Page 8 of Imperfect Match (Imperfect Match 1)
He’s gorgeous—no denying that—and with my help, he’s learned to dress better. I’ll have to style him for his dates, but that’s not a problem. He’s got a great sense of humor (although he likes to make fun of me too much), so I definitely need to find him a girl who likes to laugh. He works quite a bit, but he’s moving up the ladder at a trendy new marketing and PR firm, so she has to be understanding of his crazy work schedule. She’ll also have to put up with the occasional client dinner—I’ve done a few of these when Reid needed a date on short notice with no expectations—but they aren’t terrible. And it’s kind of fun to watch Reid turn on the charm and go all “ad man” on prospective clients. He really is creative, persuasive, and smart.
As I layer the cooked pasta and meaty sauce into the baking dish, I consider his faults—the things any woman who’s really looking for love is going to notice sooner or later.
First, he doesn’t trust women. It’s because he was burned so badly in the past. His parents are a train wreck, the absolute worst example of a marriage. And then, he thought maybe he could make it with his ex and ended up getting burned, which I get, but he’s really got to put that behind him.
Second, he often doesn’t think before he speaks, and it can get him into a shitload of trouble. Pair that with his healthy Italian temper, and you’ve got a recipe for disaster. Not that he has anger issues, but damn—his emotions run hot and close to the surface, and if you really say something to piss him off, watch out.
His favorite thing in the world to do is eat, so she’s got to be a good cook, or at least willing to learn, because while he will happily make the drinks and do the dishes, he is beyond clueless in the kitchen.
There’s only one thing about him that really baffles me. His love of comics. Not just comic books, though, but the entire world. I don’t understand it. He goes to all those conventions, dresses in full costumes, and ... I can’t even. But he’s never happier than when he puts on some weird getup to go play with lightsabers in a tournament. He also knows it makes me roll my eyes so hard they hurt, which means he drags me to them at every opportunity.
Hence, three days a week I find the sappiest drama-ridden shows I can find and force him to sit and suffer through them.
But I suppose the biggest problem with finding him a match is that he’s really fucking picky when it comes to women. I’ve suggested he take out a couple different friends of mine, but he always finds something wrong with them—either they’re too shy or they won’t shut up or they’re just not his type. I’ll have to dig deep tonight and figure out what that type really is.
I stick the ziti in the oven and set the timer for fifty-five minutes. After that, I straighten up my living room, water my plants, and throw in a load of laundry. I’m in the kitchen putting together a salad when Reid knocks three times and opens the door without my answering it.
“I brought you a present,” he says, joining me in the kitchen. He sets a brown paper bag on the counter and pulls out a bottle of Tito’s and a jar of fancy olives.
“Thanks!” I give him a big grin and pat his bicep. “But you still have to watch my show.”
He groans. “If it didn’t smell so good in here, I’d leave.” Going over to the oven, he opens it and peeks in. “Mother of God, that looks amazing.”
“When we find your future
wife, I’ll give her the recipe.”
“Looks like you’re going to be cooking for me the rest of our lives.”
“Oh, ye of little faith.” I’m going to find him a wife, if it’s the last damn thing I do. He thought he was so funny today, but I’ll get the last laugh. I get in his face and point a finger at him. “I bet you’ll be married within a year.”
“You’re really cute when you’re determined.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, my friend.”
He laughs, grabs the jar of Tito’s and my cocktail shaker. “You know, you were my favorite person in the world before today, when you sided with your mother on getting my wagon hitched.”
“I’ll be your favorite again when you’re eating the ziti,” I toss back.
“This is true.”
He’s so predictable. This is another thing I’ll have to watch for. Reid is smart and he likes women who can keep up with his wit and sarcasm. Not only will she need to be pretty, but she has to challenge him.
I don’t want to show it, but the task is starting to feel a bit daunting. Reid can be a pain in the ass, and finding someone to love him and put up with his shit is part one, but then finding someone he will put up with might prove impossible.
My mother is really evil for suggesting the idea.
“Do you want it dirty or straight up?” Reid asks.
“Dirty, please.”
A few minutes later, he hands me a drink that’s the perfect mix of vodka, dry vermouth, and olive juice, with four olives instead of the customary two, and I smile. “You’re the best.”
“I know.”
“And so humble.”
“I call it honest.” Reid’s smirk makes me want to slap him.
