Page 86 of The Match Faker

“Besides, that’s what you did, isn’t it?” he says. “Gave up.”

Okay. Scratch that. I do kind of want to hurt him. I reach for Nick’s bottle of whiskey and pour myself a glass, and take far too large of a mouthful, wincing through the burn.

“What,” I ask slowly to avoid any slurring while the alcohol warms my blood, “am I supposed to have given up on?”

“Us.”

“There was nous, Nick. It was made up. We were made up.”

He cups my jaw, his thumb brushing my cheekbone, tender, almost pitying. “We were. Until we weren’t.”

I turn my face to break his hold, but my skin tingles and glows where he touched me, something I’m not sure I can blame on the alcohol.

“I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree,” I say primly. I will not let him get to me. I came here to find out why he didn’t havethe loan, and now I know. In fact, I don’t need to be here at all. Not anymore.

Turning, I reach for my coat where he’s laid it over the bar top.

“Is that what you’d call it?” he asks my back. “A disagreement? Cuz I’d call it trusting a computer over your own heart.”

I turn on my heel before I can force myself to calm the fuck down. “You don’t know what I feel for you.” I jab him with my index finger, lean into the scant inches between us.

He wraps his hand around my accusing finger, squeezing, his skin warm. “There’s no way I was the only one who felt that way, Jazz.”

Outside on the sidewalk, the bar’s last call leftovers have dispersed, leaving only the sound of passing traffic. It’s late. Way too late. I should go home.

The first thing I told Jade when she turned nineteen and was legally allowed to drink was that nothing good ever happens after two a.m.

I really need to start taking my own advice.

“You were,” I say. “The only one.” But I can’t take my eyes off his lips.

“Prove it,” he says, like I conjured him, like he really can read minds, like he’s the genie inside my magic lamp ready to grant my every wish.

I grip the fabric of his T-shirt in my hands and pull his mouth to mine. “Fine,” I growl against his lips. “I will.”

Glasses and bottles clink as I push him against the counter. The erection that has not abated since we started this conversation presses into my hip. He grips my ass cheeks in his hands, rough, pulling me into him more, until he’s almost bent backward over the bar counter.

He tastes warm, like the whiskey, his moan is rough, satisfied as I fist his hair and pull his lower lip between my teeth. When we pull apart, he stares at me, his eyes intense, the curve of his lips teasing, as always.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “What was that supposed to prove, Jasmine?”

I don’t have an answer for him, but this entire evening was doomed from the start and it’s all his fault. Any chance I could have had with the other Nick was ruined because of this one, and my guilt. So, I’ll fuck him, get it out of my system, then we can both move on.

Nick can call it whatever he wants, giving up, computer-generated love. I don’t care. I call it making the smart choice, because what was the point of all this in the first place if I don’t give my perfect match a real chance.

“Are you going to fuck me?” I ask. “Or talk all night?”

Gripping the hem of my sweaterdress in my fists, I channel the woman I was in his pool room and pull it over my head in one motion. I’m naked beneath other than my panties, and my skin pebbles and pinks from the cold, the exposure, and a little bit from the audacity. I never truly feel like myself with him, but in the best way possible. Not because I’m hiding, because I’m revealing parts I didn’t even know about.

No longer can I make snide remarks about him making a joke of everything. Nick’s face transforms from sarcastic to serious. If there’s one thing Nick doesn’t joke about, it’s fucking me.

“Do me a favor?” He looks away, wipes his hand across his mouth, like he can already taste me on his tongue. “Take your hair down?”

I pause, only because of all the things he could have said, I hadn’t anticipated that. But I do as he asks, pulling out the bobby pins and clear elastic bands until my hair unfurls from the bun wrapped on my head and falls around my shoulders.

He sighs. Shakes his head. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

His words, the gravity in his voice, pin me to this spot. They reveal more than my nakedness ever could and I cover myself with my arms.

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