Page 72 of The Match Faker

Dear Jasmine,

First, my sincerest apologies. For as ludicrous as it must sound to you, I promise it sounds just as ludicrous to me and I lived it. I keep thinking about you sitting at Moonbar waiting for me, believing I stood you up, and I feel sick. If you decide you want nothing to do with me, I understand.

But I hope you’ll give me a second chance. I promise to avoid impacts with all moving vehicles this time.

I was so excited when I first received our match—99.338%! And I’m still excited.

X,

Nick

Rather than charmed or pleased,I feel nauseous. Sick and foolish. Until right now, I had let myself forget. Nick is not my match. This Nick. “Fake” Nick. He isn’t supposed to be mine, and I let myself get distracted by what? Sex, a nice family, that stupid fucking smirk? Nick is complicated, this is nuanced. Yet Ilikehim and the way he makes me laugh and lets me be myself. He almost insists upon it. But I don’t trust myself anymore andpart of that is because of him. If I want to take this seriously, maybe I need to give the other Nick, “real” Nick, a chance.

The car door opens, and I jump, my phone flying from my hands and landing with a muted thud on the floor mat in front of me.

“What the fuck, Jasmine?” he asks, laughing as he slides into his seat.

“Sorry.” I pat around for my phone, throw it in my purse. “Thanks.” I take the bags from him. And there are bags. Plural. “How much food did you get?”

“Listen, you have to get the full Baker’s Burgers experience.” Once he gets settled, he opens the bag on his lap. “Fries, onion rings, gravy on the side.” He holds open his hand for the next bag and I pass it over. “Two hot dogs, two cheeseburgers, no tomatoes. Did you know you can get a bucket of burgers from this place?”

I can’t stop the automatic grimace. “That sounds like a cardiac episode.”

“But what a way to go. And then,” he says tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in a drumroll. “Pass me the other bag,” he whispers.

“Shit. Sorry.” This is the heaviest one.

“Ta-da!” He pulls out a tray of drinks, presenting them to me like they’re diamonds. “Milkshakes.”

I raise my hands in mock celebration. “Yay.”

“Whatever. It’s your loss not appreciating good food.”

I can’t help but laugh as he organizes his haul. He somehow forgot napkins but luckily, I have some in my bag. By the time he gets it all organized, we could have just eaten inside. He doesn’t pull out of the parking lot until I take my first bite, insisting he has to see my reaction.

“’S good,” I say, holding my hand up to hide the mouthful of food.

“Right?!”

“Hey, Nick.” I wash down the food with a gulp of strawberry milkshake.

He arches a brow. “If you’re going to chirp my choice of strawberry you can stuff it. I like what I like.”

“Oh no, I like strawberry. I have a question, and I need an honest answer.”

“Okay,” he says, side-eyeing me.

“Would you ever do matchmaking?”

He chews for longer than is probably necessary, examining me as he does. “Why?”

“Just answer.” The car smells like fried food. I’m going to have to crank the manual window soon.

“Honestly, probably not.” He sounds sort of sad about it.

I nod, using my own food as an excuse not to speak.

“But,” he says. “I’m glad you did.”

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