Claire wiggled in her seat when Chance found her and pointed at her from the stage where he now stood, holding a microphone. After everyone was seated and the excitement had died down, Chance stirred them up again.
“Your soul mate could be here. Right now.” He motioned around the packed theater. “Look around. It’s not uncommon for our Booty Camp clients to lock eyes right this moment with the person they'll marry in six months. So do it. Feel it.”
Hazel could feel her eyes rolling, so she closed them in case—on some random chance—the man for her was here, his first vision of her wouldn’t be filled with the sarcasm. It felt like a superstition or an exercise in fruition. But she didn’t throw out a raffle ticket until the numbers were announced, either, so…
She looked over her shoulder and found herself staring at Dark Lashes. He didn’t smile, and neither did she. He looked bored. Like just another day at the office, which she guessed it was for him as he sat in the back row adjacent to hers. Finally, he touched his temple with his index finger and pointed back at the crowd in front of them. It took her a minute to understand his sign language, but when she got it, she felt her cheeks flush. He wanted her to put her gaze forward. To stop looking at him.
She bit her bottom lip. What an asshole. What did he think—she was trying to tempt him into dating her?
Hazel gave him the middle finger and an exasperated look. He could jump to conclusions, but she wasn’t here to try and snag a man. Well, she wouldn’t mind finding a guy to take back to her apartment so Scott would have to step around them making out in front of the elevator. That would be some sweet revenge.
She gave Dark Lashes another hard look, and this time he seemed to be struggling with a smirk.
“Jerk,” Hazel muttered.
“Who? Chance?” Claire was focused on the man on stage who was feeding the crowd some impossible statistics.
“Did you know that woman who are single after twenty-six are eighty-nine percent more likely to die alone than their dating counterparts?” Chance stalked to the edge of the stage and fake whispered into the mic, “And men who don’t settle down see a reduction in penis length at the rate of three centimeters a year after forty if they haven’t found a permanent partner?”
“None of that is true. He’s making that up,” Claire said while Hazel gave Lashes another stare. He didn’t seem alarmed at the wild accusations Chance was slinging.
“Do those facts scare you? I hope you know they're false. As far as I know, anyway.”
Claire leaned in and whispered, “See?” in Hazel’s ear.
“That’s what the media wants you to believe. They try to shame you into finding love. And here at Booty Camp, we want to tell you we're here for a great reason. It’s okay to be single. It’s okay to be satisfied with your life on your own. We just happen to know that that’s not your feelings. No one pays a thousand dollars because they want to be alone.”
Claire and Hazel looked at each other. Claire mouthed, “Well, maybe you do,” which prompted Hazel to punch the top of her friend’s arm.
“There is the desire to find a match, but at Booty Camp, we believe in destiny. That you are put on a path to lead you somewhere in particular.”
Chance stooped lower and spoke to the first row like he was in a hair band in the 80s.
“Our competitors will say that if you have enough matching interests, you can get together and make a go of this crazy world. And that may be true, but here at Booty Camp, we want you to find The One. Your Happily Ever After. The prince, or princess, of your dreams. We believe in one true love for every person. That’s why we’re better. You will find your other half. The apple to your peach. The butter on your toast. We seek perfection. And we find it.”
Chance delivered the last lines straight to Claire. The whole room must have felt the chemistry between them because people turned and craned their necks to see who, exactly, had inspired that level of intensity from the speaker. Claire’s lips were opened slightly, almost breathlessly. She reached for Hazel’s hand and squeezed it like they were about to go down the scariest hill on a roller coaster together.
Claire looked so enchanted it was like she was acting in a movie.
She kept her eyes on the speaker, but spoke quietly to Hazel. “I’m going to marry that man.”
Hazel's mouth dropped open.
Chapter 2
Insta-Love
“So you’re in love now. Literally in love in the first 20 minutes of this shit show.” Hazel crossed her arms and tapped her foot.
Claire was too busy watching Chance move around the theater.
Hazel and Claire had stood up after the presentation had come to a conclusion. Dark Lashes was nowhere to be found. Which was fine. Hazel had learned her painful lesson about looking for love in general. Scott was a great-looking guy, and he'd been a selfish, thoughtless user.
It had been three months since he walked out of her apartment with his beer. He’d been nailing the hyena upstairs every chance he got. It was demoralizing.
Hazel folded her hands together and let her thumbs wrestle each other. Being here was a stupid impulse and a waste of money. Not that she needed the money to move out because her landlord was strictly enforcing the two year agreement she’s signed with him nine months ago.
Claire's body was pretty much humming when the very popular Chance made his way over to her.
“Ladies.”
He was debonair. And looked like maybe he slept in a steroid hyperbolic chamber. He was body-builder ripped.
He’d said “ladies,” but he was looking at Claire like she was a grilled chicken meal that fit right into his training program.
“Let me give you a moment. I need to run to the restroom.” Hazel backed away from the get together, but she needn’t have said anything to either of them. They were foolish for one another.
Hazel fluttered her fingertips at the very interested-looking guys herded together as she padded across the thick carpet on her tiptoes. She felt like she was on the green at a golf course. This had been such a horrific mistake. She wanted her money back. She couldn’t trust a single man in the room. All she could manage was a mental image of each of them glaring at her while she naked-crouched after sex. Every man here was just a future Scott.
Hazel opened the closet door, hoping for the bathroom, but instead she got a peek at Dark Lashes sitting at a desk with easily a hundred Polaroids in front of him. He looked like he was concentrating. He was holding sets of pictures clipped together in what looked like pairs.
He whipped his head around just as she was trying to back out of the room.
“Can I help you?” Irritation oozed from every syllable.
Enough. Enough of his dismissive actions and his attitude. She was so fed up with men. Instead of telling him the truth—she'd picked the wrong door while looking for the bathroom—she put her hands on her hips and set her attitude free.
“Yes. I need my check back. I want out of this whole farce. Who do I see about that? The musclehead? Is he the owner of this pony show?” She did her best to stare him down.
Dark Lashes lifted his eyebrows. “You wrote a check?”
Okay, his voice was like KY Jelly for the air, making it slippery and ready for sex. His scrutiny made her tongue forget that it had requirements and a job.
Those damn blue eyes were making her hands sweat.
“Who writes checks anymore?” He turned his attention back to the desk and pictures. “Go find staff and mention it to them. I’m pretty sure checks are scanned and handled almost like credit cards. They’ll help you. I have to concentrate.”
Dismissed. Hazel felt her eyes narrowing. He was dismissing her. She was having flashbacks to the naked crouching, again. Scott had given her as little consideration as this man seemed to.
She battled her feistiness now. She wasn’t naked. And she wasn’t going to be dismissed.
“You know what?” Hazel stepped forward and slammed the door behind her, sealing
Dark Lashes in with her. “Maybe a thousand dollars isn’t a lot to you, but I’m a teacher, and this whole scam is pissing me off. My friend caught me at a weak moment after my ex-boyfriend humiliated me, otherwise I would’ve never agreed to do it. I want my money back. Now. A hundred and ten percent satisfied, my ass. You’re wearing one of those horrible shirts. You’re going to get up and get my money back or so help me…”
He set the pictures down on the surface of the desk and turned again. He looked her up and down. “Humiliated you? And you put up with that?”
“Are you judging me? I didn’t ask for your frigging opinion. I asked for my money.”
Dark Lashes stood up, and Hazel worked to keep her heels cemented as he approached her.
She had been under the impression that he was short. At the least, no taller than she was, but she was wrong. He’d just looked small next to the Goliath who'd been transfixed by her best friend in the theater. Dark Lashes had at least six inches on her—even while she was wearing heels. He crossed his arms in front of him and got so close he could whisper and she'd be able to hear him.
His dark hair fell forward to cover one of his eyes, and she noticed the leather bracelets on the forearm with the tattoo. She tried to ignore his sharp jaw and defined cheekbones. He really was pretty. His attitude sucked donkey tits, though. And Hazel was sick of guys like him making her feel like she wasn’t enough. She was getting her goddamned money back now. It was a pride thing.
“Hazel Lavender. Likes cats. Likes mountain biking and crafting. Looking for someone who will hold her hand at a scary movie and must love kids.” He lifted just one eyebrow.
“Awesome. You read the application my best friend sent in before we got here. Then you must be able to find my check pretty damn quick. I’ll be needing it.” Hazel snapped her fingers in an effort to get him to hurry up.
The door behind her opened without a knock. Turning at the waist, she saw it was Chance. And from the familiar leopard-print shoe she could see past him in the open doorway, she knew Claire was just outside.
“You ready, Wolf? We got a whole group of people out here.” Chance gave Hazel a look that insinuated something very non-business worthy was going on at the moment.
“I’ll be a minute.” Dark Lashes—aka Wolf, apparently—nodded expectantly.
“You can take Claire Paquet out of the piles or pictures. FYI.” Chance pointedly did not make eye contact beyond her and closed the door.
When Hazel turned around to look at her check’s hostage-taker again, he was massaging his temples. Watching his fingers move wasn’t the least bit arousing. Hazel shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
He shook his head and looked back at Hazel, again with the once-over. “Do you even know how many guys pulled me aside and pointed you out? And the number of notes that were passed from my staff with requests from the single guys in there?”
Hazel shook her head. Instead of feeling encouraged, she just pictured a bunch of Scotts in a line, waiting to break her heart.
“Ten. Ten of the guys in there are desperate to be your match. And they're just the ones who were forward enough to pass a word to us. I bet there’s another ten praying to whatever they believe in that you’re the one for them.”
Hazel swallowed before responding to his obvious salesmanship. “Don’t even with your As Seen On TV love stories. I made the mistake of coming here, but I want my money back.”
“You afraid of love, Hazel?”
“Stop saying my name as if you know me. You don’t know me. It just makes you sound like an unscrupulous car salesman.” Hazel tapped her foot so it would slap the wood floor with audible irritation.
He looked at her foot. “Oh, are you in a rush? I have to get back out there and I’m already behind, but you’re the one who's unhappy?”
Hazel stepped up to him and pointed at his chest. “You. Them. This. A hundred and ten percent. Which is dumb because there's only one hundred percent of anything. Math. That’s math. You can’t just make up new math.”
He closed one eye. “I haven’t even had anything to drink, and your little rant is making me feel like I’ve been on a bender all night. Did that make sense to you?”
“Yes. Give me my money back. That’s what I meant.” She poked him in the chest. It was hard. She tried not to notice.
“Fine. You know what, Hazel?”
Hazel narrowed her eyes at him and stuck out her chest..
“I assume you read the fine print on the agreement you signed about an hour and a half ago. Right? You’d never sign a contract without looking it over properly.”
He walked over to the desk again and ruffled through the pile of applications before pulling hers out so quickly she assumed the stack was alphabetized. “Hazel Lavender. Very neat signature. Fitting for a teacher. Can you tell me what it says there?”
He walked back to her and turned the paper around so it was facing her. He pointed to the bottom of the page at what looked a lot like fancy edging. When she squinted, she could see there were tiny words.
“Are you kidding me? Is this a joke? No one can even read those words. I can’t even imagine how illegal this is to do to people.” Hazel pushed the paper back at him.
His motion to snatch it back filled the air with his light cologne because he was so close. Jesus. If her lady bits were a petting zoo, that scent would be what the zoo offered as a treat in the coin machine outside her cage.
She made eye contact as the attraction flared through her.
He held her gaze and bit his bottom lip before letting the tip of his tongue peek out briefly. Then he shook his head and went back to the matter at hand as if time had not just stopped for them both. “It’s legal. It says that you’re required to participate in five dates set up by Booty Camp experts before we have to refund your money.”
“That’s horse shit.” Hazel shook her head.
“It’s business. And if you need a bit of hope, no one has ever needed their money back. We’re that good at our jobs. So, I think this is good news for you.” He took her contract back to the desk and refiled it amongst the others.
Hazel felt trapped. And she didn’t like it. That contract was a problem. She didn’t want to be in some freaky, surefire love. The last time she was in love her heart had been ripped out of her chest.
“This was a huge mistake. I want my money now.” She stalked over to the edge of the desk and tried to reach around him to get to her contract. She was planning on taking it and tearing it up.
He snatched her wrist and quickly twirled her. Before she knew it, her back was against his chest. He had both of her wrists and had managed to cross her arms over her chest. A restraint. And clearly not the first one he’d put someone in.
“Let go of me.” Hazel got calmer.
“Only if you’ll stay away from this business’s personal property.” He spoke the words into her hair, and she felt chills down her neck.
She looked at the hold he had her in. He may have restrained people, but her role as the special education teacher had required her to get restraint training, too. And she knew how to get out of this one. Because he wasn’t a student, but a full-grown man with his hands on her, she added a little spice to her maneuver. She stomped on his foot and, at the same moment, used all her force to push her wrists against where his index fingers and thumbs were touching.
It worked. Once free, she turned and pushed hard on his chest, though that part he seemed ready for and stood strong. She wound up pushing against him so hard that she lost her balance and fell backwards. She landed hard on her bottom before she cracked her head on the hardwood floor.
Just before everything went completely fuzzy, she saw Claire looking at her from the doorway.
Chapter 3
You Killed Her
Wolf knew Chance would try and hurt him now that the new love of his life was adjusting her friend’s skirt to cover her light blue underwear. It looked bad; he understood that. But he hadn’t touched her.
Well, he’d restrained her when she was trying to get her contract back, but the rest was on her. She’d broken the hold and went all Rambo on his ass.
He felt awful when her head hit the floor. But before he could offer any aid, her red-headed friend was all over her, checking for a pulse and launching an incredible array of filthy curses at him.
Chance was out the door and back with an icepack for Hazel’s head while Wolf stood there like a jackhole with his hands shoved in his pockets.
As Hazel was coming around, Claire went from a cursing, angry sailor to comforting friend in a hot minute. Chance shook his head as though Wolf had just kicked a puppy with another puppy on its back.
He mouthed to his friend, “It wasn’t my fault.”
Chance mouthed back indigently, “I know that.”
At least Chance knew who he was. This was bad. Really bad.
Wolfgang Shakespeare Saber ran Booty Camp Dating Service on the strict principle of making the customer happy. The happiest they had been in their entire lives, actually. Which would be a tough task for anyone else. But not for him. At least not where matchmaking was concerned.
Wolf’s mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, and most likely beyond were matchmakers. Well, his mother and grandmother were still matchmakers in Boca Raton, Florida. They set up the lonesome in her retirement park all the time to great success. Being able to sense who would pair beautifully with whom was a gift that traveled through their family tree.
The women in his family provided the service from a place in their heart that cared about humanity. He'd been the first to monetize it. Which was strongly frowned upon, to put it lightly.
As he watched Claire help Hazel into a sitting position, he could almost feel his ancestors giving him an exasperated middle finger from the heavens above. And probably his mother and grandmother would do the same on FaceTime if he told them the truth of the situation. Which he wouldn’t.