She drank in one last long forlorn look at Sam. He’d seemed like such a fabulous prospect earlier in the evening when Melody had introduced them. Attentive, gorgeous blue eyes, ripped abs from what she could tell beneath his T-shirt, solvent—according to Melody—a delicious aroma of laundry detergent and clean male enveloping her when they’d got stranded together at the bar, and a great conversationalist. And not noticeably camp.
Maybe his job as a graphic designer should have been a hint—and the fact that his gaze hadn’t strayed to her cleavage once during the entire evening—but seriously, after two solid years without a sexual encounter of any description that didn’t involve batteries, she needed a much bigger hint than that... A pulsing neon sign on his forehead with Boys Only written in large flaming-pink letters, for example.
Tally huffed, holding up three fingers. ‘Three dates. Three gay blokes. In the space of a month. That’s a 100 per cent record.’
Sam choked out a laugh. ‘Well, her gaydar’s off, that’s for sure.’ He rested a warm palm on Tally’s shoulder. ‘Hey, look, I’m sorry, Tally. You’re great and I’ve had a fun time. I didn’t know Melody was trying to hook us up. I thought she knew which way I roll. I sure as hell don’t keep it a secret.’
‘That’s okay,’ Tally murmured, feeling more humiliated by the second. ‘Not a problem. Although I’d suggest you use a different cologne when chatting to women. Because the one you use now is sending out all the wrong signals—pheromone-wise.’
One dark brow hiked up his forehead. ‘But I don’t use cologne.’
‘Precisely. Something flowery and exotic with Hawaiian undertones would be much more appropriate. Might give a girl a clue. You know. To your sexual preferences.’
He laughed again—and her humiliation and annoyance eased. He really was a lovely guy. And it was hardly his fault he was extremely hot, yet played for the other team—nor was it his fault that Melody was to matchmaking what her eight-year-old cousin was to mature and sensible behaviour. Basically, a disaster waiting to happen. Plus, she’d probably get another thousand followers after this fuck-up—not that it felt like much of a consolation anymore.
‘How about I make it up to you?’ he said in his deep American accent. ‘Maybe I could set you up with someone. I know a lot of guys.’
‘Straight guys?’ Tally heard the eagerness in her voice. But sod it, she was desperate here. And extremely turned on with nowhere to go but back to her lonely bed and the company of Victor, her vibrator. The sad fact that she’d given the bloody thing a name was all that needed to be said on that score.
‘Yeah, straight. I guarantee it,’ he said. ‘Because unlike Melody, my gaydar is never wrong.’ The twinkle of mischief returned. ‘Either that or I’ve hit on them myself and discovered how they roll the hard way. No joke intended.’
Tally snorted out a laugh, stupidly pleased this man had suffered a similar fate to her. Misery, say hello to company.
‘What are your other criteria?’ Sam asked. ‘Then we can narrow the field.’
‘You have a field of straight guys to choose from?’
‘Uh-huh.’ Sam nodded.
Good lord, who knew? Gay men really could make the perfect matchmakers for sex-starved straight women. This was not just a myth propagated by chick flicks co-starring Rupert Everett.
Chapter Two
#NewRule: Once dream matchmaker has been located, don’t be shy... Give them ALL your vital sex-tistics (Yes, even THAT one!) #honestyhour
‘Hot,’ Tally qualified quickly. ‘I’d like him hot.’ If she was going to avail Sam of his services, she might as well get the deluxe package. ‘That would be my second stipulation. After straight.’
She didn’t give a shit if that made her sound shallow. This was Project Get Laid, not Project Get a Life Partner. All she wanted was to jump-start her sadly neglected libido by jumping some hot guy—a hot guy who had had lots of practise satisfying female libidos and knew how to locate a clitoris without having to ask for directions. Because, let’s face it, men never asked for directions, even when they had no clue where they were going.
No way was she recruiting amateurs, or fumblers, or, god forbid, guys with a relationship agenda. Project Get Laid was strictly a player-only, no-complications-allowed initiative.
‘Hot and straight. Got it.’ Sam nodded. ‘Anything else, boss?’
‘Actually, there are a couple of other things.’ Tally chewed her lip. Could she ask this? Not only would it make her sound shallower than a puddle, but she liked Sam. And now the prospect of getting into his nicely tailored pants was totally off the agenda, this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship—especially if he proved to be a winner in the Find Tally a Stud stakes. So she didn’t want to embarrass him—or worse, piss him off. He had a field at his fingertips. A field she could make very good use of in the weeks and months to come if she played her cards right. Hopefully. Maybe.
‘Well hung would be great. A reputation for being spectacular in the sack would be even better,’ she blurted out, and held her breath, waiting for any signs of an adverse reaction from her new best friend. ‘If you can manage both together we’d be entering jackpot territory.’
Sam chuckled, the sound low and genuinely amused. ‘How well hung?’ he asked, his tone direct and not remotely disgusted.
Tally’s breath gushed out.
‘And do you want me to get references for the sack rep?’ he added. ‘Because I’m not going to have road-tested the guy myself. And guys exaggerate about that stuff to other guys.’
‘They even boast about it to gay guys?’ Tally felt her eyes crossing. Wow, this was turning into an education. ‘Wouldn’t that be a bit counterproductive?’
‘I guess, but only if you’ve got the hots for them—and they know about it. Guys don’t consider the subtext much when talking about their banging exploits.’ He shrugged.
‘Okay, good to know.’ Tally’s thigh muscles quivered with something that felt an awful lot like excitement. She crossed her legs. She so did not want to get ahead of herself here. She’d been disappointed before. And it had not been good for her ego.
But this might actually happen. Sam could turn out to be the best mistake she’d ever made. Imagining whom he might hook her up with was making her feel a little woozy, and wet with anticipation.
Finally. Finally. She could end her man drought. With a man who definitely wasn’t gay, and who measured up in the only way that mattered.
Then she thought of the last guy who had measured up—and cold water lapped over the wave of warmth pulsing in her abdomen. ‘He also has to be single. Obviously. In fact, that’s non-negotiable. I probably should have said that first.’
A flush fired up her neck. Goodness, how desperate was she that she’d got so far ahead of herself she hadn’t even thought of that until now? And yet it was the most important criterion. Much more important than a ten-inch dick, frankly.
She might only be looking for sex, but she wasn’t leaping into that bonfire again—when it came to cheaters, even casual hook-ups were out. She wanted to feel good about herself again. Not totally crap, the way she’d felt when Henry’s wife had turned up on her doorstep two years ago, her face ravaged with tears and her eyes wild with grief.
Tally still felt the sting of the slap on her cheek, and the grinding pain in her stomach when she’d confronted Henry—and got hold of the real reason he’d been so keen on her. Until Henry, she’d thought she was an excellent judge of character. When your father was a serial cheater and you’d spent most of your childhood