Page 28 of Stupid Matchmaking Love

“Yeah, why not, Cristina? Why don’t you enter?”

Rhett’s voice stops me in my tracks. There’s something different about how he sounds. It’s not the controlled, measured tone from this morning, but something rougher. Rawer. Like he’s been wrestling with something and finally decided to stop fighting.

I slowly spin around, and when our gazes lock, my stomach swoops. His jaw is relaxed, his eyes soft, like he’s remembering our first conversation, before everything went sideways.

And maybe he’s also remembering the massage table. The way his body arched toward my hands. The way he grabbed my wrists. The way we both forgot how to breathe.

Stop it, Cristina. That was professional. That was work.

A nervous laugh escapes me. “It’s just . . . matchmaking isn’t my thing, is all.”

“What if it could be?” he says quietly.

The challenge in Rhett’s eyes feels like static in the air, daring me to set it on fire.

I suppose the only way to get his gaze off me is to answer. “I really don’t think this competition is for me.”

“But you’re single and lonely,” Betty says.

Thank you, Betty.

Rhett finds this hysterical. He smiles openly. “Sounds like you need this, being single and lonely and all.”

I smile tightly. “For the record, I am single. But not lonely.”

“That’s right.” He snaps his fingers as if the thought just occurred to him. “You have your Bitty Beings.”

“And they’re enough,” I reply, even though my chest tightens when I say it. “One day Bitty Beings will be sold everywhere, and you’ll regret that statement.”

Delight flashes in his eyes. “I can’t wait to see it.”

My insides curl up and die. It’s one thing to call me a danger to society—okay, he didn’t call me that, but close enough. It’s another for him to encourage me like we’re friends.

When we’re clearly not.

I cock my chin. “Why don’t you enter the contest?”

His smile slips. “I’m not interested.”

“Why not? Too sad and lonely?”

“If you only knew.”

There’s a somberness in his voice that makes my heart twist.

“She could know all about it,” Thelma interjects, scribbling her name on a cloth, “if you two got matched.”

At that, we both laugh. I pretend to wipe tears from my eyes. “Oh, that is too funny. Us?” I point from him to me. “Matched? No way. There’s no way on earth that would happen.”

“Why not?” Rhett asks, his tone taking on a dangerous note that makes my heart skid to a halt. “Why couldn’t it happen?”

“Because . . .” I scramble for words. “You and I are obviously oil and water. We don’t get along. Every encounter we’ve had has been a disaster.”

“Not every one,” he murmurs, taking a step closer.

His dark eyes search me like he’s trying to read my soul. He’s right. The first encounter we had, if you don’t count the end, was dynamic, extraordinary.

Our conversation bounced back and forth easily, like a summer breeze. And when our hands touched—lightning in a bottle.