The Perfect Match. Kristan Higgins
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“You’ve thought about having sex with her?”
“Well, yeah, same as you think about being eaten by a shark or getting your testicles caught in a bear trap,” Connor said. “If you’re a guy and a woman walks past, you look at her, imagine sex, then you either shudder in horror or make a play.”
Honor pursed her lips. “So I got the shudder of horror?”
Connor looked stricken.
“Busted, jerk,” his twin said.
“Um, no. I... You’re not horrifying, Honor. You’re quite...”
“Quite what? That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
Connor appeared to be sweating. “Um, it’s hard to put a finger on it. You’re very, uh, attractive.”
“You’re an idiot, Connor,” Prudence said.
Honor sighed. “Levi? Got anything? I’m your sister-in-law. Help me. As a man, what do you think when you look at me?”
“My wife’s sister.”
“Before you married her, dummy.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “See, there you go. You’re a little...”
“Be careful,” Faith warned. “I’ll have to kill you if you hurt her feelings. Is your life insurance paid up? If I have to be a widow, I want to be rich.”
“No, just be honest, Levi. Go ahead.” Honor folded her arms and waited.
Levi paused. Sighed. “I guess Connor’s right. It probably crossed my mind once or twice.” He glanced at his wife. “But just as a fleeting thought, and way before we hooked up, babe.”
“Because I’m not pretty enough?” Honor guessed. It was to be expected. Faith got the looks.
“You’re pretty enough.”
“Don’t blow smoke.”
“Okay, you’re not pretty. I thought you were, but you must be right.”
Huh. That was kind of nice, and Levi was rather known for being blunt. “Sorry. And thanks. But if I’m pretty, why didn’t you ever want to sleep with me?”
“This is very uncomfortable.”
“Just theoretically.”
“Yes, Levi. Theoretically,” Faith said.
“Better you than me, pal,” Connor muttered.
Levi closed his eyes briefly. “It’s not your looks. You’re a little...unapproachable.”
Honor’s mouth dropped open. “What?” She was not! She was very pleasant! Very approachable. Extremely polite. Like...finishing-school polite. First Lady’s social secretary polite and pleasant. That was basically her life, being nice to people all the livelong day, no matter how much she occasionally wanted to strangle them.
“Exactly,” Connor agreed. “You’re—what do you girls call it? Walled off. Shut down. You have armor.”
“I don’t have armor!” Honor barked. “I don’t! What armor? There’s no armor!” Spike barked in agreement.
“You want to go out for dinner?” Levi asked Faith.
“Maybe you’re just unaware of the vibe you give off,” Colleen said. “The hairbands, for example. Do they scream sex? No.”
“I’m not unapproachable,” Honor said to her brother-in-law.
“Okay, you’re not. I apologize. Faith, save me.”
“I have an idea,” Faith said. “Honor, pretend you’re meeting Connor for the first time. Like you guys are on a first date, you’ve been chatting online, but this is the first time you’ve laid eyes on each other.”
“Great idea,” Honor said. “Sit, Connor.”
Unapproachable. Armor. Please. Spike came over and whined to be picked up. She obliged, kissing the dog on the head. So approachable. Even animals thought so.
“That dog will have to go,” Colleen said. “It’s worse than a cat.”
“How dare you,” Honor murmured, giving Colleen a look. “Come on, Connor. Get in character.”
“Yeah, Conn, get to it,” said Colleen. “We have a bar to run. Who’s opening tonight, anyway?”
“Monica.” Connor sighed and sat obediently across from Honor at the foot of the bed. “Hi, are you Honor? I’m Connor.”
“Oh, Connor and Honor! That rhymes!” Colleen said. “Sorry. Back to you two.”
“Hi, Connor. Nice to meet you.” Totally approachable. She shot Levi an icy glare. He was busy giving Faith a steamy, let’s-get-it-on look.
“You’re even prettier than your picture,” Connor said.
“Thanks.” She smiled brightly.
“Eesh, you look like a wolverine when you smile like that,” Colleen said. “Easy, girl.”
Honor sighed, then tried again, baring only a few teeth this time.
“Now you look feeble. Don’t worry about it, we’ll work on that later. Just keep going.”
Connor was Faith’s age. A nice guy. Good-looking. An excellent bartender. Otherwise, she didn’t know him too well. “So tell me about yourself,” she said.
“Good line,” Faith murmured, swatting at Levi’s hand.
“I’m a bartender who likes the smell of crisp autumn leaves and Johnson’s baby shampoo.”
Honor paused. “That’s kind of creepy.”
“See? You’re gutting me already. I feel emasculated.”
“Well, then, you need to sac up a little, don’t you?”
“And we’re done,” Connor said. “Levi, how about that beer, pal?”
* * *
PRU WENT OFF with the guys, but Faith and Colleen spent another half hour giving her advice on how to talk to men, which was not something Honor would’ve suspected she needed to be taught. With Brogan, she’d just been herself.
Okay, not a great example. Thinking his name still made her brain cringe.
The troops finally left, and Honor got dressed in the outfit Faith had picked out. Jeans (Colleen’s, and they stopped a good four inches below the belly button and felt freakishly uncomfortable), purple suede ankle boots with three-inch heels (Faith’s, obviously), a pale green shirt (Colleen’s), pearls (Mom’s), four silver bracelets (Faith’s) and long, dangling silver earrings (Faith’s again).
Clearly, Honor had no idea how to dress herself. Then again, that was the point. Short hair, better clothes, makeup. She’d be married in no time.
“Droog. This is my husband, Droog.” Okay, it lacked a certain élan.
Spike was sleeping on Honor’s pillow, worn out from emasculating Blue, who wanted very much to love Spike but which Spike wouldn’t allow. Her doggy had been a rescue, so Honor wasn’t sure what her history was with other dogs. Bossy, obviously, which Honor admired.
At any rate, Mrs. J. would take her into her apartment for the night and watch whatever violent TV show she was into this week. The housekeeper loved Spike more than she loved most humans.
She tiptoed down the stairs, terrified of falling in the high-heeled boots and breaking a femur or rupturing her spleen, and went into the kitchen.
“Oh, God!” she blurted. She leaped back into the hallway, pressing her back against the wall. Holy. Fungus. “Sorry, sorry!”
“We