The Matchmaker's Replacement [Kindle in Motion] (Wingmen Inc. Book 2) by Rachel van Dyken

. . .” Gabs drew out my name, jerking away from my touch and grabbing my half-empty drink and chugging the rest of it down.
    I pried the cup from her hands and set it back on the table. “Relax, he’s a computer science major. The most important woman in his life is probably still his mom, okay?” My voice was shaking. Damn it! This was why I didn’t reflect on the past; it did nothing for me.
    Gabs blinked dumbly. “Lex, you do realize that’s your major, right?”
    “So?”
    Her eyes widened. “Is this you fishing for compliments?”
    “When have I ever had to fish for anything? Compliments? Women? Fish?”
    “Right, I get it.” She stared longingly at my cup, and with a smirk I waved down the waiter and ordered drinks for both of us.
    “Moscow Mules change lives.” I nodded seriously. “Now you know my secret.”
    She snorted. “I highly doubt knowing something that impersonal about you is going to gain me entry into your Batcave, where you share your plans of world domination over a pillow fight.”
    Our drinks arrived.
    “First”—I slid her drink away—“never confuse a villain with a hero, it’s insulting.” She reached for the drink, but I held it back. “Second, I refuse to acknowledge Batman as a superhero. So what? He’s scared of bats, tough shit! Villains are scared of nothing.”
    “Joker’s scared of Batman.”
    “The Joker has a permanent smile on his face, he laughs in the face of bats. Batman cowers and then cries and then tries to conquer his fear. Mad props for going after what you’re afraid of, but put him up against Magneto, Dark Phoenix, Dr. Doom!” I slammed my hand against the table, while Gabs gave me a blank stare. “What?”
    “Sometimes I forget how nerdy you are.”
    “Physical perfection has a way of doing that.” I winked.
    “Can I have my drink now?”
    “Am I still Batman?”
    “No.” She slinked her hand around mine and gave her cup a little tug. “You’re back to being the creepy, bald Lex Luthor.”
    “Hair or no hair, I’d still get laid. Also, now that we’ve reached a shaky peace agreement of sorts, I’m totally down for penciling in that pillow fight.”
    She pinched my forearm.
    “Ouch!” I released her drink.
    “Can I stuff my pillow with razors?”
    “Girl wants me to bleed before sex?” I nodded. “Only if I’m allowed to keep my world domination plans to myself, you understand, just in case you injure me, drug me, steal the nuke codes, then sell them to Superman.”
    “Ian wouldn’t know the first thing to do with those codes, and you know it.” She lifted her drink into the air and winked.
    I burst out laughing and clinked my drink against hers. “That’s my girl.”
    Her smile fell.
    Shit.
    “So.” Back to being nervous and shut down, Gabs tucked her hair behind her ears. “Where’s the nerd?”
    “Open your eyes.” I cleared my throat. “He’s been sitting at the bar for the past twenty minutes, staring into his chocolate milk, filling it with his tears . . .”
    Gabs rolled her eyes.
    “Fine.” I reached into my briefcase and pulled out his folder. “As you know, each client takes my infamous matchmaker test to see if they’re compatible with their object of desire. We match them based on personality, background, majors, likes, dislikes—you get the picture. It’s like a really intense Myers-Briggs personality test—on crack. Once a client fills it out, I um”—I coughed—“research the other candidate, and then determine if a match is to be made. We like to see compatibility numbers over sixty percent.” I turned the page. “The next section discusses his background, hobbies, interests, where he spends his time.”
    “And this?” Gabs pointed to the section labeled Sex .
    “Sexual experience.”
    “Oh.” She frowned. “It’s blank?” She glanced up. “Run out of ink?”
    “Yes.” I nodded at the sad individual sitting at the bar. “Steve’s sexual experience was so vast, so