What a Match Read online

  WHAT A MATCH

  MIMI GRACE

  ABOUT THIS BOOK

  Sometimes what you’re looking for is right under your nose.

  * * *

  Meticulous and driven Gwen Gilmore knows what she wants… especially in a man. But the dating scene is slow and unserious, and she realizes she may need some professional help. A matchmaker, to be more specific. Nothing will distract her from finding the perfect-on-paper boyfriend, except maybe her brother’s grumpy best friend.

  * * *

  Anthony Woods has had a crush on his best friend’s sister since the day he met her, and he has managed the unfortunate affliction by keeping his distance. However, that gets complicated when he temporarily moves into her home.

  * * *

  As they connect and grow closer, will Gwen stick to the dating plan outlined by the professionals? Or admit when it comes to love, there’s no right way to fall.

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  * * *

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  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CONTENT NOTE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  WHAT’S NEXT?

  A NOTE TO READERS

  ALSO BY MIMI GRACE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CONTENT NOTE

  • This book contains a number of sexually explicit scenes

  Chapter One

  Kisses are simple. The good ones all start the same. First, a person must look deeply into their potential kissing partner’s eyes. Then, spare their mouth a glance to make intentions clear. As distractions fade and imaginary music swells, desire propels them closer. Finally, both muster up the courage to lean in and let their lips connect.

  Gwen Gilmore was expecting such a routine tonight. It was why, despite being famished from a long day at work, she’d skipped the onion-laced hot dog at the concession stand for a sensible bag of popcorn. The kernels rattled around her empty stomach, but the cheering crowd and the burly men chasing a puck across the ice were a gracious distraction.

  She looked at her date, Cameron. If his jostling knee and occasional elbow to her side was any indication, he was completely absorbed in the game.

  During their first date, she’d been pleased to learn he checked off several qualities on her List. He was accomplished (a tech guy), passionate about something (the ethics surrounding artificial intelligence), and could talk at length about a book not written by a misogynist (a blessing).

  The sports fan thing had taken her unawares, but she decided it gave him a little… pizzazz.

  “Do your fucking job, man!” Cameron shouted, jumping to his feet to point at the referee on the ice as Gwen dodged his flailing scarf.

  If everything played out according to her plan, they’d have their first kiss tonight. Then they’d set up their third date, and by the end of the month, she’d invite him to brunch with her parents.

  A loud buzzer went off, ending the first half of the game. People left their seats to stretch their limbs and use the washroom. Meanwhile, a mascot arrived on the ice and danced underneath the jumbotron playing sponsored ads.

  “That was obviously a foul back there,” Cameron said, retaking his seat. “How are you enjoying your very first live hockey game?”

  She’d watched several matches on TV over the years. It was the national sport; it was inescapable. But she’d never collected stats or paid attention to the names of popular players. However, she’d come prepared with an arsenal of knowledge she’d learned online the night before.

  “It’s great,” Gwen said. “I’m really impressed with their backchecking. Very efficient.”

  Cameron nodded.

  “And that Randy guy is pretty good, right?” Gwen continued. “You saw how he made that penalty shot?”

  Her date’s expression soured slightly, and it took Gwen a couple of seconds to figure out why.

  Wrong team. Shit.

  “But we’re still kicking their asses,” she said quickly.

  “Hell yeah, we are!” Cameron said, chucking his fist in the air.

  They’d have to do something more up her lane for their next date.

  When halftime officially ended, Cameron’s attention returned to the players, and the game progressed and concluded as most games did, with one team victorious. The arena burst into cheers, and Gwen found herself high-fiving strangers and shouting a chant she was hearing for the first time.

  Hundreds of jubilant spectators and Gwen proceeded on a slow shuffle to the exit. Cameron chattered with the people around them while Gwen reapplied her Chapstick and threw back no less than a dozen Tic Tacs.

  When they finally left the closed confines of the arena, all the noise and glee faded as patrons scattered across the expansive parking lot.

  Gwen and Cameron finally made eye contact, and she stepped closer to him as they strolled toward her car.

  “Great night,” she said.

  She couldn’t have asked for better ambiance for a first kiss. Crisp early fall air and a clear sky decorated with stars and a full moon.

  When they arrived at her car, she turned to Cameron, ready to say all the things she usually said after dates. But there was no need to because he was already puckering his lips. She smiled as they inched closer to one another.

  This was it.

  This would solidify everything and move them toward an end goal Gwen wouldn’t dare daydream about yet.

  When their lips finally met, the noise that should’ve melted away with the kiss sharpened instead. It was hard to say when Gwen realized she wasn’t enjoying herself, but if she were to take a guess, it was somewhere between their teeth clashing and when she felt Cameron’s tongue on her chin. Things devolved further when it became clear she would not get a breath for the duration of the kiss.

  Thirty something-year-old woman steps out on a cool Friday night to find a mate, gets mauled by a prospect.

  When they parted, all Gwen wanted to do was run the sleeve of her coat across her mouth, but she forced her arms to remain flush at her sides.

  That had to be the second-worst kiss she’d ever experienced. The absolute worst one was with Trey Freeman, but they had been fifteen years old.

  “Do you want to come over?” Cameron asked intently.

  Over where? Surely not his place where they’d likely do more than exchange sloppy kisses.

  “I’ve had a long day. I should be getting home,” she said.

  Cameron nodded, clearly disappointed.

  “Tons of papers to mark,” she said, committed to some unknown benevolent reason to give his pride the softest place to land.

  “I’ll text you later then,” he said.

  She should’ve told him that wouldn’t be necessary, given him the respect of calling things off face-to-face, but her brain couldn’t construct a sensitive reply because it was still screaming at her about the chin spit.

  After scrubbing off layers of skin with a makeup wipe, Gwen ended up careening into the parking lot of her local 7-Eleven fifteen minutes later. She took her time under the harsh lights of the store to narrow down the type of potato chips to buy.

  In the checkout line, she ran over her we
ekend’s to-do list in her head and eyed the taquitos in the heated glass case on the counter. But her attempt to temporarily forget the night’s events was sidelined when the couple directly in front of her started acting up.

  They held each other and rubbed up on one another like they were trying to start a fire. Fervent whispers were exchanged just before they began making out with game show host-level enthusiasm.

  “Yup, let’s do that,” Gwen said under her breath as she turned to stare at the churning Slurpee machines instead.

  Gwen knew buried underneath her annoyance was jealousy. She wanted to be obnoxiously affectionate with someone in public.

  When she finally arrived home with her dinner and was struggling to unlock her apartment, she felt the eyes of the lady next door. She knew the older woman was standing in her bathrobe, peering out of the peephole.

  “Good evening, Brenda,” Gwen said into the empty hallway.

  The woman didn’t even pretend not to be watching because the next thing Gwen heard was the chain door guard disengaging.

  Brenda was a busybody through and through and made it her business to be in everyone else’s.

  “Long day?” the woman asked once she’d stepped into the hallway in her bathrobe.

  “The longest.”

  “Hmm.”

  God only knew what conclusion or tally she was making in her head.

  “Before you go, dear, I have a package with your address.” The older woman dipped back into her apartment and reemerged with a sizable box. “They must’ve gotten our numbers mixed up.”

  Gwen immediately knew what it was.

  “Thanks,” she said, retrieving the package from the lady. She knew the law alone was the only reason it wasn’t open.

  Once locked in her quiet apartment, Gwen removed her boots and outerwear and stared at the package that held her ex-boyfriend’s belongings. “Return To Sender” was written on top in black marker.

  An omen, perhaps.

  She shoved the box into the corner near the front door and mentally made a note to text him for his correct address. It would have to be done in the morning. If she did it now, she knew they’d end up having phone sex, and that always left her feeling weird.

  While she ate her food, she split her attention between her favorite local daytime talk show and a half-completed crossword puzzle.

  “Could the state of your sock drawer be hurting your relationship?” one of the hosts of the morning show asked. “A Swedish hygge expert says ja.”

  Soon, however, the puzzle and the banter between the hosts lost her interest as the disappointment of yet another failed date crept in.

  After cleaning up her dinner, she stood in front of the calendar affixed to the fridge and drew an “X” through that day’s box.

  She flipped through the pages, seeing similar Xs she’d drawn. For some reason, time had felt unmoving. Like it was patiently waiting for her to get her love life in check before resuming. But the truth was laid out plainly on her tree-themed calendar. She’d been at this dating thing for six months.

  Her plan had been to put herself out there as much as possible and only pick guys who met at least three qualities on her List. It was a strategy she’d thought would have her boo’d up by winter.

  Well, with months of dating under her belt, she had nothing to show for it except one incredibly mediocre one-night stand and a dozen coffee shop receipts.

  It all left her feeling weary and despondent, and she didn’t know how many more dead-end text conversations she had left in her.

  Something had to give.

  “Yes, my sweet little butterflies, feel the movement from within your soul! Never doubt that there is something inside wanting to come out. It can be ugly. It can be weird. Just let it out!”

  Gwen looked up from the canvas to witness the art instructor swing her arms to and fro while the big feathers in her hair danced along. She’d yet to give advice or instruction Gwen found even remotely helpful.

  “She isn’t a real painter, is she?” Gwen asked her mother, who sat beside her.

  The older woman had convinced her painting and sipping wine with other people in a chain restaurant was a good use of their time.

  “No, no, she is,” her mom said, flicking her brush against the canvas. “I went to her exhibit last summer.”

  “Of course you did.”

  Her mom, a soon-to-be-retired social studies teacher, had always had an appreciation for the arts. Gwen turned back to her painting and resumed the struggle to get a particular line straight.

  “Baby, you know you’re not getting credit for this,” her mom said, looking over. “It’s just for fun.”

  Gwen pulled back and studied the lighthouse that was coming along. “I am having fun.”

  “Fun-ish” was more accurate. A mere nine months ago, she wouldn’t have thought that she’d be spending a Saturday afternoon with her mom doing arts and crafts.

  The demise of her long-term relationship had coincided with her parents’ long-overdue divorce, and it meant she and her mother had been hanging out more.

  “Don’t look now,” her mom whispered suddenly. “But I think the young man across from us is looking at you.”

  Gwen froze and slowly tilted her head past her canvas to see who her mother was talking about. Her mom’s definition of a “young man” was anyone who couldn’t name all the members of The Commodores, but this one was at least around her age and attractive.

  “Ma, he’s wearing a wedding ring, and he’s not interested in me. He’s just watching the TV behind us.”

  Her mother gave the man another look then located the television playing the highlights from last night’s hockey game.

  “And it wouldn’t matter even if he were single and interested,’’ Gwen said.

  “Why? You have something against handsome men?”

  “No, because I’m taking a dating sabbatical.”

  Her mother stilled. “A what?”

  “A dating sabba—”

  “Now, why in the world would you do that?”

  “Do you know I caught myself unironically using the term ‘Mr. Right’?” Gwen asked. “I’m a cliché. A woman in her thirties obsessed with finding a husband. It’s pathetic.”

  “And spending your Saturday in a Chili’s painting a lopsided lighthouse with your mother is?”

  Gwen looked at her picture. “What do you mean ‘lopsided’?”

  “What I’m saying is you can’t give up on love because you had a few disappointing outings.”

  Not disappointing. Disappointing was how Gwen would describe the salads she’d sometimes eat for lunch or her childhood cat’s emotional availability. Sure, she’d had bad dates before, but there was something about the one last night that kind of felt like hitting a wall.

  “You know what it is? You’re putting too much pressure on these men and yourself,” her mom said. “People are not going to check off everything on that list of yours. And they don’t have to for things to work.”

  “Maybe. But for now, I’m taking a break,” Gwen said.

  Stepping back might get her excited and hopeful again. Her mom continued to stare at her.

  “What?”

  “I’m going to suggest something, and I want you to have an open mind.”

  “I’m not growing out my hair.”

  (Another post-breakup change.)

  “It’s not that,” her mom said.

  “Okay, then. Consider my mind officially open,” Gwen said, meeting her gaze.

  “Why don’t you hire a professional matchmaker?”

  Gwen blinked. “I think maybe for the same reason I haven’t tattooed ‘lonely woman’ on my forehead yet?”

  “They’ll take your wants and needs into consideration before pairing you up. And you know you’ve always been very… particular.”

  “You can say picky.”

  “No. That sounds negative, and there’s nothing wrong with being selective, except it takes time to sor
t through random men in this big of a city.”

  Ah, yes. That bitch, Time.

  “At this point, just call me an old hag,” Gwen said.

  Her mom placed her hand on Gwen’s knee. “Eric was lightning in a bottle, and maybe doing this will help you recapture it with someone else.”

  Hearing her ex’s name was a jolt to Gwen’s system. She and Eric met through mutual friends several years ago and, at one point, had been very compatible. She would like to find that again, but a little more permanent.

  Maybe her mother was right.

  If she took all the methods of finding a partner into consideration, a matchmaker would be most in line with her personality. There was no guesswork and half-baked adages like “follow your heart” to cling to.

  She could hand over a list of things she wanted in a mate, and voilà—her perfect match. The fact that she hadn’t even considered it before now was astonishing.

  A grin slowly stretched across her mother’s face.

  “I’m not committing to anything yet, but I’ll look into it,” Gwen said.

  “No need,” her mom said as she dove into her purse and emerged with a card.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s the contact information for a reputable matchmaking agency. Baby, Mr. Right better get ready.”

  Chapter Two

  Before Anthony Woods pulled up to his apartment complex, he thought the worst part of his day had been the stale oatmeal raisin cookie he’d eaten at breakfast. But then he arrived home and found his neighbors in a huddle in front of the building’s entrance, and it didn’t bode well for the relaxing evening he’d been anticipating.