Arrogant Matchmaker

Chapter 1

CHAPTER

ONE

OLIVE

The blinking cursor mocks me almost as much as the blank page I’m staring at… the same blank page I’ve been staring at all day. I’ve been blocked for weeks. Ever since I stupidly went online and read my latest one-star review. Actually, the last several reviews have been pretty bad.

Don’t get me wrong, as an author, I have thick skin.

Bad reviews come with the territory, and I’ve gotten used to them over the years.

The problem is my one-star reviews went from saying things like “if you’re looking for word porn” and “too much sex” to “lackluster at best” and personal things like “has the author ever even had sex?” and “clearly written by a dried-up virgin” and so on.

The fact that I am a virgin just adds salt to the wound.

I’ve always had a vivid imagination, and my writing has never suffered for my non-existent sex life before now.

It seems my twelfth release was the unlucky number when it comes to imaginative sex scenes.

The very idea that my characters lacked chemistry so badly that my favorite reader refused to finish the book is abhorrent.

She’s been loyal from my very first, fumbling attempt at releasing a book.

Now? I feel the weight of her judgment like a noose around my neck.

I’ve never had writer’s block in my life, and now that I have it, I have no idea how to scale the wall.

My best friend Zoe thinks I need to find a man and ride him into next week.

Get a little experience under my belt—pun intended.

She’s worried that I’m one step away from a crazy cat lady.

I know she’s exaggerating, but it still hurts to think about.

Yes, I have a cat—a cat who hates me. I inherited the furball when my mom passed away.

I hardly consider one cat that hates me crazy cat lady status, but apparently, my virginity and love of chunky sweaters covered in cat hair—because the cat is an asshole who chooses my clean laundry as his favorite ass licking spot—is cause for worry.

I let out a sigh. What the hell am I going to do now? I slap my laptop closed and go to the kitchen for a snack. My head is buried in my freezer when my front door opens as Zoe lets herself into my apartment. I find the mint chocolate chip ice cream and grab two spoons.

Zoe takes one look at the ice cream in my hand and winces. “Still blocked?”

“Why else would I be hitting the hard stuff at nine in the morning?” I say, waving the ice cream in front of me.

I plop down at the kitchen table, pry the lid off my treat, and take a huge bite. Zoe joins me at the table and takes the second spoon and digs her own bite from the carton. Her dark eyes don’t waver from me as I take my second bite.

“What?” I grumble, already digging my third bite from the carton.

“How long are you going to be stubborn about this?”

I abandon the ice cream on the table as I push away and start pacing the room. “I’m not being stubborn.” Okay, I am being a little stubborn, I admit to myself. But Zoe doesn’t need to know that I agree with her. I just don’t know what I’m going to do about it yet.

Her eyebrow quirks up letting me know she doesn’t believe the bullshit I’m throwing down any more than I do. “Look, I’m not saying you have to fuck the first guy you meet, but if you don’t even get yourself out there, how will you ever find anyone?”

I sit back down, retrieving my abandoned spoon and take another bite. I mull over her words—the same words she’s been saying for weeks now. What exactly would it hurt to try dating? So, I had a few bad dates in the past that shouldn’t color my entire perception of dating. And yet…

“Olive…”

“I know, okay? You’re right. Quit badgering me already.”

Zoe smirks at me, knowing that even if I sound a little unhinged at the moment, I’m not mad. Especially not at her. We’ve been best friends since kindergarten, we know everything about each other. Including how hard to push each other to get confessions.

“I’m always right,” she teases. “Now, what are you going to do about it?”

I let out another long-suffering sigh. “I guess I’m going to date and see what happens.”

Date number five ends about as badly as dates number one through four.

Zoe peeks her head out of her door and gives me a thumbs up and a questioning look.

I give her a nasty look and shake my head as I let myself into my own apartment and slam the door.

I don’t bother locking it because I know in seconds my bestie will be storming across the hall for all the gory details of failed date number five.

My door opens and closes as Zoe lets herself in just like I knew she would. “What happened this time?”

“Aside from the fact that he ‘forgot’ his wallet?” I ask with mild disgust.

She winces and gives me a sympathetic look. I don’t mind splitting the bill on a date but lying about forgetting your wallet after ordering the most expensive thing on the menu is just a dick move.

“What else happened?”

I kick off my heels, remembering the garlicky smell of his breath as he pressed his fish scale lips against mine in a sloppy kiss.

One that I did not ask for and definitely didn’t participate in.

Of course, being denied, he became a little belligerent and decided to try and sweet talk his way into my panties.

“Let’s just say it ended with him calling me a prude and storming off in search of someone who didn’t have her legs locked up tighter than Fort Knox.” His words, not mine.

Zoe gets a disgusted look on her face. “This one looked so promising. His profile said he was looking for a relationship.”

I snort. “Yeah, one that includes free pussy from the first date.”

“At least there are plenty more guys out there…” I give her a nasty look, and she stops her words in their tracks. “Okay, okay. Too soon.”

“Way too soon. Look, Zoe, I don’t think this is going to work.

I know people find true love from dating apps all the time, but I have shit luck at picking a man.

And since you picked this last one for me…

you’re not much better at it. I’m not even looking for true love… I’d be happy with not-a-bag-of-dicks.”

She plops down on the sofa and gives me a knowing look. “You can’t give up after a few bad dates. You need inspiration for your book.”

“What I don’t need is to have some one-night-stand with a douche bag just to get over my writer’s block.”

My best friend has the courtesy to at least wince and look a little ashamed.

That’s precisely what she thinks I need.

She’s determined that if I were to lose my virginity and experience sex firsthand that my block will fade, and the words will flow once again.

Unfortunately for her, none of my dates have even come to the point of a goodnight kiss—aside from fish lips tonight, and I wouldn’t call that a goodnight kiss, more of a goodnight mauling.

I pull out a bottle of wine and pour two glasses. Zoe takes a grateful sip, and I swallow mine down like it’s a lifeline. She raises a brow at me and my uncharacteristically large gulp of alcohol. “Don’t judge me,” I whine.

“Not judging, babe. Maybe you should try a different app next time?”

I bang my head on the back of the sofa at the very idea of another date like the last several. I just can’t do it. App dating just isn’t for me.

“Oh! I know,” Zoe says, hopping up from the couch and rushing over to the table where I have a stack of newspapers.

Yes, I know they are out of style, but I didn’t have the heart to cancel the subscription once my mother passed away.

Reading the paper in the morning with her first cup of coffee was one of her favorite things.

Zoe shuffles through the pages until she finds whatever she’s looking for and rushes back to my side, shoving the paper in my face.

The paper is opened to the Ask Rita column, where you can write in and ask for relationship advice. My mom used to read it religiously before she died several years ago. “I don’t think Ask Rita can help me,” I say, shaking my head and tossing the paper on the coffee table.

Zoe grabs up the paper again and pushes it back in my direction. “Not Ask Rita,” she says with a roll of her eyes, “the matchmaking service—Rita Matches.”

I study the paper a little closer and see the advertisement it’s a big red heart with the words ‘Looking for Love? Tired of dating apps? Let Rita find your perfect match. Moneyback guarantee,’ then it lists a website address.

“A matchmaker…” I say, trailing off as I consider the possibilities.

“It’s perfect!” Zoe says excitedly. “Let a professional do the work.”

“It has potential.”

Zoe squeals with excitement and grabs my laptop. Before I can stop her, she’s pulling up the Rita Matches website. “Oh look, you write letters to your match before meeting them. That’s perfect for you.”

She clicks around a bit. I read over her shoulder, liking the idea more and more as we read the testimonials from happily matched people. She clicks the link, and an application pops up on the screen. She gives me a questioning look, and I nod my agreement.

Might as well give it a shot. What have I got to lose?