Perfect Match (8 page)

“When he broke up with me,” Camille was saying, her hand over her heart, “it was like a piece of me died. I've been walking around in a daze every since. Like I'm not even awake. Do you know what I mean?”

Saxton was nodding, but I could tell it was less of a sympathetic nod and more of a how-quick-can-I-bail-on-this-convo kind of nod. He looked at the screen and sprang to his feet.

“It's my turn,” he said briskly. “I'll, uh, I'll be right back.”

Camille didn't really seem to notice Saxton leaving or me plopping down in his seat. I put my arm around her.

“You know what the most fun thing about bowling is?” I said.

Usually Camille would have jumped to reply, “Obviously, watching everyone's butts.” But today, she missed her cue.

So I had to use my fingers to rotate her head toward Saxton. He was bending over to bowl in some very fitted Diesel jeans.

“Now,” I prompted, “isn't
that
more fun to look at than the ball-return machine? Don't you think he's hot?”

Just then, Alex appeared, holding a plate of jalapeño poppers with a stiff look on his face. He sort of half held out the plate to us, then turned and offered some to Amory and Phil first. That was weird.

Uh-oh—he hadn't heard me talking to Camille, had he? He couldn't really think I meant
I
was into Saxton.

It was time for my last frame and I nodded at Alex to join me. He didn't wrap his arms around me this time; he just told me which direction to aim for.

“Is everything okay?” I asked, while both of us faced the pins.

“Of course,” he said. “Why wouldn't it be?” His voice sounded normal, but I wasn't convinced. I didn't
want to make a big deal out of it; I could definitely just have been being paranoid.

After the game, when everyone grabbed their stuff and took the elevator back down to the street, he gave me a good long kiss.

“Saxton and I both live uptown,” he said. I couldn't help wondering whether he was trying to gauge my reaction at the mention of his friend. “You'll be okay to get home if I share a cab with him?”

“Sure, yeah,” I said. “Study date tomorrow?”

“Cool,” he said. “See you then.”

Camille, Amory, and Phil all shared a cab down the east side, but since I was going west, I decided to walk. I sort of wanted to clear my mind about how the night had gone. At least the Phil and Amory thing had felt like a success. And when Alex and I were bowling at the beginning together, I'd been having tons of fun. I just hoped I hadn't screwed anything up by trying to get Camille to focus on Saxton.

My cell phone buzzed and I pulled it out, hoping to see Alex's face on the screen, but it was a text from Morgan.

I'd forgotten all about her pseudo-date with Rob. I hurriedly read her message:

BE HONEST: WAS THAT WHOLE “RUN-IN” A PREMEDITATED
SETUP? HE'S NICE AND ALL, BUT I DON'T NEED YOUR PITY, FLAN. IT'S EMBARRASSING.

What? That was my least tactical fix-up ever! How had she gotten that idea? But knowing Morgan, this hiccup would seriously hinder any future attempts I might make at fixing her up by Valentine's Day. I guessed I was just going to have to find the
perfect
guy to make it up to her. But if not Rob, then who?

On Wednesday, I showed up to my study date with Alex lugging two big tote bags full of books. I had tests in three of my classes over the next week, but lately the only work I'd been doing was Cupid's.

We'd agreed to meet at Westville café in my neighborhood, a tiny hole-in-the-wall that sold local art off its walls and had a never-ending stream of West Villagers rushing through its velvet-curtained entrance. The place was famous for the number of gourmet hot dog options on the menu, which was surpassed only by the number of body piercings sported by the waiters. I liked it because of the seasonal veggie plates, massive pots of tea, and out-of-this world carrot cake.

I grabbed a table by the window and was in the midst of talking myself into skipping the meal and moving straight to dessert, when the door chimes
jangled, the velvet curtain parted, and my Prince of New York stepped into the bustling restaurant.

I once overheard my mom tell my aunt that every time my dad walked into the room, even after all these years, she still felt a little bit of a rush. I'd been about ten at the time, and remembered making a theatrical gagging motion while sprinkling crushed red pepper flakes on my microwave popcorn. But now, watching Alex scan the tiny restaurant for my face—then light up when he spotted me—I totally understood where my mom had been coming from. Something about the sensation made me feel really lucky to be exactly where I was.

“That's quite a load of books,” Alex said, taking off his peacoat and black Agnès B. scarf and sliding into the seat across from me.

“Maybe it only seems like a lot because you didn't bring
any
.” I laughed. “Don't you ever have homework?”

Alex shrugged. “You say ‘study date,' I hear ‘alone time.' ” He leaned over the table to kiss me. “It is sort of hard to reserve you sans entourage sometimes.”

“Hey,” I teased, sliding down so Alex could hang his coat on the hook next to mine. “It takes an entourage-haver to know one.”

“Touché.” Alex laughed.

I was eagerly awaiting an appropriate moment to pump him for details on Phil. Amory had practically bombarded me after French this morning for information about Phil's status, relationship history, mother's maiden name, blood type, etc.

The waiter arrived, tongue ring flashing, and delivered Alex's medium-rare cheeseburger, no onions, and my large, gorgeous three-tiered slice of carrot cake. In fact, it looked so amazing that I took out my well-worn camera to snap a few pictures for the food assignment in my photography class.

Alex raised an eyebrow at me. “I know you like cake, but what are you now—the dessert paparazzi?”

“It's for a class,” I told him. “And don't make fun of my crappy camera. It's practically vintage. Here, take a look.” I pulled out the portfolio of Balthazar shots I'd developed in the darkroom at school earlier. Spread out on the empty table next to us, all the black-and-white photographs of shiny croissants, dramatic layered napoleons, and crusty brioches did look pretty striking.

Alex examined the pictures and then me. “You took all these yesterday? And developed them today? I'm impressed.”

“Thanks,” I said, glad that he thought they looked okay. “Morgan and I went to Balthazar after school
yesterday. I didn't know the pics were going to turn out so well. I've never worked in a darkroom before.”

I realized I was blushing. Even though I was really into the class, I felt sort of funny talking about it to Alex so seriously. So instead of getting all technical, I found myself blabbing about my
other
recent hobby.

“I left the restaurant with a roll of pictures,” I said lightly. “Morgan left with a date. Well, it was sort of an impromptu date. And it didn't even turn out that well. She actually got sort of mad at me because—”

I looked up and could tell that I'd lost Alex somewhere along the way. He was giving me that smile that meant he was just this side of utterly confused.

“Hey,” I said, changing the subject, uh, slightly. “Have you talked to Phil since last night?”

“Phil?” Alex squirted Tabasco sauce on his burger and looked even more confused. “I figured you'd be more interested in knowing about Saxton—”

“Nah,” I accidentally interrupted him. “I figure that's a lost cause.”

Alex didn't respond. He seemed to be taking a really long time to chew.

“Oh my God,” I said, clapping my hand to my forehead. “I meant it seemed like a lost cause
for Camille
. And I was asking about Phil because Amory
was into him. You didn't think I was—did you think I was …” I trailed off.

“Interested in them?” Alex said, putting the remains of his burger down to wipe his hands. “I don't know.”

“Alex,” I said, putting my hand over his. “Not even close. You have no reason to be jealous. This whole thing started because—”

“What whole thing?” he said.

I realized then that I hadn't really voiced my master plan to anyone since SBB concocted it on the fly behind the cafeteria vending machines. I took a deep breath.

“Well … I'm sort of on a mission to hook all of my friends up with dates before Valentine's Day.” There, I'd said it. It didn't sound
that
crazy.

“That sounds crazy,” Alex said, shaking his head. “I mean, your friends are great, but come on—some of them are pretty picky when it comes to guys.”

“I thought being picky was a good thing,” I said coyly. “That's how you ended up with me.”

“Fair enough.” Alex winked at me. “But why is it your job to find everyone a date?”

There was a time when I would have been too embarrassed to admit the girly truth to my boyfriend. There was a time when I might have come up with a
really far-fetched story to explain it away. But tonight when I looked at Alex, I knew he'd appreciate total honesty the most.

“The thing is,” I stammered, “after Xander and Camille broke up, my friends rallied behind her and … I know it sounds dumb … but they wanted us all to swear off guys for Valentine's Day.”

“But you're not going to do that,” he snorted, then paused. “Right?”

“Of course not,” I said, forcing myself to look him in the eye, even though I was nervous. “I've been really looking forward to spending Valentine's Day with you. I just thought that if my other friends had guys that made them feel … you know … like you make me feel, they'd get over the whole boy boycott and then we could all just have an awesome time together at the dance.”

“So that's why you brought the girls last night,” he said, processing my insanity.

I nodded. “And that's the
only
reason I was asking about Phil and Saxton … and uh, checking out Saxton's butt.”

Alex wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Well,
that
is a relief. I was wondering if I needed to be doing squats or something,” he joked.

“So even if you don't manage to find dates for the
entire student body before next week, can we still spend Valentine's Day together?” Alex asked as I doggie-bagged the rest of my carrot cake to bring home to Noodles.

We shook on it. As he helped me into my coat, I realized that yet another study date had passed without either of us cracking a book. At least I'd come clean to Alex about the reason for my interest in his friends. And I
had
snapped that shot of the carrot cake for my photography class.

Outside, the night street was cold and quiet and we walked to the end of the block listening to our feet clack in unison on the pavement. The windows of the West Village storefronts were mostly dark, but you could still see signs of Valentine's Day in the displays.

Alex put his arm around me. “I guess the good-boyfriend thing to do would be to offer some help on the matchmaking front.”

“Think of the perks!” I said happily. “If all our friends are hooked up, we'll have so much more time to hang out with each other.”

“So you want me to talk to Phil about Amory?” he asked. “And I wouldn't necessarily consider Saxton and Camille a lost cause. I don't think her pout stopped him from thinking she was pretty cute.”

As we turned the corner onto Perry Street, I faced Alex and put my arms around his neck. At that moment, we might have looked to anyone else like one of a million clichéd pairs caught up in pre-Valentine's bliss, but when Alex leaned in to kiss me, I felt like we were the only couple in the world.

In the halls the next morning, I could tell that Morgan was keeping her distance from me. Even though I'd apologized via a really funny e-card yesterday, we were giving each other some space. I was still getting used to Morgan's somewhat fiery temper, and knew that usually her little flare-ups lasted only about as long as a coat of mascara.

But two days after our tiff over Rob, her air-kiss didn't have its usual warmth, and she still hadn't shown me how her latest batch of photos turned out.

By lunchtime, I was anxious to set things right. When all my friends were seated at our table, I marched into the cafeteria with a peace offering of chocolate-covered strawberries, a bottle of her favorite Teavana iced tea, and a plan.

Just before I sat down, Kennedy walked by, glanced at the tray of chocolate-covered strawberries in my
hand, and snickered. “At that rate, someone's not going to fit into her Valentine's Dress.”

“Oh, I get it,” I said evenly, relishing the fact that after so many years, I was finally able to snap back at Kennedy without breaking a sweat. “I guess the concept of sharing would be foreign to me too, if I had as few friends as you do.”

“Slamming comeback,” Amory whispered when I sat down at the table. She popped a strawberry into her mouth. “You're getting good at the Thoney social wars.”

“I've definitely had enough practice,” I responded, passing around the tray. “Who wants?”

“Thanks, Flan,” Harper said, helping herself. “What's all this?”

“I have a confession to make,” I said, meeting Morgan's eyes. She looked like she was s-l-o-w-l-y thawing out.

“What's up?” Camille asked, looking up from the notebook she'd been doodling in. Hey, that was classic Camille—I was glad to see even the smallest shift away from the droopy-eyed, catatonic woman of the past few days.

Here went nothing. For courage, I channeled last night's memory of getting Alex on board with my matchmaking effort—and the very amazing kiss that had come afterward. I took a deep breath.