Almost Matched (Almost Bad Boys) by A.O. Peart Page A

sleek slab of wood that serves as the bar and signal the bartender. He frowns at me, murmurs something in response, and turns his back to me. O-kay, not a big deal, maybe he’s having a bad day. Or maybe he is a grumpy dickhead every waking minute of his life. I take my cell phone out and check for emails and texts. There is a text from Jena. She’s wondering if we could get together. Any other night I would say ‘yes’, but not tonight.  
    I’m busy, typing the response to Jena and don’t pay attention to what’s happening around me. The Grumpy Dickhead stands in front of me, buffing a tall beer glass, his mouth set in a grim line. “So what’s it gonna be?”
    He startles me, and so I jump, dropping my phone onto the bar. Fuck. My heart wedges itself semi-permanently into the bottom of my throat. The Grumpy Dickhead continues to stare as if I killed his first-born. Well, if his first-born is as nasty as him, he probably deserves to die. No, I honestly didn’t just think that.  
    “Uhm… appletini please,” I choke out.  
    He grunts something and turns to mix my drink. I decide to watch him. You never know. Maybe his other job is delivering mail. He seems on the verge of going postal. I stretch my neck to monitor what exactly goes into my drink. I feel a pat on my shoulder. I jump again. Geez! What the fuck? Am I destined for a heart attack today?  
    It’s Colin. His smile is nothing short of radiant. My heart does that little flip I know way too well. Steady, I tell myself. Steady, girl.  
    “You look nice,” Colin says, settling onto a stool next to mine.  
    “Thank you,” I murmur, horrified at the effect he already has on me.  
      “Were you waiting long?” He glances at his watch. “I’m not late, am I?”
    “Nah. I just got here.”
    The Grumpy Dickhead slams my drink in front of me. The contents almost slosh. I ignore it. He takes Colin’s order and leaves.  
    “What are you drinking?” Colin asks.  
    “Appletini. I seem to always stick with appletinis. Unless I drink beer. Or sometimes red wine. Not so much white wine though. Nah, I don’t really care for white wine.” Okay, I’m blabbering. It’s time to shut my mouth and dip my lips in my drink.  
    “Good stuff.” Colin lifts his eyebrows in appreciation. “I need to try it next time.”
    “You can try mine now.” Whoa! Where did that come from? That wasn’t my mouth speaking. It was that other body part—the one that always gets so brainlessly excited and doesn’t care about consequences.
    Colin wraps his long, slim fingers around the glass stem and unhurriedly lifts it to his mouth. He keeps his eyes on mine while taking a small sip. That’s way too sensual for me to remain calm. My hands shake and so do my thighs. And I feel my mouth going dry. Dammit, Natalie. Keep it together.
    He nods in appreciation. “It tastes great. Gentle but with a kick.”
    “Yeah.” I laugh a bit too loud. Ugh, am I back in high school? Deep breath—yes, like that. One more.  
    “So, your company—how long since you’ve opened it?” He leans his elbow on the counter, watching me.  
    The Grumpy Dickhead brings Colin’s beer and gently—I swear, gently —places it in front of him.  
    “Ali and I did all the planning and research during college. So when we graduated, we had all the marketing in place, the bank loans secured, computer program running, and such. Our parents loaned some money too. Finally, we rented the office, and the clients started to pour in almost immediately. It’s been non-stop really.”
    “That’s such an inimitable concept. Who came up with it?” Lord, those blue eyes aren’t leaving my face, sliding from my own eyes to my mouth.  
    “I came up with the idea kind of randomly. I always get those junk emails from dating services—legit and not so. And it made me think—professionals who work long hours or travel a lot don’t have time or inclination to look for dates. And it was also that old