The Matchmaker's Replacement - Rachel Van Dyken Page 0,10

lust that the only logical thought in my overly complicated brain was sex, sex, and more sex.

Don’t get me wrong. I thought about sex all the time, but it was always muddied by formulas, code, ideas, and laundry lists.

Hell, I’m not even ashamed to say that the last girl I slept with helped me damn near solve world hunger. I’d been so effing bored that at one point I’m pretty sure I fell asleep.

And even then she didn’t kick me out of bed.

Because she was as selfish as I was. There were always a few of them in the bunch, women who used me just as much as, if not more than, I used them.

Sex was just another formula I excelled at. And orgasm? A simple mathematical equation that I’d mastered, and when a good-looking guy actually knows where to lick, when to pause, how to suck—well, word spreads fast.

It really makes you wonder what all the other dudes are doing in bed if so many women are that unsatisfied.

“Hey.” Ian walked into the house we shared, and the door clicked shut behind him. “Was Gabs here?”

Oh, she was here alright. I tilted my head as I examined the table. Yeah, it could probably handle the weight of both of us. She’d stab me with her pencil if she knew the direction of my thoughts.

But she’d bitten me.

It was hot.

Even though it stung like the fires of hell. “Yeah, she was here, we kissed.” I reached for my water bottle and brought it to my lips just as what I’d said registered across Ian’s face.

“I’m sorry, what?” He gripped the edge of the counter with his fingertips. “You kissed?”

“Training.” It was a small lie, a white lie, but whatever. I reached into the folder on the table and slid over the top sheet with all of the new applicants for Wingmen Inc. services. “I don’t have enough time to deal with all this shit, and I know you don’t want to work with the clients as much because of Blake.” I paused for a minute, then pulled off my glasses. “Ian, we’re expanding way too fast, and computer software doesn’t write itself.” Honestly, it was a real pain in my ass that Ian had decided to settle down. He used to juggle three clients in one week, all single females who needed a happily ever after. His success rate was so high it was ridiculous. Whereas I simply got the job done and moved on, he almost always had to have a come-to-Jesus moment where he explained to the girls that theirs was a strictly professional relationship. A few had cried.

None of my clients felt that way about me.

Probably because I wasn’t as empathetic as Ian. When I printed out a client’s bio and started working with her, it was all business. Get the job done, get out.

Ian glanced over the report and whistled. “Yeah, I think we grossly underestimated how many guys want to be in a relationship.”

“I thought it was a fluke at first,” I admitted. “Who actually wants to stay committed to one person? At our age?”

Ian glared.

“You don’t count in this scenario, since you successfully boned half the campus before your sophomore year. Most of the names on the list are dudes who have never even had a serious girlfriend, let alone more than two sexual partners.”

The more I thought about it, the more irritated I became. We started this business thinking it would be mildly successful, not something on its way to becoming Seattle’s premiere dating service. Though we only offered Wingmen assistance to our fellow UW students, the dating app was basically like Tinder—only safer and more badass, with a rating and warning system—and we allowed anyone to download it, as long as they were paying customers. We basically did a background check for every member and required that they use real names with real birthdays and, yes, Social Security numbers—you’re welcome, world! Our app was the opposite of private. Not only did it alert you if you were in the same area as people on your favorites list, but immediately stats would pop up about the individuals—from their jobs to their ages, hobbies, and what they had done the previous weekend. It seemed that in a world full of people who wanted privacy, the last thing they wanted was privacy when it came to dating.

Women loved it because they were able to actually know the person behind the