Page 29 of Miss Matched

“Zac,” I say, standing my ground.

“It’s just one game to loosen up,” he says. “Besides, I’ll feel more comfortable if this is less of an interrogation. And that’s what you want, right? Comfort? Honesty? Transparency?”

He’s tossing one word after another back in my face.

Words I meant. Playing matchmaker is more than mixing two people with lukewarm feelings together and hoping they stick. Lasting love requires intimacy and connection. It requires getting to know Zac on a deeper level so I know how a woman will hold his interest in more than the bedroom. Which is why I need to dig into the deep-down parts of Zac Vincent.

If only it didn’t feel like every inch of progress with him is also a wave crashing against my lines in the sand.

“One game,” he says, “and if you feel like we’re getting off track, then we go back to the living room and you can continue the interrogation.”

Like I need his permission.

But maybe he’s right. One game can’t cause that much damage. If I can use this to my advantage and get the information I need to out of him, it will only make my job easier. After all, the sooner I can find him his perfect soulmate, the quicker he’s out of my hair and the closer I’ll be to saving my business.

“Fine. I’ll play,” I say with a singular nod.

If bowling games are what it will take to get Zac to open up, I’ll do it. Maybe he’ll even relax enough for me to tread into the deeper, more personal questions hanging in the clouds overhead. Usually, discussing sexual history, tastes, and kinks doesn’t faze me. But nothing is the same with Zac.

“You’re up.” He eyes the lane.

I take a big drink and head for the ball return, moving in front of the lane and bringing the ball up to my chest. Lining up. Taking in a deep breath as I shuffle three quick strides forward. Sweeping back and swinging.

Swoosh.

A clean throw goes right down the middle.

Strike.

I turn on my heels and grin when I spot Zac sitting with his mouth open.

“Never have I ever lost a bowling game,” I say to him with a wink.

Zac tips his head back and laughs before taking a healthy swallow of whiskey.

“Never?” He eyes me suspiciously.

I take a small sip of my own drink and shrug. “Okay, not never. But not frequently. I may or may not have been on a bowling league in high school.”

“Would not have pegged you as a bowler—cheerleader, maybe,” Zac says with a grin.

“Didn’t have the pep.” I bend one knee and kick my leg up, pretending to wave pom-poms with my hands.

He chuckles and wraps his hands behind his neck as he sits back. The move tugs up the bottom of his undershirt and reveals a hint of the V that leads to places I need to stop thinking about.

“Your parents get you into that, bowling queen?”

His question shakes the daydream and shoots me back to reality in a heartbeat. Dropping the playful pose, I sink down into the chair across from him and take a long, slow drink.

This isn’t the time or place for this conversation—knowing it skates well past the surface of professionalism. But I signed up for this game, so I’ll play along just enough to leverage what I need out of him.

“No, they died when I was young,” I say, trying to bury the disappointment in my tone.

His face drops, and I’m sure I’ve just sucked the air out of the room.

“I didn’t know.”

“There’s no way you would have,” I hurry. “I don’t even remember them. I was a baby. Car accident—it was quick.”

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