Page 97 of The Match Faker

She blinks, confused. “Y-yes we are.”

I sigh. It’s pretty embarrassing to have to admit this right now. “I went to Core Cupid.” I follow her hairline with my finger as a distraction. “Told Chloe everything and she signed me up to see if we could be a match. But we’re not.”

She shakes her head. “That’s the thing, I don’t want an algorithm to tell me how I feel anymore. I canceled my Core Cupid membership. I decided to follow my gut.”

The softest butterfly wings brush against my ribcage. I never thought of myself as a butterfly guy but it turns out I just needed the right girl. “And what does your gut say?”

“That I love you,” she whispers, trailing her fingers through my hair, scratching her nails through my stubble.

“Jazz.” I say her name like a sigh.

“I mean it though. I want to be a part of this with you. I know it’s a risk, but I see the community you created here, how happy it makes you. I don’t have a lot of experience running a bar. I might be bad at it at first, but I want to save Moonbar.”

“I thought you didn’t like doing things you’re not good at,” I tease.

She fights her smile. “Clearly, I’ve given up on that.”

“O-M-G kiss already, please!” Jade squeals from the front of the stage. Jasmine turns bright pink at the realization that we are being watched by…everyone.

“We should give the people what they want,” I say, pulling her attention back to me, tugging her closer by her hip. Tentative at first, as I run my nose along hers. Then not tentative at all when the spice of her perfume fills my nose, when all I can think about is being surrounded by her, feeling her laugh against my throat. Her lips are warm, her tongue soft. I taste her teeth because she can’t stop smiling, her giggles turning to buzzing against my lips. Then the whistles start, the catcalls and the affectionate requests that we get a room.

She presses her face into my throat, my shoulder. I cup the back of her head. I want to hold her, feel her next to me forever. Until her fingers find the tender skin of my triceps and she pinches me.

“What are you doing?” I scrub my stubble across her neck.

“Just checking,” she says, kissing my chin, my cheek. “Wanted to make sure this is real, you’re real.”

I kiss her again to a chorus of hoots and hollers. “Very real.”

There’s nothing fake about how I feel for her.

EPILOGUE: NICK

October

The wine rep standing on the other side of the bar frowns as Jasmine sets down her wine glass. His face falls further as she steps back, her face chalky.

“You okay?” I reach for her, but she sidesteps my grasp as she rushes past me, pushing through the back door of the bar.

“Yup,” she warbles. She sounds anything but okay.

“Sorry,” I tell the rep – I’ve already forgotten his name – and follow after her. “Be right back. I’m sure it’s not your wine,” I say over my shoulder when I catch a glimpse of panic on his face.

It could be the wine. It tasted fine to me, though. But then, I’m not the one trying to expand our wine list. I was happy with the merlot we already had. Or as Jazz likes to call it, “bar rail fruit fly attractant”.

Light escapes underneath the door of the Employees’ Only bathroom.

“Jasmine?” I knock but can barely hear her response over the buzz and clank of the fan which hasn’t been replaced since the Industrial Revolution.

After a few moments, the door opens. In the harsh light of the naked bulb hanging from the ceiling, Jasmine looks washed out, her eyes are red, and she dabs at her mouth with a brown paper towel.

“You’re sick,” I say, lifting my hand to her forehead, but in another deke move that would get her a walk-on spot on the Maple Leafs, she avoids me.

“Yeah,” she says. “No. I don’t know.” She plasters herself to the wall. We’ve been together long enough now for me to know she wants space because she’s upset about being sick or feels embarrassed for puking or a combination of both and not because she’s upset with me.

“Do you want to go upstairs and lie down? I can finish the tasting.”

She shakes her head, but she’s pressing her lips together and her color has gotten worse. I’m about to put my foot down about it when she says, “I think I’m going to go home actually. My home.”

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