Page 16 of Matched with the Player

How mortifying. It had been all she could do to restore order to her hair, let alone resurrect any semblance of pride. Shoving that damn dating questionnaire in his face had been a last-minute attempt to resurrect some boundaries.

Self-respect.

Maybe she ought to be dating after all. Who knew she was so affection-starved that she’d wrap herself around Kyle like a boa constrictor in search of a meal? Perhaps she should try to be objective about making a match for herself. Look for a candidate on paper where all the attractive intangibles didn’t get in the way and cloud her judgment…

“Marissa?” a frail voice called from the dining room they’d converted into a bedroom after her mother’s accident. “What are you doing out of bed, young lady?”

Regretting whatever noise she’d made to disturb the patient, Marissa set her keys on a kitchen counter and stepped out of her shoes before pushing open the swinging door to the dining area in the turn of the century mansion.

Surrounded by glossy mahogany wainscoting that went three quarters of the way up the walls, a queen-sized bed sat illuminated by a reading light clipped to the headboard. Beaded guitars and sequined stage costumes lined the walls in an effort to help her mother remember who she was on a daily basis, a décor built on remnants of a life fragmented by the sudden brain injury resulting from the late night car crash when Brandy’s agent had flipped her convertible. Those reminders were one reason Marissa had worked so hard to keep the house for her mother, selling off anything and everything else to maintain consistency in Brandy’s life so that nothing would upset her while she healed.

At the center of all the memorabilia sat Brandy Collins, her glossy dark hair missing patches in front from a surgery to slow down swelling in her brain. Her face remained as lovely as ever. If anything, the medications that sedated her had relaxed the old, animated lines around her eyes and mouth, making her appear younger. On the wall behind her, a poster from a concert ten years ago showed her as she used to be- clad in black leather, head thrown back as she belted out a song with an angel’s voice that was not handed down in the DNA code to her daughter.

As exasperating as Brandy used to be at times, Marissa missed her passion. Her zest for life.

“I’m fine, Mom.” Marissa sidestepped the table with a jigsaw puzzle and photo albums, more tools in a recovery that had shown little progress in the last six months. “Just getting a drink of water.”

Marissa never knew if her mother would address her as an adult, a teenager, or like she was five years old. Some days she cycled through all three, as if she’d stepped into a time machine and made random stops along the timeline of their lives together. But that was normal for traumatic brain injury patients, where the patient’s life was affected in myriad ways. Some people lost the capacity for speech or lost all their memories. Sometimes people lost motor coordination or their personalities were completely altered. Doctors assured Marissa that they couldn’t be sure how extensive the damage would be until the brain’s swelling had gone down completely and cerebral blood flow had returned to a regular pattern.

“You shouldn’t have eaten so much cotton candy at the VIP party,” Brandy fretted, dredging up some long ago memory. “I knew I should have hired a sitter instead of letting you come with me.”

Settling on the bed beside her, Marissa noticed her mother held a magazine upside down, her gaze glassy and unfocused. Gently, Marissa righted the periodical – an old issue of Vogue.

“But I had the best time. Thank you for letting me go to the party.” She played along whenever possible, trying not to add any details that might conflict with her mother’s memories and agitate her more. The doctors all insisted it was best to keep her peaceful while her brain struggled to heal itself.

“You’re welcome, Princess.” Smiling the dazzling grin that had made her music videos so popular, Brandy Collins patted her daughter’s head. “Off to bed now. Mommy has an early rehearsal.”

On impulse, Marissa hugged her, soaking up all the maternal affection she could on a rare night when she really, really needed it. Kyle’s suggestion that she’d sold out had bothered her, probably because it resonated with her own fears.

She didn’t want to match up people who didn’t belong together. And she sure didn’t want to set up Kyle with Stacy after a kiss that had knocked her off her moorings. But without a payday in sight, how would she help her mother? She hoped Kyle’s teammate, Leandre, would sign on as a client. He’d confided that he was tired of the ladies’ man reputation and ready for something more serious. She could really help him.

But without the bonus Phil Goodwell had offered her for matching up his daughter with Kyle… even a new client wouldn’t make up the difference she needed for her mother’s new medicine.

“Good night, Mom.”

Pressing a kiss to her cheek, Marissa left the dining room to think up a plan. Her mom’s financial decline was as familiar as any VH1 Behind the Music episode. Bad initial contract, crooked manager, excessive lifestyle… thank goodness filing chapter eleven still permitted her mother to keep her home. Selling the house or anything else from her mom’s past was out of the question since those familiar items grounded her when she was confused. And with those assets off limits, what choice did she have but to find another way to make her matchmaking service work? Only this time, she’d restrict herself to pairing people who both really wanted to find true love.

Which meant she needed to speak with Stacy Goodwell and tell her the news.

Pausing at the turn of the stairs to fish her cell phone from her purse, Marissa dropped into the deep cushions of the window seat tucked into the landing. She’d sleep better tonight if she sent Stacy a message and got it over with.

Tomorrow, she’d worry about finding new clients. Multiple new clients. For now, she clicked out a message-

I’m bowing out of the race to land Kyle Murphy. If you’re interested in other options, I’d be happy to help you.

Jamming a finger on the Send button before she could change her mind, Marissa slide the messaging screen closed. Only to have the previous window open on her device. The article about Kyle, with his photo staring back at her.

She stared down at him, remembering everything about the time she’d spent with him tonight.

Even if breaking her contract with Stacy cleared the path for Marissa to see Kyle, she still didn’t trust the way she felt about him. That crazy, upside down attraction could never be a good thing. At very least, it impaired her romantic judgment.

What if she was just another conquest to him, forbidden fruit his competitive side couldn’t resist trying?

“I knew you’d be trouble,” she whispered to the digital image still on her device, stabbing the screen with an accusatory finger. “And I was right.”

* * *

The day had started out like any other for Isaac Reynolds.

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