4. Kess

4

KESS

After discovering how Rowdy kissed, I was not looking forward to these dates. Still, I’d paid a lot of money for this matchmaker, so I went on the first one.

I had probably overdressed, which was confirmed when I showed up to the date and the guy—Winston—was wearing pressed jeans and a polo.

“Apologies,” he said, his accent posh and English. “We hadn’t discussed our attire, so I pulled up this restaurant’s Insta and just dressed like everyone else.”

“That was smart of you,” I said, gesturing to the people around me. “Meanwhile, I look like I’m about to run a food safety inspection on this joint.”

He chuckled, and his eyes crinkled, like maybe he enjoyed laughing.

“Though”—I leaned against his shoulder—“you send your jeans to the dry cleaners, and absent a cowboy hat, that is a jailable offense in the state of Texas.”

He grimaced. “Oh Lord. I’m doomed.”

We sat and drank our beers and ate our towering burgers, and I listened as he talked about being raised in Manchester. I asked about the different English accents, then shared all the Texas accents, and we decided that neither of us should attempt the other’s speech.

Winston was a lovely man with a surprising sense of humor that gave me a little hope. Sure, I wasn’t exactly dying to rip his clothes off, but he was handsome, and I could see myself going on another date with him. That was until I walked him to his car, kissed him, and then physically recoiled because he tasted nothing like Rowdy.

“Well, that wasn’t the result I’d been hoping for,” he said, looking genuinely disappointed.

I cursed as I rubbed my palm over my forehead. “It’s not you. You are fantastic, I promise. It’s definitely, definitely me. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

He held up his hand. “It’s not a waste if you discover an incompatibility.” He turned to his car, a clear dismissal. “Best of luck.”

“Thanks.”

God, I was such an asshole.

Gage, the second man I’d been set up with, stood from the table, and I stifled a laugh. We were wearing the same tweed blazer.

“Is that the new Brooks Brothers?” he drawled, amusement lighting his pretty blue eyes.

“I guess we both have good taste in clothing,” I cracked.

That was followed by a sinking feeling in my chest that stayed there the entire evening. We ate our dinners, both of us getting the steak special, medium rare. I discovered Gage was an entrepreneur, enjoyed playing the stock market, recently sold off his last business, and wasn’t sure where he was going to go next.

Thankfully, the table service was efficient, and the night ended quickly.

“This isn’t a match, is it?” he asked as we walked to our respective cars. He didn’t seem disappointed.

I gave him a wan smile. “It’d be like dating myself. And while I’m pretty confident in what I bring to the table, I’m not a raging narcissist.”

His laugh was relaxed. “Same.”

“I also might be trying to get over someone, if I’m being honest.”

His mouth settled into an unhappy line. “Same.”

“Is yours a younger cowboy with a sassy mouth and a penchant for naughty texts?”

Gage shook his head. “No, mine’s older. A big bear of a guy. Works in construction, thinks he’s too old and doesn’t make enough money.”

“I think I came on too strong with mine,” I admitted. “It’s like I thought I was saying exactly what he wanted to hear, but it freaked him out.”

“I keep telling mine that I love older men, and that I don’t give a shit about the money.”

We stared at each other for a moment, then cracked up again.

“We are pathetic,” I said, holding out my hand.

He shook my hand, laughing with me. “We really are.”

“Good luck with your construction bear.”

“Good luck with your sassy cowboy.”

I asked the third date for a raincheck. I just didn’t have it in me to date someone who wasn’t Rowdy Lockwood.