Almost Matched (Almost Bad Boys #1)

ONE

“It’s choice—not chance—that determines your destiny.”

Jean Nidetch

 

I’m sweating like Snooki in her cardio YouTube videos. Ugh. My brand new silk top is getting drenched. I peek down at my boobs. They jump up and down with the rhythm of my feet beating the pavement. Big wet stains blossom around my low-cut neckline and down from my armpits. Crap! Crap! There is no way I can make it in time to the office.

Stupid car. Yesterday I left the lights on overnight like an idiot, and the battery decided to die. My alarm clock didn’t go off this morning, which was also my own damn fault. I forgot to set it before crashing in bed last night. Miraculously, I actually made it to bed, instead of collapsing on the sofa. Going out with the girls on Wednesday night had never been an issue, even if we stayed up past 1 a.m. I usually operate on four to five hours of sleep anyway. No problem. But last night really kicked my ass. And this morning isn’t shaping up any better.

I’m still mentally sore from last weekend. My so-called boyfriend, Ray, dumped me like a bad habit. My problem is not that he did, because sooner or later I would have ended it myself. He’d stood me up twice in a row. Twice! And his excuses were so lame that I suspect he is a complete moron. Well, he is, but that’s another story. So last Saturday, after I forgave him, we are finally in my apartment, having sex and all that good stuff.

When he’s done, he says to me: I don’t want to sound like a jerk, but this (he motions between me and him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, as if his freaking wrist is made out of flexible rubber) is not working for me.

Dude, what the hell? We just had sex. That’s so not cool. If you want to break up with me, do it like a civilized person. I was fuming, but tried hard to remain calm. Not an easy thing to do when you’re naked in bed with a guy who simply used you and now walks out on you. I finally said, Forget it. Get out. I might have called him a name or two. Hey, he deserved it!

So my girlfriends—Caroline, Ali, and Jena—took me out to cheer me up. We couldn’t get together until Wednesday night, but that was okay. I had three full days to get most of the anger and disappointment out of me, so I wouldn’t be too bitchy when we finally went out. I only feel bad for Ali. She’s my business partner, and we work together, and so she’d been exposed to my pissy attitude for a while. But she’s a good sport. Besides, she’s got the most forget-the-world personality in the universe, so I know she can handle my state of mind.

The taxi that I took from home this morning got stuck in traffic a few blocks from my office. There was a nasty accident, blocking all the lanes. I paid the driver and got out, convinced that I would get to work faster walking than waiting for this mess to disperse. Now I’m running and sweating. Great.

I stop at the crosswalk, panting and wiping my forehead with the back of my hand. I feel like shit; look probably even worse. I glance at my watch. The meeting in the office starts in fifteen minutes. Fifteen freakin’ minutes!

“Come on, come on,” I whisper, impatiently tapping my foot and adjusting the strap of my second-hand Louis Vuitton purse over my shoulder.

My cell phone vibrates, and then jams some obnoxious heavy metal tune against my rib cage. I have to change that riff. It’s unbearable. I fish the phone out of my purse and look at the screen. It’s Ali. She hooked up with that nerdy but cute guy at Black Horned Beast bar last night. This is her day off, so why in heavens is she calling me before 8 a.m.?

“Ali,” I breathe into the cell phone. The light finally changes to green, and I step down from the sidewalk and onto the crosswalk.

“Hey, gorgeous! Where the fuck are you, Natalie? I bet my ass you overslept.”