Mister Match (The Match Series Book 1) (14 page)

Because maybe Clare was right: Maybe she and Willow really were Lisa’s Fairy God-Cupids, and maybe this Jacob guy was going to turn out to be the one who swept Lisa right off her feet.

Chapter
15

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L
isa’s optimism had flagged by Wednesday afternoon. Meeting Jacob the hot foodie for happy hour at the Sidecar was about the last thing she felt like doing, but she’d agreed to the date—or, technically, Clare had, posing as Lisa. But it was the same thing, and Lisa didn’t feel like adding flakiness to her list of sins. So she climbed into Betty after work and drove the short distance to the Sidecar, where Jacob had suggested they meet.

She found a parking space a block away from the bar. As she grabbed her purse off the passenger seat and cranked open Betty’s door, she caught sight of her left hand on the car’s open window.

The diamonds in Adam’s fake engagement ring—well, fake engagement; real ring—winked at her in the afternoon sun.

“Shit.” Hurriedly, she twisted the thing off her finger. She’d almost forgotten she was wearing it. She’d had it on it all week, and had rationalized it by telling herself it was all part of playing the part of Adam’s fiancée. But she couldn’t very well wear it on a date with another man. She zipped the ring into the inner pocket of her purse, slammed Betty’s door and headed toward the Sidecar.

The bar was tucked away in an old stone building right next to the Interstate, and it was the first strike against Jacob. Lisa had been to the Sidecar more than once with Clare and Willow. Any man who chose to meet a date for the very first time at a bar with walls covered in velvet paintings of women’s bare boobs obviously had something wrong with him.

Lisa could have logged in on Mister-Match.com, messaged Jacob and canceled, she thought, sweating a bit as she hurried along the sidewalk. That is, she could have canceled if she’d thought of it, oh, yesterday. Or anytime before right this minute. She wasn’t even dressed for anything approaching a date. She’d forgotten to bring anything to change into after work, so she was still wearing her orange linen Capris and her sleeveless knit shirt, which tended to ride up on her hips.

Plus, it was hot. There were probably big, dark stains spreading out from her armpits even now. That would be a great first impression to make on good ol’ Jacob.

Of course, he was the one who thought velvet boobs were a fine first impression, so maybe she was still okay.

“ID.”

The barked demand made her jump. The doorman at the Sidecar sat like a lump on his stool at the entrance, looking bored. His black beard was sectioned into three little ponytails with colored rubber bands, and old, faded tattoos traced down both arms to his hands.

“Oh. Okay.” Lisa rummaged through her bag, looking for her wallet. “You know, I was just here last week.”

“I wasn’t,” the doorman said flatly.

“And I’m almost thirty years old.”

“And I’d love to verify that, just as soon as you show me proof,” he answered sweetly.

As soon as she’d jumped through that hoop, there was the interior of the Sidecar to contend with.

There were the velvet boobs, full and round and lush. Lisa averted her eyes out of respect, and scanned the dark interior. She couldn’t believe how many people were here, drinking at five o’clock in the afternoon. Didn’t these people work? They must have had really rough weeks. Maybe they’d all been fired from their jobs.

She frowned, looking for Jacob. She remembered his picture, vaguely. Dark hair, striking green eyes. His profile had said he was tall. And judging by the Sidecar’s clientele, he’d be one of the oldest people in here, not counting Lisa.

It took a minute to place him, as there didn’t seem to be any lone men hanging around, looking for her. But that was because Jacob wasn’t alone, when she finally spotted him.

He was leaning with one elbow at the far end of the bar, grinning down at his companion, a dark-haired little thing who looked no more than a teenager from behind.

Well, she had to be at least twenty-one to be inside the bar, Lisa reasoned, trying to be positive. And apparently Jacob liked brunettes. That was a good thing, right? She ignored the quaking in her belly and walked up to him, tugging at her shirt as she went.

He didn’t notice her until she was almost upon him, and then he reared back in surprise. “Oh, hey. You must be Lisa.” He flashed a white-toothed grin—
Oh, God, he bleaches them,
Lisa thought with distaste—and held out a hand. “I’m Jacob.”

“Nice to meet you.” She kept the handshake brief since her hands were sweaty, and briefly took in his look. A charcoal gray shirt that shimmered silver in the dim light of the bar was rolled up at the sleeves. He’d left it unbuttoned at least two buttons too far at the neck, and tucked it into slim black slacks. His dark hair was nearly black as well, wavy and loose, and winged back from a broad forehead. The guy had kind of a dangerous, nightclubbing, ever-so-slightly sleazy vibe going on.

Which, weirdly, worked. Yep, he was really, really handsome. And Lisa didn’t trust him any more than she’d trust a nest of copperheads just awakened from a nap.

His grin was lingering a little too long, starting to verge on the lewd.

“Who’s your friend?” Lisa asked brightly, indicating the brunette, who was still standing there, watching her.

If Jacob looked at all sheepish, Lisa told herself, she’d either grant him a point for having at least a modicum of decency, or she’d jam a knee into his groin and walk out. She’d decide which when the moment came.

But he didn’t look sheepish, exactly. Instead, his grin flickered by a fraction of a degree. “Oh, uh—this is Cynthia. Cynthia, this is Lisa, my date.”

“Hi there, Cynthia,” Lisa said blandly.

The brunette’s shimmery lips—
Boys don’t like too much lip gloss, sweetie,
Lisa thought, bitchily—twitched in what was probably supposed to be a smile.

Lisa turned back to Jacob, suddenly feeling like a helium balloon that had been cut free of its tether. “Shall we get this thing over with, or what?”

He laughed, a smooth sound with oil swimming at the edges. “Get it over with? But we only just got started.” He stepped away from the bar counter and placed a hand at the small of her back, which, normally, Lisa liked. It made her feel protected. With Jacob, it made her wish she had eyes in the back of her head, so she could keep watch over those oily fingers.

“Let’s find a table out back, on the patio.” His white teeth gleamed in a grin. “You look like a woman who likes it hot.”

His expression deflated a moment later, as Lisa gave him her haughtiest stare. “I meant the heat, outside,” he said, his voice taking on a whining tone. “It’s, like, ninety degrees out.”

“Uh-huh.” Lisa laughed in spite of herself, and relaxed a tiny bit. “Sure, I like it hot. Outside.” That sounded a little more suggestive than she’d intended—now he would think she was some kind of athletic, exhibitionist lover who liked to do it in alleyways—so she marched ahead down the long hallway that led to the back patio.

The outdoor area was surprisingly nice. Decorated with small paper lanterns that weren’t lit yet, as the afternoon sun hadn’t yet sunk behind the buildings, and paved with uneven slabs of limestone, the place had a friendly, uncomplicated feel to it.

She moved toward the farthest table, in the back corner. No sense in increasing the possibility that someone she knew might see her, although she was pretty sure no one she knew frequented the Sidecar besides Clare, who already knew what Lisa was up to.

Jacob pulled out her chair for her, which bought him a smile that Lisa could feel was rather tight. She sat down with the thought that it was just a drink—thirty minutes, tops. She could relax for a half-hour, and then she’d never see the guy again.

“Tell me about yourself,” he invited, and there was an edge to his voice that was so oily-smooth, she felt herself tense up again.

“What would you like to know?” she asked primly.

“For starters, I’d like to know what you’d like to drink.” He tried his million-dollar smile out on her again, probably wanting to make sure it wasn’t broken.

She sighed, resigning herself to giving up a small portion of her life to this man that she would never get back again. “A Negra Modelo. I guess I should have ordered inside.”

“They do table service out here,” Jacob said, somehow managing to make it sound dirty.

Lisa shifted in her chair. “So, you own a restaurant?”

“Yeah, sure.” His smile stayed in place, never wavering, and Lisa began fixating on that rack of teeth, so clean and white.

“Which restaurant? Maybe I’ve been there.”

“Oh, I doubt you have. It’s pretty upscale.” Still smiling, he signaled to the waitress who had just entered the patio.

Lisa ordered a drink, all the while considering Jacob’s insinuation that she wasn’t the type to frequent expensive restaurants. It stung—partly because it was true. And his artful dodging of her question about his restaurant had been both rude and suspicious. Both were red flags.

“So, you’re a masseuse?” Jacob waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively. “I’ll bet you have lots of incredible moves.”

His meaning was perfectly clear. And it made Lisa want to toss her drink in his face.

But Clare and Willow, along with the Mister-Match matchmaking system, had determined this guy was a good match for her. Maybe she shouldn’t throw in the towel quite yet.

Play nice,
she instructed herself, and forced herself to give him a bland smile. “Actually,” she corrected, “we don’t really use the term ‘masseuse’ anymore, for legitimate businesspeople. I’m a massage therapist.”

When her beer arrived, she insisted on paying for it herself—no sense in giving Jacob anything close to the wrong idea—and sucked down a long gulp. She needed all the help she could get, if she was going to make it through the next twenty minutes.

“So.” Jacob leaned in on his elbows, grinning. “Where do you give your massages?”

Lisa blinked. How had he managed to make even that innocuous question sound dirty?

“Oh, I doubt you’ve heard of the spa where I work,” she said breezily. “It’s pretty upscale.” She took another sip of beer, feeling satisfied at having gotten in a little jab.

Then she blinked. What was she doing here? She didn’t have to suffer through a date with this guy, just because Clare and Willow had set her up with him.

She set her half-full beer bottle on the table and rose from her plastic chair. “Listen, this was fun, but I’ve really got to get going.”

Jacob’s face fell instantly. “Really? But you just got here. Stay, I’ll buy you another drink.”

That made her laugh. “Oh, no.” She slung her purse over her shoulder. “Nice to meet you, Jacob. Thanks for your time.”

He didn’t rise from his chair, or take her hand. He just looked up at her, his face crestfallen, his shoulders slumped. “I don’t understand.”

“Understand what?” Lisa said brightly, as the words “seriously unbalanced” started flashing through her mind.

“You always leave. Why do you always leave?”

“Seriously unbalanced” morphed into “psychopath stalker.”

“Jacob, we’ve never met before,” she said carefully, glancing quickly at the door that led back into the bar, and out to freedom. “So I’ve never left you before. This is the first time.” And it would definitely be the last.

“I didn’t mean you, personally,” he said, sounding dejected. “I meant you, women. I mean, I’m a good-looking guy, right? I dress nice, I wash myself, I wear cologne.”

“Those are very nice and attractive qualities,” Lisa agreed, edging toward the exit.

“But every time I go out with a woman, she acts like I smell bad. She leaves as soon as she can. I don’t understand.”

He was holding his hands out, palms up, and his expression was so bewildered and hurt that, against her much better judgment, Lisa took pity on him.

With a last, longing glance at the exit, she pulled out the chair she’d just vacated and sat down again, leaning toward him.

“Okay, let’s make a deal. I’ll explain it to you, with total openness and honesty, if you promise not to go psycho on me.” She pointed at him sternly. “And no crying, either.”

“All right, I promise,” Jacob said earnestly. “I really want to know what I’m doing wrong.”

“Good.” Lisa took a deep breath. “The truth is, you come across as kind of sleazy, okay? I mean, you shouldn’t be making sexual innuendos to women you just met. And you shouldn’t let your date catch you talking to another woman.”

“I didn’t talk—” Jacob started to protest, but when Lisa arched an eyebrow at him, his shoulders slumped again. “Well, you were a few minutes late, and that girl was pretty.”

“Not a good excuse,” Lisa said, trying not to laugh.

He held up his hands. “And the jokes, okay. I admit, I have a sexy sense of humor. But I just wanted to make you laugh, you know? Break the ice.” He shrugged, and Lisa decided against trying to explain why his sense of humor was, in fact, the exact opposite of sexy.

She tried a different tack. “Since you asked, I’m going to give you some advice. If you want to make a good impression on a woman, just be kind to her. Look at her when she talks, and don’t look at her like you’re about to eat her up. Just treat her like she’s a person, a human being. Someone you might like to get to know. And listen to her. And try wooing her with food. You own a restaurant, that should be easy enough for you to do.”