The Matchmaker's Replacement - Rachel Van Dyken Page 0,16
. . . I will kill you.”
“You say that at least ten times a day. It’s lost its effect, Sunshine.”
“Let’s just”—I moved away from him—“go over the next few pages, make me understand, and work your Lex magic, and then we can talk about sexual phobias.”
“Promise?” He licked his lips.
“EXPLAIN THIS!” I pushed the book into his hands. “And I may not kill you.”
“Sweet.”
“I said may.”
“I’m not worried. I’m a genius.”
“And yet you still managed to get herpes.”
Lex rolled his eyes, picked up the book, and cleared his throat. “Give me twenty minutes, and you’ll know this backward and forward.”
“Isn’t that what you say to girls in bed?”
“Actually, yes . . .” His eyebrows pushed together. “But I typically only need five to ten with them.”
It was going to be a long morning and an even longer day.
Chapter Five
Lex
What should have taken twenty minutes took twenty-two, which irritated me because I wasn’t typically wrong. Then again, if Gabi hadn’t raised her hand every other sentence, I wouldn’t have had to stop and tell her to put her damn hand down. Finally, in a fit of frustration, I sat on both her hands, grabbed her by the face, and explained the last two points.
I could tell the exact second the concepts suddenly made sense. Her eyes widened, and then in typical Gabs fashion she grinned so big her eyes nearly disappeared into two tiny slits. She was always like that, smiling with her entire face. If someone gave me a picture only of her eyes and asked if she was happy or sad, I’d be able to tell—not that I would ever admit that out loud to anyone. Hell, it was hard admitting it to myself.
“So.” I rubbed my hands together. “Any more questions?”
“How?”
I frowned and looked down at the discussion questions. “You’re going to have to be more specific, Sunshine.”
Gabs stood and stretched her arms over her head. I purposefully looked away and then muttered under my breath, “You really should wear deodorant.”
A pillow smacked me in the nose, making my eyes water.
“How does a computer science major know Organic Chem?”
“Easy.” I shrugged. “I was bored in high school so they kept putting me in AP classes, and then when my teachers found out that I spent most of my class time listening to music and drawing stick-figure renditions of my classmates, they told my mom to either enroll me in harder classes my senior year or get me out. I chose harder classes.” I smiled wickedly. “I always choose harder . . .”
Gabs ignored me and put her hands on her hips, a move I refused to fall prey to, though most guys couldn’t help themselves. When a chick put her hands on her hips, it was basically like a homing beacon for a guy’s eyes, a big giant red arrow that said “Look. Right. Here.”
I did not look. Someone should probably give me a medal, because her jeans were really nice—baggy but nice.
“Gabs, I’m saying this in the kindest way possible, but if those aren’t boyfriend jeans, you need new ones.”
She frowned and looked down. They bagged at the knees and hips. What the hell? I teased her about gaining weight, but really it was the opposite. Holy shit! Were my comments making her anorexic? Panic filled my chest and radiated to my arms, legs, fingertips. Without thinking, I jumped to my feet. “We should eat before we work.”
Gabs yawned, then grabbed her purse. “I just had a scone, though.”
“Typical females at your age and height need at least eighteen hundred and forty-eight calories a day, give or take a few calories. It all depends on physical activity, metabolism, and how much you sit.”
“Thank you, Siri. I don’t remember ass-dialing you, but as always you’re so very helpful.”
Fun Lexism: I had a really weird tendency to just throw random facts out into the universe when I was uncomfortable or nervous—which was usually never.
Damn Gabi, making me lose my edge on life. For my own sanity I needed Training Day to be over with so I could get back to my little black book full of numbers and needy women who wouldn’t care less if I spent the night in their arms and jumped into someone else’s a few hours later.
Not that I liked women’s arms.
Too clingy.
I wasn’t into that.
“Stop bitching. I’m going to feed you twice in one day. You should be worshipping the ground I walk on. Aren’t you poor? Eating Top Ramen and