Page 2 of Romancing the Rude Guy

“Why were any of our grandchildren.. and nephew.. that we matched single?” Elliot says, raising a dark penciled in eyebrow. “They hadn’t met their perfect match yet.” She winks at Brooke, leaving the other woman gaping at her in shock.

If not for this group, Brooke never would have spoken with Elliot. To be honest, even now, she’s not the most comfortable around the formidable other woman.

“So true,” Sandra sighs, thinking fondly of her granddaughter Winnie and her romance with Reed, the dashing attorney.

“I have always wondered why Alice had relationship issues,” Brooke muses.

Deborah nods. “It’s the same with Marcus. He has issues connecting with people too. He’s very strong-willed.” Chuckling, she shakes her head and mutters, “he needed to be to survive what he has.”

“A strong man is just what Alice needs! Someone that’s able to go head-to-head with her and match her step for step.”

Deborah opens her mouth, intending to correct Brooke on one assumption, then decides better of it and smiles. They’ve already been matched, so Marcus’s disability shouldn’t be an issue. It’s better for the two to meet first, anyway. Too many people hear the word wheelchair and immediately jumped to preconceived notions.

Not that Alice would be one of them, but why chance it? Let the two get together on a date and hopefully the matchmakers will be putting their picture up on the couple’s board in no time.

“Then why are we beating around the bush? Let’s get these two set up,” Deborah says.

Brooke glances down at her list and nods. “You’re right. I’m wasting time. Let’s call.”

Cheers erupt from the other matchmakers.

Agnes waves her hands to restore order. Eventually, everyone quiets down.

“Our last official match is a go,” she declares with a grin. “Deborah and Brooke report back when the date is set and keep us posted.”

“Ready or not, the matchmakers are on it!” Charlotte calls out.

Brooke exchanges grins with Deborah and the two put their heads together to figure out a time and place for their grandchildren to meet.

CHAPTER ONE

MARCUS

“Oh, here, let me get that for you.”

Reaching across me she grabs the knife and proceeds to cut my chicken into small, bite-sized pieces as if I were a little kid that can’t be trusted with a sharp object.

This isn’t the first time it’s happened, and heaven help me, I doubt it will be the last. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t irk me.

Every. Single. Time.

“Here you go, sugar.” Handing me my fork, the server beams as her bright blue eyes bore into me. It takes everything in me not to snap.

After several long seconds of silence, her bright smile begins to dim and wilt around the edges. It’s obvious she’s waiting for a thank you or for me to be so overcome with gratitude at her cutting my food that I tear up and praise her for treating me like I’m some toddler instead of a full-grown man. I’m in a wheelchair. It’s my legs that don’t work, not my hands!

Gritting my teeth, I stab a tiny piece of perfectly cut up grilled chicken and shove it into my mouth. My gaze stays fixed on my lunch and, eventually, the helpful server moves away. Good thing I didn’t look truly helpless, or she might have actually tried to feed me my food.

A date tried that once. I snapped at her, and she left the restaurant in a huff. I enjoyed her meal as well as my own and felt zero remorse when I never heard from her again. Many first dates ended up being only dates.

I roll my tight shoulders and try to brush it off and just enjoy my lunch.

People mean well, I know they do. My own father, one of the toughest men I know, tried to baby me after the accident. When I told him his days of wiping my ass were long over, he laughed and eased up a bit. I expected that sort of treatment from my family. Total strangers going out of their way to do things for me was unexpected and completely unwanted.

It's been six years since the accident that cost me the use of my legs and I think I’ve adapted quite well. Some things are still a struggle. They always will be and will probably get harder as I age. Feeding myself isn’t one of them.

I plow through my lunch, barely tasting a bite.

To make up for some of my rudeness with the server, I toss a healthy amount of cash next to my empty plate as a tip and wheel away from the table.

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