Wingman rule number one: don’t fall for a client.
After a career-ending accident, former NFL recruit Ian Hunter is back on campus—and he’s ready to get his new game on. As one of the masterminds behind Wingmen, Inc., a successful and secretive word-of-mouth dating service, he’s putting his extensive skills with women to work for the lovelorn. But when Blake Olson requests the services of Wingmen, Inc., Ian may have landed his most hopeless client yet.
From her frumpy athletic gear to her unfortunate choice of footwear, Blake is going to need a miracle if she wants to land her crush. At least with a professional matchmaker by her side she has a fighting chance. Ian knows that his advice and a makeover can turn Blake into another successful match. But as Blake begins the transformation from hot mess to smokin’ hot, Ian realizes he’s in danger of breaking his cardinal rule…
Meet
Ian
Ian Hunter, ex NFL
football player, with a huge heart and a giant, large, mega watt, smile ;) He's
always been a player off the field and on, so why not use his talents to better
the world? It only makes sense, if one can't play, why not teach? So thats what
Ian does, he teaches women how to get the man.
How to walk.
Talk.
Dress.
Eat.
And yes, even
text.
Some may call him a
genius, but really, he's just a regular guy, he puts his pants on one leg at a
time just like you do, only his pants are designer, and his ego? Well, lets
just say it matches the size of something else.
Just know, that if you
need a wingman? He's your guy.
Excerpt
“You’re
really . . . hot.”
“I
know,” I said in a bored tone. “But remember, you’re my client. I’m helping you
so you can help yourself.”
Shell
frowned. “So you don’t ever date your clients?”
No,
because all of my clients were in love with someone else, and I didn’t have
time to play the hero. I almost always created a catastrophe that their crush
had to save them from, solidifying that relationship and breaking them away
from whatever hero worship they had of me. It made sense, if you really thought
about it. The women I dealt with were so starved for male attention that they
had a hard time telling the difference between my acting and actual feelings.
It’s why I always made my rules very clear.
“Never,”
I said, keeping my voice crisp. “Shell, sweetheart. I’m going to e-mail you the
schedule for the next week. Let me know if you have any issues, but no phone
calls, do you understand?”
She
nodded slowly.
“Only
texts and e-mails. We don’t talk on the phone. And if you see me around campus,
you don’t know me. Outside of our business arrangement, we’re strangers. And if
anyone asks about Wingmen Inc. . . .”
She sighed. “I know, I know. Give them the red
card with the Superman logo on the front and the giant W on the back.”
I winked. Our cards were genius. They just
looked like stupid Superman cards, when, really, the message was on the back.
The message was always in the details people rarely paid attention to. “Great.”
Standing, I held out my hand. “Seven days is all I need.”
She glanced over at the barista, who was still
blatantly shooting daggers in our direction. “I hope you’re right.”
With an eye roll, I pulled her in for a quick
kiss on the lips and whispered, “I’m never wrong.”
“You smell spicy.”
Aw, how cute, a compliment. Maybe I’ll only
need six days. After all, one of the days was completely dedicated to learning
how to stroke a man’s ego. Look how fast my little grasshopper was learning!
“Thanks.” I placed my hand on the small of her
back and guided her out of the coffee shop.
“Bye, Ian.” She walked toward a red Honda and
hopped in. Damn, I’d had her pegged as a green Jetta type of girl. Well, can’t
win ’em all.
The minute I jumped into my Range Rover, my
phone rang.
“How was she?” Lex yawned on the other end of
the phone. I imagined he was probably shit-deep in e-mails, since it was two
weeks after New Year’s, meaning everyone with a pulse had just created New
Year’s resolutions to change their lives. “Because your waiting list is hella
long, and if she’s not a good fit, I have another girl that offered to pay me
in sexual favors to move her to the top.”
“Cross her off,” I barked. “If she knows how
to give favors, she knows how to get her own damn man.”
“Noted.” Lex chuckled darkly.
I made a mental note to make sure he actually
checked her off the list rather than making fake promises just so he could get
his rocks off.
“Oh,” Lex said, “and Gabi says if you don’t
make it tonight for dinner, she’s going to glue your hand to your penis. Though
she was much more graphic.”
“Always is.” I grinned. “Text her and let her
know I’m on my way.”
“Done.” He hung up.
I didn’t pick this life. It’s not like I woke
up one morning and went, Wow, wouldn’t it be so badass
to help dowdy women get the guy? And before you stomp off in a
huff, look at the facts. Almost 60 percent of women marry down, meaning most
women go for a man with the dad bod. The guy who is more than likely going to
make less than them; never work out; eat hot dogs for breakfast, lunch, and
dinner; and, let’s face it, need Viagra by age forty.
All it takes is a simple Internet search to
get the facts.
Women are, by nature, insecure creatures, and
if by the tender age of thirty-five they haven’t settled down, they’ll most
likely marry the guy with the unfortunate bald spot and a heart of gold.
And there is absolutely nothing wrong with
that.
It’s kind of like when you go to the pound and
pick the dog with the lazy eye because you feel sorry for it and you know
without a doubt that bastard will never stray.
So what’s the difference between settling and
settling?
The first type of settling is cute. The dog
with the lazy eye, or in this case, the man, really is what’s best for the
girl. A match made in heaven. They’re the couples you see holding hands while you
wonder if the girl’s legally blind. It’s the hot tall mom and the short dad.
The sorority girl and the guy with the beer gut. The cheerleader and the
science nerd.
For some reason, the universe accepts this. I
accept this.
Granted, that’s rarer.
But getting more and more common.
It’s when a girl never reaches her own potential, thus, settling
for less than what she’s worth. It’s the quiet girl who was never taught how to
wear makeup. The chubby girl who eats her feelings but has a hilarious
personality, who should by all means be paired with the quarterback.
It’s the matches who never find one another.
over to the swear jar and tossed in a dollar bill.
Lindsey's Review (ARC provided)
Five stars!
I was completely intrigued by
this book. I love Rachel's books and couldn't wait to get my hands on
this one. This story hooks you early, keeps you interested and leaves
you wishing the story never had to end.
Ian
is a complicated soul. As the book starts, I really didn't like him.
He was your typical male who believes he is God's gift to women. To be
honest, I found him so annoying that I couldn't stop reading!
Blake,
on the other hand, was a character I instantly loved. She is sweet and
sassy and someone I would totally be best friends with. When Blake
decides to unknowingly enlist Ian for help, both their worlds are turned upside down.
I found this to be an addictive book I couldn't put down. While parts were a bit predictable, it didn't make me love the book any less. It was easy to relate to these main and soon-to-be main characters.
The book has a wonderful flow, and despite some predictability, key moments in the story were not what I was expecting. I found this book to be vastly enjoyable despite the lack of mob mentality ;). All in all, a wonderful, funny read full of hope and 90's references that I adored!!
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The Matchmaker's Playbook by Rachel Van Dyken from Becca the Bibliophile on Vimeo.
Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author of regency and contemporary romances. When she's not writing you can find her drinking coffee at Starbucks and plotting her next book while watching The Bachelor.
She keeps her home in Idaho with her Husband, adorable son, and two snoring boxers! She loves to hear from readers!
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