Seeking A Second Chance (#MatchMade Book 2) Read online

  Bennett

  With my final set done on the leg press machine, I make my way toward the showers with burning quads. Leg days are always a killer. The huge, state-of-the-art gym is packed with people. Men and women of all ages and sizes are trying to get in shape, stay in shape, or bulk up. I’m somewhere in between staying in shape and bulking. I have no desire to hang around the gym for five hours a day or to shoot steroids. What I love is the stress relief and the satisfaction of putting in the work.

  I've been coming to this facility for years. I always get a good workout in, but it strikes me that I've never met a woman here. Sure, there are good-looking women, but none of them get my juices flowing. There's nobody for me here. I make a mental note to tour another gym facility soon. Maybe I’ll meet someone somewhere else. This dry spell is killing me. It can’t hurt to stack the deck in my favor.

  I hit the locker room for a quick shower. Today, I brought with me a business casual outfit of denim-blue dress slacks and a gray button down. I'm anticipating a possible meeting or two today after I check my emails.

  Last week I was able to acquire a rare piece of art in New York City. I have a gallery, a collector, and a potential client interested in buying it. Whoever decides to pay what I'm asking first will get the piece and I’ll make a sweet profit. I truly love my job.

  There’s only one woman in line ahead of me at the shake bar at the gym. She’s in her mid-thirties if I had to guess. When she turns in my direction, she gives me a smile as her eyes take me in. She’s pretty, with a nice body in blue leggings and matching cropped top, but she’s wearing a face full of makeup. Who does that? Someone who’s trying too hard. I return the smile, but pull out my phone as to not engage. When she leaves the counter, I order a chocolate, banana, and whey protein shake. As soon as it’s finished, I grab it and sit at an open table.

  My phone lights up with several notifications from my email account. Scanning them, a jolt of adrenaline rushes my system when I see the #MatchMade website has sent an email.

  When Richie suggested I join the site, I thought he was crazy. In fact, I almost forgot I filled out a profile. But the prospect of finding someone to date who I might actually be compatible with piques my interest.

  Lately, I haven't been getting past the first or second date. Whether she isn't interested, or I'm not, it seems that I've been quite unlucky with women. It's not for lack of trying. I've missed the company of a woman very much.

  I click open the email and scan it.

  There’s no fucking way.

  Maren Meyer.

  I can’t stand her. She drove me crazy every second of high school. She was always around like a lost, awkward puppy dog. Graduation day was a blessing because I didn’t have to be around her anymore.

  My protein shake churns around in my gut.

  This isn't happening. There's no way I'm going to date her. I stand up, toss what's left of my shake into the trash, and make my way outside to my car.

  Fuming, I drive the short distance to my house. I haven't thought about Maren since high school, and God knows I don't want to think about her now.

  As soon as I'm home, I head inside and I'm immediately attacked by my dogs, Max and Holly, two mutts I picked up at the dog shelter five years ago. Bending down, they lick my face as I pet them both on their heads.

  "You guys ready for your walk?" I ask them as I reach for their leashes on a hook by the door.

  They stare up at me, panting and wiggling as I attach their leashes to their collars. We head outside and I walk them down the street.

  Even my dogs don't seem to brighten my attitude about who I was matched up with. I pull my phone out of my pocket and dial Richie's number.

  "Hey, Bennett, what's up?" Richie says, seemingly out of breath.

  "Am I catching you at a bad time?"

  "No. I couldn't find my phone. Why do you sound grumpy?"

  I pull hard on the dog’s leashes as a squirrel crosses their path and they try to make a run for it. "Because I am. I got my match this morning."

  "You should be happy. Now you're going to have a date. It was seriously the best thing I've ever done. I'm so happy with Madison. The matchmaker nailed it."

  Leave it to Richie to always look on the bright side. I'm happy that he’s happy, but just because it worked for him does not mean it's going to work for me. "I was matched with someone I went to high school with. She was always in my face, trying to get my attention. She was a know-it-all, awkward artist." And the worst part is she was always one-upping me in art. It's hard to forget the disappointment I felt each and every time she won the art awards, contests, and accolades. I never stood a chance against her natural talent. "There's no way I can date her."

  Richie has the balls to laugh. "Dude, you're stuck with her for three dates."

  Both of the dogs stop and sniff under a big maple tree. I watch and wait for them to finish their investigation until they’re ready to move on. "What do you mean? I'm going to decline this match. I'm sure they can set me up with someone else."

  "You should go back to the website and read the fine print. You can't decline. There's a three-date-minimum rule. It’s something about true compatibility and giving your match a fair shot."

  “And you didn’t tell me? I didn't read the fine print. When I filled out my online profile, I was at a bar with you breathing down my neck.” I barely skimmed the thing before I hit submit. I run my fingers through my hair and let out a long sigh. "Well, this is just great."

  "Call her and set up your first date. It might not be as bad as you think. Maybe she's changed."

  I bark out a laugh. "Doubtful. You know, I'm not surprised she’s still single. I'll call her and get this over with. Thanks again for recommending this website." My voice drips sarcasm as I end the call.

  With Max and Holly pulling me down the sidewalk, I fumble with my phone to open the email and get Maren's number.

  It'll be best if I get this over with as soon as possible so I can move on and get another match.

  Five

  Maren

  Damn it!

  I lay on my horn. The driver to the left of me jerks his car in front of me, cutting me off and causing me to spill coffee down my pale turquoise top.

  Dabbing it with the one square of napkin the café included in my muffin bag, I swear under my breath.

  When I woke up this morning, I planned on spending an hour before work painting. But after I went through a few reference photos I took of the landscape on my hike last weekend, I sorted them out in various perspectives and felt zero inspiration. Instead of wasting more time, I got ready for the day and left my house to head to the #MatchMade office. Savannah called for a meeting this morning, so I thought I'd get there early and go over a few things on my laptop to prepare.

  At a stoplight, I reach across the seat from my water bottle. I pour a splash of it onto my shirt and blot at it with the tiny scrap of napkin. The stain isn’t that noticeable, but I look like I'm ready for a wet T-shirt contest.

  Perfect.

  My cell phone rings. It's a number I don't recognize, but I press the button on my dash to connect the call. "Hello?"

  "Maren, is that you?" I would know that rasp anywhere. My heart flutters to life. It's Bennett Parks.

  Rolling the window up to quiet the background noise, I say, "Yes," and mentally squeal at myself for sounding so damn excited.

  "This is Bennett Parks.”

  “I know.”

  “Okay. Well, I'm assuming you know by now that we’re matched." The tone of his voice is as enthusiastic as someone calling you to tell you your dog died.

  "Yes. I know."

  "Okay. I'm calling to set up our date." His tone is flat as paper.

  Signaling, I wait for cars to pass the entrance to the office building. "What did you have in mind?"

  "I don't care. What you think?"

  God, this is awesome. He sounds like all he wants to do is get this over with. Bennett hasn't changed a bit. "How about dinner?" Isn't that the universal first date?

  A dog barks in the background. Maybe two. I wonder if they’re the dogs I saw him with on Facebook. "No. Not dinner."

  My shoulders instantly knot up at his harsh, dismissive tone. "Okay. Then you pick."

  "As I recall, you know everything, so how about trivia night at the bar? It's right up your alley."

  That's a little offensive. I pull into the parking lot and take the first space available. "Oh. Okay. When?"

  "Can you do Thursday night?"

  Instead of answering right away, I pause. I’m going to accept the date, but I think he should sweat a little. Maybe it’ll knock him off balance like he’s done to me. "Okay. Need my address?"

  He sighs into the phone. "No. We can meet there. I’ll text you the address." Then he ends the call.

  What the hell was that? I take the phone away from my ear and stare at it, absolutely perplexed. Is he still a teenager? And more importantly, what did I do to deserve the attitude?

  I grab my bag off the passenger seat and trudge toward the office. In the elevator, a middle-aged man greets me and immediately glances down at my top. Shit. I forgot about the coffee stain. I grin at the guy and cross my arms, attempting to cover the mess I have going on.

  As soon as the elevator dings that we've reached my floor, I race down the hall toward Savannah’s office. She isn't there. Crossing the hall, I storm toward the conference room. Relief eases some of the tension in my neck and shoulders. I dump my bag onto the table and plop down in the chair next to Savannah.

  Her brows scrunch together in a line, creasing her perfectly smooth forehead. "Are you okay?"

  "I just got off the phone with my match, Bennett. He sounded angry that he has to date me."

&n
bsp; "I'm sure you're mistaken. Do you have a date planned?"

  I nod and shake my head at the same time. "I guess, but the man sounded as if he'd rather have a root canal than go to trivia night with me."

  Savannah puts her hand on my arm and gives me a sweet smile. "Start at the beginning. What happened?"

  Blowing out a long breath, I lean back in my chair. "This goes all the way back to high school. Bennett and I took pretty much all of the same classes and I had a Justin Timberlake-sized crush on him. But he never gave me the time of day." My heart sinks at the memory of all of those times I'd laugh at his jokes even though he wasn't talking to me. Or when I tried to give him advice in art class and he'd simply blow me off like a fly that landed on his shoulder. But somehow, I continued to crush on him, thinking that one day maybe I'd crack the code and find a way for him to like me.

  "Did he give you butterflies?"

  I let out a self-deprecating laugh. "Oh, yeah."

  Savannah takes a sip of her Starbucks coffee and sets it in front of her. "Give it a try. Go to trivia night. It might be better than you think."

  Nervous energy has me sitting up and tapping my foot on the floor. "What if it turns out to be a disaster?"

  She shrugs her shoulders. "You won't know until you try. Just be yourself."

  "I can't. He doesn't like myself."

  "A lot has changed since high school. Trust the process,” she encourages, her eyes dancing with possibility.

  I do trust her and I want to trust the process, but this is Bennett Parks we’re talking about. A sinking feeling in my stomach tells me that this date is going to be a failure of epic proportions.

  Six

  Bennett

  Leaning against a table, I have a drink of my beer and watch Richie sink another solid ball in the corner pocket. The bastard is going to beat me again. Chalk it up to an evening that I already know is going to suck. My first date with Maren is tonight, in just over a half an hour.

  I pick up my stick and get ready to line up my shot after he finally misses. "Let me ask you a few questions."

  "Sure. What's up?" Richie asks, intently watching my shot that misses the mark and bounces off one of his balls, moving it closer to the pocket.

  "Did you know your match before you went out on your first date?"

  "No."

  I set my stick against the wall and lift my beer to take a sip. "What about the three-date rule? Did you know about that when you signed up?"

  "Yeah. I still can’t believe you didn't read the fine print."

  Clearly, he doesn't remember the evening I filled out my profile. "I told you I didn’t. You were rushing me, so I clicked accept and submit." My answers must’ve been awful, too, considering I was matched with Maren.

  He shrugs before bending over and lining up his next shot. "What’s done is done now.”

  I blow out a long breath and rock back on my heels, frustrated at my situation. "Well, I’m stuck going on three dates with my nemesis from school."

  Richie sinks the eight ball and stands up with a smirk. "Maybe she's changed. Give it a shot.”

  “If she's anything like she was in school, I'm going to want to wring her neck." I can picture it now, the smug little grin she always had on her face, or the baggy, ill-fitting clothes she always used to like to wear that were inevitably smudged with paint. She had no pride in her appearance.

  Richie chugs down the last of his beer. "Quit being so negative. Not all women are perfect or Victoria's Secret models. They aren't real."

  "I was in New York City for fashion week. Those models are, in fact, real."

  He shakes his head and rolls his eyes at me. I know he’s surprised that I’m acting this way, but he's never met Maren Meyer before. "Just get through your dates."

  He doesn't know that my first date is tonight, here, right after happy hour. "I will. I'm resigned to my fate."

  Richie sets his empty beer glass on the table. "Listen, my match is someone I never would've picked for myself either. And now, I'm the happiest I've ever been. Go with it."

  He seems a whole hell of a lot happier than he used to be. I'd settle for someone I'm compatible with. The problem is there’s no way it’s going to be Maren.

  I nod. "That's all I can do."

  "There’s a few more minutes left of happy hour. Let's grab another pint."

  Glancing at my watch, I nod. But inside I'm beginning to panic. I figured the guys would be long gone before Maren showed up tonight. She's going to be here in twenty minutes.

  We make our way toward the bar to grab another beer and join the rest of the guys. Leaning on the bar, I flag the bartender and order another round.

  As soon as he sets our beers down, I hand them out to the guys, hoping they’ll chug them and get the hell out of here before Maren shows up. Not one of my buddies knows about my date tonight. I didn't want to hear it, the questions or the snide remarks.

  "What's everyone's plans tonight?" I ask, hoping they all need to run as soon as possible.

  "Why are you so tense, man?" Stan asks, his bushy eyebrows pinching together.

  "Yeah. You look like you're ready to crawl out of your skin." Bobby raises his chin in my direction.

  Leave it to my buddies to be observant tonight, of all nights. "Nothing.” I look off toward the tables that are all set up and reserved for trivia night.

  Richie nudges my arm and winks at me. "He's just sore because I kicked his ass at pool."

  This gets the guys laughing. Good, anything to get them off my back. I glance at my watch again. Twelve minutes before trivia night starts. I tug at the neckline of my shirt, now damp with sweat. Why did I tell Maren to come to this bar tonight for trivia night, knowing that my friends always come here for happy hour? I wasn't thinking.

  Tapping my foot, I don't even pretend to listen to the guys grumble on and on about work, or last night's game. The dampness around my collar gets worse and worse, as the minutes tick by.

  "You guys ready to get out of here yet?" I ask, unable to keep the urgency out of my voice.

  "You sure you're all right? You're looking pretty clammy.” Stan makes a circular gesture toward my face.

  "You're as white as a sheet. Maybe you should sit down," Richie says and pulls out a nearby bar stool.

  I'm dizzy with how hard I’m shaking my head. I glance toward the door knowing I don't have much time left. "I'm good. You guys want to get out of here?"

  "Nah." Stan lifts his full pint glass. "I just brought a fresh one. Why are you in such a hurry?"

  Dammit. I'm so distracted I didn't even notice he bought another beer. "I'm not."

  Out of the corner of my eye, Maren Meyer walks toward me and my friends. My heart lurches in my chest. This was not supposed to happen. They weren’t supposed to meet each other.

  When her eyes land on mine, she gets a movie star-size smile on her face and makes her way toward us. She's wearing black and white checkered leggings, a cropped black sweater, and Converse. I'm impressed at her change in style. She dresses differently than most of the women I date, but I'm pleasantly surprised. Her body is filled out in all the right places, smooth supple hips, perky breasts, and long legs. I bet in just her underwear and a bra, she does look like a Victoria's Secret model.

  When she approaches my friends and me, she looks me up and down and smirks. "Hi."

  "Hey. Guys, this is Maren. My date for tonight."

  I don't look at any of them, but I know they’re staring at me, or more likely, Maren.

  "I think we’re staying for trivia night, too," Bobby says.

  I'd like to punch him in the gut. I don't need them here tonight. But I am looking forward to the prospect of figuring out if Maren's personality has changed as much as her looks have.

  Seven

  Maren

  "Well, guys, we should get our seat. The trivia game is going to start in a couple of minutes." Bennett gives his bros a man shake and then we head toward an open table.

  "What can I get you to drink?" he asks, never taking his eyes off me.

  "I'll have a vodka cranberry, please." I slide onto the bar stool.

  He nods and taps the table. "Okay. I'll be right back."