I don’t end up with a bullet in my head.
“Where are you going?” he says in an irritated tone, following behind me.
“Home,” I say flatly. “I’m going to call for a cab. Goodnight.”
I reach the street and turn back the way we came, thinking that I’ll go into the restaurant and call a cab. I reach the door and push it a little harder than I should.
I don’t look back.
Twenty minutes later, I lean my head back against the seat in the taxi, momentarily wondering if doing so is a potential health hazard and run over the events of the night.
Cringe.
What the hell happened there? I mean, I was supposed to be coaching Dean, and then things went seriously off tangent. And what on earth came over me in the alleyway? I’ve never had a problem keeping my hands to myself before, and I’ve made matches for some very good-looking guys in the past—sports players, the off actor, and an ex-Navy Seal who was a tall drink of water. Never before have I even come close to whatever this was. One minute, I want to throttle him, the next I want to take off his shirt.
My mind starts to wander to what he’d look like with his shirt off. I bet he’s got a body to die for—strong shoulders, muscles arms, defined abs that I could trace around with my tongue.
Ah! Must stop thinking inappropriate thoughts.
But there’s just something about him.
Maybe I’m not so fantastic at this whole matching thing? Was I ever? Surely, this is all just a reaction to the yo-yo of emotions tonight. I’m being too tough on myself. I suppose it’s true that you tend to focus on the few small failures rather than the numerous successes.
Self-doubt sucks.
I wonder if Hannah will be home tonight—trouble shared is trouble halved and all that. Speaking of Hannah, she didn’t do too well out of a Match X setup either. It’s actually because of a last-minute date she went on as a favor that I vowed never to involve any of my friends in my Match X work. She never would go into the details of what happened, and the male client effectively disappeared. His email simply said he was going out of town unexpectedly, and he never got back in touch with us.
Back home, I open the door and call out to see if Hannah’s around. I’m met with silence. We’ve been like ships in the night the last few weeks, and other than that experimental night out together, I’ve barely seen her. She’s one of my very best friends, and I really wish she was here so I could offload, vent a little, and get her input on my current dramas.
