Page 36 of Miss Matched

Kennedy

Diveisthehottest club in town. It’s impossible to get into and ridiculously overrated. Women in string bikinis and body paint writhe around on clear plexiglass platforms floating above the dance floor. A sheet beneath it reveals a pool of water lit up with neon lights.

It’s not my usual scene, much less Monica’s. But with a deadline on her latest book and a few scandalous mafia scenes left to write, I pulled a few strings with Chad and got our names added to the list to help her find inspiration.

A half-naked bartender slides a dirty martini across the bar with a wink.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he says.

Even if I had to go through Chad to get in here, maybe this is worth it. The bartender flexes his pecs and ignores a platinum blonde who’s trying to get his attention to my right. Leaning over, he sticks his tongue ring out between his teeth and bites it—peacocking at its finest. But Monica pops up at my side and pulls me away before I make the mistake of giving him my name.

Looking over my shoulder, I mouth I’m sorry back at himas Monica and I melt into the mass of dancing bodies. I wouldn’t have gone home with him. I just need anything to take my mind off the one man I’m not supposed to be thinking about.

Monica weaves me through the crowd. Her body-hugging yellow dress is a beacon I follow through the pulsing lights. A few men try to snag her attention as she passes, but she doesn’t notice or care.

How this woman is once again single baffles me. She’s beautiful, with a big heart, and can hold up her end of a conversion. Not that I liked Yuri or thought he could offer her forever, but she seemed to.

“Where’s Lucey?” Monica yells over the music.

“Trial,” I yell back.

Monica nods.

There’s no such thing as a night off when Luce is focused on a trial. She holes up in her office, living on diet soda and takeout, barely responding to our text requests for proof of life. There’s a reason she’s the youngest senior attorney at her law firm. The girl does not quit.

We weave our way to the back of the club, where Chad has secured us a VIP booth for the evening. The music is a little quieter back here, so it’s possible I’ll salvage my voice if I keep the chitchat to a minimum. As an added bonus, our table is roped off to give us some space from the mass of bodies filling the club to the brim.

Monica pulls her mini laptop from her purse like it’s a totally normal thing and types up a few notes as she scans the room. Her eyes light up when she spots a girl draped over the bar, talking to a man who is either security or the owner.

“Who is she? Pauline or Nessa?” I ask, knowing Monica is already sizing up the scene in front of her and drawing ideas out of it.

“Pauline,” she answers, typing away. “That girl couldn’t stay out of trouble if she tried. And now is the perfect time for her to face the ramifications.”

“I thought she was finally going to settle down with Rick?”

Monica shakes her head. “No, he got back with Marilyn, remember? After he found out the baby was his. So now I need to figure out what to do with Pauline again.”

Being friends with Monica means knowing the ins and outs of every character in her books. They’re basically an extension of our friend group at this point because Monica talks about them like they’re real people. I suppose to her, they are. After all, she creates them, builds them up, breaks their hearts, puts them back together.

If only real life were that easy.

Monica is still talking, but more to herself. She’s typing away, not making sense or forming full sentences. So I sit back and savor my drink. It’s a heavy pour, and, after this week, I’m thankful my head’s swimming by the time I reach the bottom of my glass.

In an attempt to forget about the almost-kiss at Zac’s penthouse, I’ve sent him on one date after another. I’m trying not to think about the fact that I’m flooding him with beautiful women and opportunities. I know it’s what’s best for both of us. The sooner Zac finds what he’s looking for, the sooner he’ll no longer be a client, an option, or a distraction.

But with Zac’s panned feedback from every date so far, it’s clear we’re not nearing the finish line any time soon. Maybe I’m being too aggressive this early in the process just to keep some distance between us. But then again, maybe I’m not being aggressive enough. I get the impression it’s going to take a knockout in more ways than one to get Zac off the market. A thought that floods me with both relief and panic.

Monica slaps her laptop shut with a triumphant grin. “Done.”

“Playtime?” I ask, clapping the pads of my fingers together. Maybe I’ll go find that man-candy bartender and get my mind off the green eyes occupying my thoughts.

Monica waves our waitress over and holds up two fingers, asking for a refill. “First things first. Spill,” she says. “What’s going on with Zac Vincent?”

“You can just call him Zac, you know. He’s a person, not a name brand.”

Monica shakes her head, and her tight spirals dance over her shoulders. “That man is anything but just a person. Besides, you always dish the dirt on your newest clients. So why are you being so tight-lipped?”

Arguing would be pointless. I’ve basically given a play-by-play of every Chad and Martin debacle since taking them on. But, aside from my initial meltdown with my girlfriends about Zac becoming a client, I’ve hesitated to say anything more, knowing it’s different and I’m not ready to admit it to myself.

---