Page 10 of Dating Her Brother's Best Friend

Look, I realize I've been blind, like next-level, dufus with his head up his ass blind, but I don't want to be anymore. Just talk to me, please?

I groan, tossing the phone aside and flopping back on the couch, one arm draped dramatically over my eyes like I’m some kind of tragic romantic hero. At least the couch cushions don’t laugh at my pitiful state. I desperately need a way to reach her, a strategy to undo the damage of my own making. But so far, all I’ve wrangled is a batch of wishful thinking strong enough to ferment on its own.

Lying on my couch with a carton of half-eaten takeout balanced precariously on my knee, I’m staring at my phone, willing it to light up with a message from Caroline. The silence around me is deafening, punctuated only by the occasional car driving by outside. I’ve sent my heart out in a text, and now I’m waiting for the verdict. The anticipation is a live wire stretching my nerves thin.

Then it fucking finally happens. My phone buzzes, and I pounce on it with the grace of a cat spotting a laser dot, my heart doing its best impersonation of a jazz drummer on speed. But instead of Caroline’s name, an unknown number stares back at me. I hesitate for just a millisecond before opening the message.

Unknown

You’re an idiot.

Well, that’s not exactly reassuring. I feel my brow furrow as I type back a quick inquiry.

Me

Who is this?

The response is almost instant.

Unknown

The matchmaker who tried to help you, but you’re too far gone for anyone to help.

Now I’m genuinely intrigued, my pulse ticking like a metronome set too fast. I pause, racking my brain. I’ve heard rumors around Silver Spoon Falls about an anonymous matchmaker, but I never paid much attention to them since I already know who my soulmate is.

I search my mind for everything I’ve heard. I know this mysterious matchmaker is supposed to be some kind of love guru, mixing up romantic potions and pairing couples left and right. I always thought it was just a local myth, kinda like the magic water that supposedly assists in love matches.

Me

You’re involved in this?

I type back, a mix of skepticism and curiosity making my fingers tremble slightly on the keys.

Her reply is quick, laced with a distinct tone of exasperation.

Unknown

Who do you think told Caroline to send the email?

This revelation lands like a bolt out of the blue. My mind spins with the implications. So, there really is a matchmaker, and Caroline must’ve asked her for help. Strangely, a flicker of hope emerges. If she helped other clueless assholes, maybe she can help me.

Me

I need your help.

I fire back a quick text, hoping this doesn’t come off as desperate as it feels.

Unknown

Not in this freaking lifetime. You hurt that wonderful girl and ruined my perfect record. Jerkwad.

The insult stabs me right in the center of my chest. Goddamnit. The thought of hurting Caroline sends pain lancing through my entire body.

Me

Please.

I beg, because at this point, what do I have to lose?

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