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“Right,” Zorro said, smacking himself once more. “That’s impressive. You’re brilliant! Just think, Johnson… with your design genius and your background in roller coasters and merry-go-rounds, you could create a caftan extravaganza. I say we call it, Park It and Wreck It Caftan Adventures! You could do an immersive ride that mirrors the chandelier crash and bloodbath from NY Fashion Week!”
I grabbed a pen and a pad of paper. Zorro might be onto something…
“Who won best-looking Immortal at the Manhandler Resort?” Dwayne demanded.
“It was the Sausage Factory,” I reminded him.
“Of course, it was! My apologies. It was you! You won the hottest man contest.”
“I had hair then,” I said.
Dwayne’s brows shot up to his nonexistent hairline. My buddy was as follicle impaired as me. “Bald is beautiful and badass,” he informed me. “I’m hot and so are you.”
Dwayne was very hot, and if I was being honest with myself… which was kind of difficult to do, I wasn’t all that bad.
Dwayne and Zorro exchanged a cryptic look. It made my intestines rumble.
“Do you have the number?” Dwayne asked Zorro.
Zorro grinned. “But of course! After my sessions, we became friends.”
“Call,” Dwayne insisted.
“Call who?” I demanded. If they thought I needed a therapist, they were correct, but I already had one—a darling female werewolf named Edna. She’d been all over my ass for ghosting Kurt, but we decided to view it as a learning experience. I needed to learn not to do that again. It was shitty, unkind and wildly immature. It had also been stupid. Kurt was everything I’d ever wanted in a partner and I’d blown it.
“Abra Cadabra Matchmaking Services!” Zorro sang. “It’s in NYC! Just a bus ride away.”
“Hell to the NO,” I yelled, trying to grab his cellphone.
“Hush now,” Dwayne said, slashing his hand through the air and tossing a mild electrocution my way.
I wiggled my fingers in retribution and wrinkled the heck out of his starched frock. He was horrified. He promptly stripped down to his thong, marched over to my utility closet, pulled out the ironing board and iron and went to town.
“Voila the Immortal Match Guy introduced me to Rupert,” Zorro explained, scrolling through his contacts. “He’s a doll and quite the dish himself! Very thorough in his vetting of potential mates. Adorable office and his mom works the reception desk. Loved her! She’s a witch and he’s a wizard, and he specializes in picking the perfect match for his clients. Results guaranteed!”
“What kind of name is that?” I asked, ready to give my fainting-goat-shifter buddy a pair of breasts if he didn’t put down the phone.
“It is kind of odd,” he agreed. “Can’t be his real moniker, but that’s what he goes by. Cha-Cha is his mom.”
I rolled my eyes and gave up. Cha-Cha the witch and her wizard son, Voila the Immortal Match Guy, sounded like a bad sitcom waiting to happen. Zorro could make the appointment. I didn’t have to go. The boys would be none the wiser. My BFFs were due to go back home this afternoon.
“Fine,” I said, not wanting the morning to digress into a look-off that would end up maiming all of us. “Make the appointment.”
Zorro squealed with delight. “You’ll thank me for this, Johnson. Mark my words guuuurlfriend!”
I doubted it, but I also never thought I’d be the star of New York Fashion Week. My therapist Edna would tell me to go for it. She was big into me building my self-esteem.
Maybe, I would go.
Probably not…
But maybe.
Chapter Four
Dear Diary,
Today is the day. I’m a wreck. Following the advice of Dwayne and Zorro is giving me gas. Voila the Immortal Match Guy sounds like a hack, but if he truly matched Zorro and Rupert, then maybe this isn’t a disaster waiting to happen. Edna pushed for me to go in therapy last Tuesday—said I didn’t actually have to go on a date with a stranger, but it was smart to put myself out there. I don’t necessarily agree, but I’m pulling up my big boy thong and taking a chance.
