Matchmaking in progress, p.1
Matchmaking in Progress, page 1
Matchmaking in Progress
Three Player Tag-Team Book 3
Allyson Lindt
Acelette Press
This book is a work of fiction.
While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2022 by Allyson Lindt
Cover Art by Romancepremades.com
All Rights Reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
Manufactured in the United States of America
Contents
1. Sonya
2. Quentin
3. Jeremy
4. Sonya
5. Quentin
6. Jeremy
7. Sonya
8. Jeremy
9. Quentin
10. Sonya
11. Jeremy
12. Quentin
13. Sonya
14. Quentin
15. Jeremy
16. Sonya
17. Quentin
18. Jeremy
19. Sonya
20. Quentin
21. Sonya
22. Jeremy
23. Quentin
24. Sonya
25. Jeremy
26. Quentin
27. Sonya
28. Jeremy
Epilogue
For everyone who dares to create
1
Sonya
“Lady and gentleman, welcome to beautiful Walnut Creek, California,” Jeremy boomed in his best announcer-voice, as he navigated the streets. “Fun fact—the city got its name from the trees. When gold rush settlers arrived in July 1957, they needed a way to stay warm during the brutal blizzards, and when they cut firewood, the walnut trees made a unique creaking sound when they fell.”
I didn’t try to hide my laugh at his ridiculous story. “It’s creek with two e’s, not an e-a.”
He met my gaze in the rearview mirror. “Why is everyone always hating on EA?”
“You have to ask?”
“I think there are a few more flaws with his story than a spelling error,” my roommate, Quentin said from the passenger seat. “Gold rush in 1957? What?”
Jeremy let out a loud sigh and turned down a side road. “There are haters in every group.”
“We’re not hating.” Quentin used air quotes. “But if you’re going to dump the revisionist history on us, at least warn us first. And really, does your boss know what a horrendous speller you are?”
That was me. His boss. Though Jeremy had seniority in the gaming industry, and most days, there was more teamwork involved than my bossing him around. Since we were the only two writers for the MMORPG we worked on, there wasn’t any room for people who didn’t put in the hours.
“I do know, and I’m grateful for spell check,” I said. “Though, not so much for autocorrect. There was so much ducking in his last game script that the art department was arguing over which one of them had to create waterfowl to introduce into the world.”
Jeremy rolled his eyes. “Yup. Total haters.”
“You’re sure you don’t mean heaters?” Quentin teased.
“Bite me, leatherneck.”
Quentin blew him a kiss. “Ooh rah.” He hadn’t been enlisted for nearly fifteen years, but once a Marine, always a Marine.
Now that was an interesting thought—Quentin and Jeremy together. I liked that fantasy. “Can I watch?” My love of slashfic—male-slash-male fanfiction—was no secret. It was how I’d gotten my start in the gaming industry. The company that picked me up was looking for a writer who wrote specifically that, to work on one of their top titles, and I’d successfully guessed the future of their game in one of my fanfics.
But the chemistry between Jeremy and Quentin had been heating up since we left on this road trip, leading to daydreams of the two of them fucking that were better than anything I concocted about fictional characters.
My phone rang, and I checked the screen. “It’s Megan.” I swiped Answer. “Hey you.”
“Hi Megan,” Jeremy and Quentin called.
She laughed. “Tell them I said hi. How far are you from the hotel?”
We’d discovered this convention in California, and since all of us were single and anti-relationship, we decided a road trip over Valentine’s Day weekend—to geek out and not think about love—sounded like a great time. Megan was supposed to come with us, but she’d gotten sick at the last minute.
“Not far. Why?” I asked. It was sweet that she was checking in—she was my best friend and Jeremy’s sister, so of course she was concerned—but a phone call wasn’t like her.
“So…” She made a series of soft clucking noises. “Some Bookbocker picked up your newest release and said a lot of amazing things about it, and it’s blowing up. You’ve gone viral.”
“What?” My brain stalled on the news. I’d been writing fantasy under a penname for years, but it had never made much of a splash. I did it for the love, not the money. “When? We haven’t even been on the road for half a day.”
“That’s all it took.”
“What’s up?” Quentin asked.
I held up a finger. “You’re yanking my chain, right?” I said to Megan. “This didn’t… No.”
“Seriously. I’m sending you the video link and letting you check in and get settled. This is amazing news. Make the guys take you to celebrate.”
“Um, okay. Talk soon.” I still couldn’t believe her. My books didn’t go viral. I had a small but loyal following, who funded the venture with their enthusiasm, but it was my day job that paid the bills.
Jeremy pulled into the hotel parking lot and trawled for a spot, while I opened up the video Megan sent.
“What’d she say?” he asked.
I relayed her message.
Jeremy parked. “That’s awesome. Show us.” His enthusiasm combined with what lingered from Megan’s call and pushed aside more of my doubt.
I leaned forward between the seats of his SUV, held out my phone so all three of us could see, and hit Play.
The clip was all text over my book cover. Snippets of the book, interspersed with comments on how hot the different teasers were.
It only lasted about thirty seconds, and when it was finished, Quentin let out a loud whoop. “That’s fantastic.”
“Dustin would kill for those kinds of views and likes.” Jeremy pointed at the numbers.
That was when the grin hit, popping onto my face so hard and fast, my cheeks hurt. “It’s real. People love my book. Holy shit.”
“Because you’re brilliant,” Jeremy shut off the engine. ‘Of course they do.”
“He’s right; you are. Let’s check in so we can go celebrate.” Quentin grabbed my phone and slipped it in his pocket in a single, flawless move.
I stared at him in disbelief. “What are you doing? Give it back.”
“Nope. Because you won’t put it down all night if I do. You’ll spend the next several hours locked in a doomscroll, reading everything you can find and refreshing when you can’t find anything, and then checking your sales numbers for that little hit of dopamine.”
Busted. It was the same reason he’d made me promise not to check anything but calls and texts while we were on the road. “Just one look. My book went viral.”
“And it will keep going, even if you don’t look for a few hours. Come on.” Quentin climbed from the SUV, opened my door, and tugged me to stand on the asphalt.
He was right.
I wanted to look anyway. I lunged for his pocket as he turned away.
“Nope.” Jeremy came from nowhere and grabbed my wrist. “He’s right.”
Quentin snagged my other wrist and stepped in, pressing me back until I was sandwiched between him and Jeremy. “If you want to stick your hand down someone’s pants, there’s a volunteer behind you.”
Jeremy tightened his grip, sending a pulse of want through me. There were days—not many, but it happened—when I let myself entertain the notion of being with either Jeremy or Quentin. When I imagined myself taking the place of one of them in one of my more vivid fantasies.
But guys like this—gorgeous, self-assured, and smart—didn’t go for women who were frumpy and spent too much time with their heads in the clouds. Women like me. It was an old insecurity, and probably at least part of the reason I was still single at forty, with no prospects on the horizon, but this was who I was.
I let out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. I’ll behave for now. But you have to distract me with an amazing celebration.”
“Of course.” Jeremy let go of my hand and tugged the long braid that ran down my back. “Anything for my favorite girl, and this deserves an awesome night.”
We grabbed our bags from the back of the truck. There wasn’t a lot, since we were only here for two nights, but Quentin insisted on carrying mine as well as his.
The lobby was crowded with an eclectic blend of people in costumes alongside people dressed more conservatively—like us.
Excitement thrummed inside. I loved conventions, and I was riding the euphoria of the viral news on top of that. It was going to be hard to sit still tonight.
&nbs
“Sonya Russel. I have a reservation,” I said.
She typed. Frowned. Typed some more. “Can you spell that for me?”
I spelled out my name a letter at a time, and she typed as I talked.
“I’m sorry—you said Russel?”
“And Sonya with a Y, yes.” Concern crept inside.
Her frown deepened. “Would it be under another name?”
“Maybe.” It shouldn’t be, but there had to be some reason she couldn’t find me. “My friend Megan Hammond made the original reservation, but she called yesterday to switch it over to my name.”
More typing. “No, she called and canceled yesterday.”
“No, she didn’t. I was sitting there when she made the call.”
Quentin’s arm brushed mine when he stepped up next to me. “Is there a problem?”
“Someone canceled Megan’s reservation instead of switching it to me.” I tried to suppress my frustration. This wasn’t the desk clerk’s fault, but it was irritating.
“So give her a different room.” Maybe Quentin’s imposing presence would get me further than my meek one.
The desk clerk shook her head. “There are no more rooms. I’m sorry.”
“Is mine in the system?” Jeremy joined us as well, and gave her his first and last name. He and Quentin were sharing a room, which would be amazing fantasy fodder if I weren’t torn between stress and euphoria.
“Yes,” the clerk said.
“Good. Sonya can stay with us.” Jeremy looked at Quentin, who shrugged in agreement.
Whew.
Wait.
The gears turned in my head, and any disappointment at my reservation being gone vanished. I gasped at the next thought that entered my head.
Jeremy winced, but he was smiling. “Do you have to say it?”
“I have to say it.”
“Excuse me—say what?” the desk clerk asked.
Quentin snorted.
“But there was only one bed.” One of my favorite romance tropes ever. Sure, this wasn’t a romance novel, but I liked when real life matched books even a little.
Both men laughed. They knew me so well.
“There are two beds. It’s a double.” The desk clerk looked between the three of us, confusion on her face. “And I can send up a roll-away bed as well.”
And there was reality, going and being all real again.
“Thank you.” I kept my smile pleasant.
Quentin nudged me, as we walked toward the elevators. “Just because she doesn’t get it doesn’t mean we don’t. Hands-up if you’re secretly harboring a crush for at least one of the other people you have to share a room with tonight.”
Jeremy’s hand shot into the air. “What? I thought this was how the game was played.”
“I always knew you cared.” Quentin managed to wrap an arm around Jeremy’s waist without displacing the bags he carried. He pressed Jeremy to the wall. “Why didn’t you say something?”
Jeremy wasn’t fazed. “Honestly? Men who are good with their hands intimidate me.”
“Interesting insecurity.” Quentin let him go.
Jeremy led the way to a waiting lift. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” Quentin’s voice shifted to low and seductive.
The two of them dissolved into laughter, as we rode the car up to our floor, but my imagination was whirring again. If I weren’t here, would they have hooked up tonight? Goddess, I’d like to watch that.
2
Quentin
We set our bags in our room. It wasn’t like sharing a space with Sonya was a new thing, though her place was much bigger than this hotel room. While she didn’t tend to wander around the house naked, I always enjoyed catching a glimpse of her in nothing but an oversized T-shirt and panties. Her brown hair falling down her back, the perfect length for pulling. Her long legs on display…
She called me her roommate, which was sweet on her part. I was a renter, and she didn’t charge me nearly as much as she could.
“Celebration.” Jeremy clapped. “Sonya’s choice, my treat.”
The idea was a good one, but every bit of me wanted to say our treat. Two years ago, my husband walked out on me after draining our personal bank account as well as the one that belonged to our contractor business. I’d been left with customers who wanted their work done or their money back, a ruined professional reputation, and bankruptcy. Any money I made from the few jobs I managed to get went to paying someone back for my ex’s fucking me over.
Sonya furrowed her brow. “Of course you’d make me pick.”
“You’re the one who went viral,” I said.
“I know.” And now her grin was back. “Isn’t it weird? Okay. Um… Oh. We’re near the coast. That means fresh seafood.”
“I’ll find us a place if you two want to freshen up before we go.” At least I could look for restaurants.
We all got ready, and a short while later arrived at our destination, to find a line out the door. Any place would be busy, and since we were here, it made sense to stay.
Half an hour later, when we’d barely made it inside and hadn’t even given the host our names yet to secure a table, staying no longer seemed like the best idea.
“We can go someplace else. I don’t want to waste everyone’s evening.” Sonya sounded bummed.
I wasn’t having it. “This is your night, and this is what you’re in the mood for. Of course we’re not going someplace else.”
“If she doesn’t want to stay, give the bitch what she wants and get the fuck out of our way.” The voice came from behind me.
Fury raced inside me. I’d spent a long time learning to control my temper when I was younger, but times like these, I let my grip slip just a little. I whirled on the man and squared my shoulders. I wasn’t small, but neither was he.
He sneered. “Ah. So she’s your bitch.”
The trick was for me to stay cool and collected, but not to let him know that. This kind of asshole needed to know they couldn’t just go around saying what they wanted. I pressed my forearm to his throat and pinned him to the wall before he could blink. It was easy to use my weight to lock him in place and apply pressure to his windpipe. “Whose bitch are you?”
“Fuck you,” he spat.
“I hope they’re more eloquent than you are.” I stayed cool and removed and pressed in harder.
Another man, thinner and taller, stepped up next to us. “Let’s go, man. This isn’t worth it.”
Bitchman growled and stared me down.
I returned his look with an icy glare.
“Yeah, let’s go.” Bitchman’s implied surrender was enough to make me loosen my grip, but I didn’t relax until he climbed into his car. A guy never knew when someone would try to take a sucker-punch swing.
With the irritation gone, I forced calm to return, and the rest of the world swam back into view. Everyone was staring, including Jeremy. But Sonya was looking at her feet.
Which she would’ve been doing anyway if the guy had kept up his verbal assault. No one had gotten hurt, and I wouldn’t have thrown a punch unless he did. This way, he’d think twice before harassing the next group.
A former Marine buddy had introduced me to Sonya—they used to work together—and the first time I met her, I was enthralled. I was also just coming out of my failed marriage and needing a place to stay, so renting a room from her made more sense than hooking up with her.
Now that I knew her, I was glad I’d made that choice. She deserved more than a one-night stand, and at forty-one, I was too old and jaded to get into any sort of dating game.
But I would protect her for all I was worth, even from simple things like restaurant bullies.
