What if I completely blew it?
“Quit stressing,” Zoe says from the other side of the couch. We’re watching Friends reruns and eating cheap tacos… a typical Tuesday night for us.
“I’m not stressing.”
“Puh-lease. If you stress any harder, you’ll give yourself a coronary.”
I let out a little grunt as I take a big bite of taco, doing my best to ignore my best friend and her total correctness. I toss thetaco back to its wrapper. “I’m just nervous. My letter was dumb. I basically told the dude I want marriage and babies.”
Zoe rolls her eyes. “Don’t be stupid. That’s the whole point. Isn’t it? You’re finding true love or whatever.”
I let out a sigh and collapse back against the couch, pulling a throw pillow over my face. “I just don’t know.” My words are muffled as I express my doubts for the first time.
Zoe yanks the pillow from my face and gives me a curious look. If I weren’t so upset, I would be laughing at the way she turns her head like a confused dog. “Is this about that guy you met? What’s his name…” she snaps her fingers as she tries to remember. “Harrison?”
“What? No!”
Yes.
Yes, it’s totally Harrison. I can’t get him out of my mind. I’m dreaming of his green-gold eyes and how they ate me up. That perfect jaw of his and the way his suit can’t hide his muscular build.
Yeah, I can’t get the man out of my head. It doesn’t help that he’s single-handedly gotten me out of my writing slump. It seems all I needed was a good muse, and Harrison James is the perfect man for the job.
Not to mention the steamy dreams I’ve been plagued with. Which wouldn’t usually be a problem. I mean, what red-blooded woman doesn’t want to have sex dreams about someone as hot as Harrison? But it is a problem because I shouldn’t be lusting after a man when I’m about to be matched with someone who is supposed to be perfect for me.
That evil voice inside my mind speaks up for the millionth time.What if I don’t want perfect? What if I want tall, dark, and arrogant?
Ugh.
“It is him!” Zoe screeches, slapping my arm playfully. “How hot is this guy?”
“So freakin’ hot,” I admit. Honestly, hot isn’t the right word to describe him. He’s an Adonis among men. He’s a wet dream… or five. Literally. A wet dream—I know because I’ve had them.
“He must be for you to be so conflicted about this whole matchmaker thing.” She gives me a sympathetic look that turns into a Cheshire cat grin. “Maybe you should contact Rita and tell her you aren’t ready to be matched? Or that you’ve found someone else.”
“Oh yeah, that’ll go over well. ‘Hey, Rita, I know you found me my soulmate and all, but I’m lusting over your arrogant nephew and would like to give him a try first.’”
Zoe frowns, her dark eyes telling me that’s exactly what I should do. “Why not?” she asks. “You’re not engaged to this anonymous letter writer. Who, I might add, hasn’t responded after five whole days. What’s that about anyway? Are you really going to pass up a chance with Mister Hottie for a person who hasn’t even replied yet?”
“I don’t know what I should do…”
I hate feeling so conflicted. This was supposed to be cut and dry. Write a letter. Meet my match. Fall in love. Not write a letter, bump into a hot guy I can’t stop thinking about, and question everything. I grab the pillow away from Zoe and bury my face in it again.
My bottom lip has gotten a lot of abuse since my phone call with Rita yesterday… apparently, my letter got misplaced. She asked me to write my match a second letter. She apologized profusely about the mistake and obviously feels terrible. It was a majordilemma. On the one hand, I could just decline writing a second letter and make up an excuse so that I could somehow find Harrison and see if he’s as interested in me as I am him. On the other hand, I want a relationship with a man who I could have a future with.
After a lot of back and forth and a few glasses of wine, I ended up writing a second letter. Going for an almost guaranteed sure thing seems like the way to go.
Safe.
So why am I crossing my fingers and toes that I run into Harrison again? But that’s impossible. From what I can tell, they meet for lunch on Thursdays, and this is Wednesday. I’m actually disappointed, and I feel guilty about it. Here I am writing letters to one man and lusting after another.
The elevator doors slide open, and disappointment floods me when there’s no hard chest to bump into. Rita’s assistant gives me another bored smile and tells me Rita will be with me in just a moment. Her office door opens, and Rita steps out. She gives me a kind smile and ushers me into her office.
“Thank you so much for coming, Olive. I can’t tell you how sorry I am for the inconvenience.”
I return her smile despite my doubts. “I’ll be honest… I almost didn’t write a second letter. Maybe it’s fate that my original letter got lost,” I admit my worries while holding a death grip on the new letter.
Rita’s brow furrows. “Oh no! That’s not it at all. Just a silly old lady’s careless mistake, I assure you.”
