Fecking frick. I might as well start packing my desk right now.
CHAPTER 3
Cliff
I do not want to be here. It’s humiliating. It’s frustrating. I’m being forced to go on dates that I don’t want to participate in. Apparently, this is supposed to ensure my future happiness. I’m playing along and playing nice, but only because I have to. It means going on the three shit dates and calling it a day. I’ll put in the time. I’ll make sure she knows. Then I’ll request that a word of this will never be spoken, and my love life is off-limits for life. I’m not sure how much more my poor old nuts can take. If my mom wants grandkids, I’ll suggest to her that she stop trying to castrate me by forcing me to do things that are completely humiliating and on par of getting my balls cut off.
I have to grind my teeth because all of a sudden, there’s a tall, willowy brunette with sparkly dark eyes and a big smile pasted on naturally coral and full lips, striding my way. She pulls out the chair across from me, drops in effortlessly, and stretches out her hand. I stare at it for a moment before I decide that rudely spurning her is not in my best interest. Reluctantly, I shake her small hand. To my surprise, she has a pretty firm grip for someone with a hand half the size of mine.
She pulls back and offers me a pretty smile. She blinks furiously, batting long eyelashes. If she thinks it’s charming, she’s wrong.
Well, okay, so she’s really pretty. She’s beautiful.
And yes, I notice.
Yeah, so she’s not wearing any makeup, and she has a nice figure. She’s tall and thin, but she has decent curves, nice sized breasts, and an even nicer ass. Well, I noticed because I have eyes. And no, she doesn’t have any of it on display. She’s wearing a retro-looking green dress that has a high neckline, a nipped-in waist, and a full skirt. She looks like she just stepped straight out of the fifties, minus her long, straight hair. She is wearing no makeup that I can see, but her features don’t need the extra definition.
Okay, I also notice that she smells good. Not an intrusive perfume, in your face kind of smell, but a subtle, fresh air, fresh laundry kind of scent. There are a few floral notes tucked in there, probably from her deodorant or shampoo. I have to admit it’s nice. She’s put together. I can see why Mom chose the dating company and why she liked this lady.
I bite back all my rude comments as Miss Matchmaker arranges herself in the chair. She pulls out a notebook and a pen from her tote, and I have to give her props for going old school on this one instead of typing shit right into her phone or her laptop. She maintains eye contact too, which is ballsy. Lady balls. Yes, they’re a thing. And I like them.
“Hello,” Miss Matchmaker says. She has a pretty voice. Not annoying or over the top. Just… nice. “I’m Rowan. And I already know you’re Cliff, but anything else you tell me is going to be news to me.”
Great. She doesn’t take forever to get to the point. Directness. I like that too.
“Do you want a drink? Something to eat? They make amazing desserts, and the drinks are even better,” she continues.
“No. Thanks. I’m not a sweets kind of person.”
“Right. Well, they make good soups if you like those.”
“No, thanks.” I tuck my hands in my lap and decide to be just as frank. I think she can handle it. “Look. I’m only here because I’m pretty much being forced to be here. I’m going to cooperate with you as much as I can stand to do so. But I don’t think this is going to be fun. I don’t think I’m going to like it. I think it’s all going to be a huge waste of time. I actually feel sorry for any potential matches. That’s where I stand.”
Rowan—what a strange name she has—gives me that disappointed kind of look my mom has perfected. This lady is young… I’d say about mid-twenties. It’s a little disconcerting that she already has those looks down. I wonder if she has kids. If she has a husband. I find my eyes straying to the ring finger of her left hand. It’s bare. I don’t know why my stomach tightens a little at that. I tell myself it’s just because she’s the perfect combination of beautiful and hot, and any guy would be checking for a ring because most guys are loaded up on testosterone and think with their nether regions most of the time.
“Great. That’s good to know. However, my agency has been hired to do a job, and I plan on doing that job to the best of my ability. I really hope you’ll change the way you’re looking at this. Don’t ruin your dates before you even go on them.”
“Is that a code for something? Because it came out kind of wrong if you ask me.”
“No, it’s not a code for anything.” Rowan smiles at me disarmingly, after uttering the most straightforward, no-nonsense, borderline bitchy statement in history. She clicks her pen—one of those multicolored things with the different tabs—to punctuate her words. “Basically, I’m just going to ask you some questions to determine what kind of match would be best. First, though, I’m going to get a coffee. And I’m going to get you one too. I don’t care if you drink it, but it’s nice to have
