Page 24 of The Match Faker

I fill the pot with an abundance of dish soap and warm water; a late soak is better than never soaking at all.

Jade hums a ponderous sound that means something along the lines ofyes, yes, shut up so I can talk about what I want now. “You don’t usually getthisdistraught about dirty dishes.”

I throw the sponge into the sink where it lands with a wet splat. “I told you I am not distraught.”

Jade laughs, loud and artificial. “You’re such a joker, Jazz.”

I flush. Stupid Nick ruining that stupid nickname.Gah!Even the wordnickname is ruined.

“What happened at the engagement party?” she asks for the thousandth time since Saturday.

“Nothing.” The word is anything but believable, yet I stand by it.

“Sounds like something a distraught person would say,” she singsongs, following me from the kitchen to the living room. Jade has always been my shadow. Mom called her my little duckling because of the way she’d waddle around behind me as a toddler.

For the first time maybe ever, I wish she would just go away.

“It was fine. I swear.” I ignore the pang in my chest and begin the never-ending task of cleaning up my little sister’s mess. First, her LEGOs—her newest hyperfixation—go in their bin. Then I collect her dishes from the coffee table and check the couch cushions for garbage, phones, keys, bank cards, money, jewelry, trinkets, and treasures. She went through a rock collecting phase that I only found out about after I pulled a handful of unwashed rocks from the couch that she insisted were opals.

They were not.

“Mitchell asked me to dance. He was pretty drunk so that was kind of weird. But fine.”

“And this Nick boy was respectful, was he?” she asks in her old granny voice. She pulls the collection of throws she made a nest with earlier from my hands and wads them up one by one.

Even though I’ll have to refold them later, I let her do her part. It’s not her fault I’m a control freak. I really should stop doing this kind of stuff for her. She’s an adult, even if she still seems like that little duckling at times.

“Nick was respectful.” Nick was fine. Jasmine wasnot.

His eyes had gone wide and his lips had parted in bafflement when I told him I was leaving, but he was a perfect gentleman. He walked me to the porte cochere and called me a car. Later, he texted me to tell me he’d gotten home okay, asking if I had, too.

I sent him a thumbs up for the trouble.

All of those reasons I thought we weren’t compatible seem so flimsy now. Because he’s a bartender? Because he scheduled our date at his work? I never even gave him a chance to explain. I’m a snob. I’m exactly like the people at work that I complain about.

To make matters worse, I threw myself at him, then promptly left.

The poor man probably has whiplash; meanwhile, I can’t stop thinking about him, the way he kisses.

“So, matchmaking was a success?” Jade asks.

I blink myself out of the dissociative episode I’ve fallen into, a state where my mind is filled with nothing but horny thoughts about Nick. Again. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess it was.”

Maybe the algorithm was right? Maybe I needed to stop being such a fucking control freak and let someone else take the lead for once. Clearly, we’re far more compatible than I thought possible. But at this point, he probably wants nothing to do with me.

“Are you going to be okay if I leave?” she asks, true concern wrinkling her brow.

Frowning, I assess her. “Where are you going?”

“To the movies.”

Unbidden, worry seeps over me. Like it always does where my sister is concerned. “With whom?”

“My friends,” she says, likeduh.“Is that okay with you?”

“Yes, sorry…” I wave her away and swallow back my trepidation. “Just make sure you?—”

“Text. Yes, I will. Iknow,” she says in a firm tone, reminding me that she is an adult woman working toward her degree.

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