Page 16 of Miss Matched

Luce narrows her eyes at me again and grins. “You like him.”

“He’s arm candy. I know better than to trust a guy with that many zeros in his bank account.”

“Mm-hmm,” she hums, seeing right through me.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since that night. His smile, that gravelly laugh, those solid, broad shoulders. How he’s perfectly put together, but with hair disheveled just enough to picture what he’d look like in bed. And then there’s the way he looked at me. Directly, like every word out of my mouth mattered and had weight to it.

But like him?

That implies feelings, and I don’t catch those.

Feelings are dangerous. The kinds of things that lead me right back to being that girl sitting alone in the hallway in eleventh grade, fresh off being dumped by her quarterback boyfriend. I was called to the school office and told the only foster mom that ever meant anything had been rushed to the hospital.

I’m sorry, they said.

People were always saying sorry for things they couldn’t do anything about.

Child Services will be here any minute.

I was smart enough to know what that meant. She was gone. A reminder rattling around in my chest that right when I began to think otherwise, I was alone again.

I’ve learned my lessons the hard way about what it means to feel something beyond the surface with a person. Romantic or otherwise. And I’m not doing it again.

“Karaoke tonight, ladies?” A dark-haired woman with blunt bangs stops at our table with a clipboard.

“Yes, we have to.” Monica practically falls out of her seat with excitement.

Luce nods. “Definitely.”

“Need I remind you what happened the last time you two thought this was a good idea?” I look up at them with a sigh.

“Almost arrested and actually arrested aren’t the same thing,” Luce says.

I frown. “We’re still not allowed back at that bar.”

The dark-haired woman squints in confusion, no doubt debating if she should slip away and not give us the option of signing up.

“I promise to behave.” Luce holds up a hand in a scout’s honor. “Unless it’s a competition. Is it a competition?” There are three things Luce can’t back down from: a dare, a competition, and a man with a black AmEx card.

The woman shakes her head. “It’s just for fun.”

“Boring. I’ll be good.” Luce rolls her eyes.

“And keep your bra on?”

She frowns. “Fine.”

Madonna on a Monday night is guaranteed to end in at least a few regrets, but the girls aren’t giving me much choice. Besides, I can use the distraction.

“We’ll do it,” I agree. Monica claps, and Luce shoots me a grin that tells me we’re going to get kicked out of another bar for indecent behavior.

If we’re headed for trouble, we might as well enjoy it.

Racine catches me the moment I walk into the office Tuesday morning. She unloads a stack of papers into my hands and ignores the sunglasses glued to my face. One too many lemon drops mixed with Cardi B karaoke left me with a massive headache.

“Complete questionnaires, system analysis, and compatibility results for both Chad and Martin, as well as the post–meet and greet survey responses from the ladies, minus Tina for obvious reasons.” She finally catches a breath, and I look at her, stunned. The woman’s mouth is a machine on a mission.

“That was fast. Please tell me you did not work all weekend.”

---