Page 4 of The Lottery

I roll my eyes. “I didn’t mean it literally.”

He frowns, the gesture deepening the dimple I can’t stop staring at. “Yes, well... that was unfortunate timing.”

I snort at the understatement. When I try to stand he rushes over, a disapproving frown on his beautiful face.

“What are you doing?”

“I need to get up so I can put my shoulder back into place.” But when I try to stand, I fall gracelessly into his arms. My ankle can’t support my weight.

“Your plan has some holes in it,” he says.

I wince and plop myself back on the bed. “Clearly.”

“Would you like my help with this?” he asks.

My basest instincts are to say yes to whatever this man wants, but.... “Do you have experience popping joints back into place?”

“Da. I can do it. But it will not feel good.”

“No shit, Sherlock. But it’s gonna feel worse if it stays this way. Go ahead.”

He nods and kneels in front of me, situating himself between my legs so he can get closer. Oh heavens. His body parts and my body parts are entirely too close right now and it’s sending all kinds of signals I know I can’t act on.

The heat between us sizzles and his eyes widen. Yes. He feels it too. I’m not the only one.

He counts to three in Russian then—

Pop!

I cry out, a wave of dizziness threatening to knock me on my ass again, but he holds me upright until my shaking stops, my head once again laying on his bare shoulder. He smells like smoke and pine and midnight under the moon, and I breathe him in as my mind clears and the pain recedes a bit.

When he steps away I instantly miss his touch, my center aching. I stretch my shoulder with a grimace, hoping he’ll attribute the blush creeping up my cheeks to the pain I’m in. “Better. Thanks!”

He mumbles something in response, but I’m not listening. I’m just staring. I could get lost in his cobalt eyes. Drown in them and not mind at all. The stare goes both ways, as he seems equally mesmerized by me, but our moment is broken when a man and woman enter the room.

The woman steps forward to study me and I realize she must be Dr. McCoy. A short, curvy woman with shoulder length blunt cut black hair, eyes the color of almonds and full lips that slip easily into a genuine smile.

My body is one big source of pain and I’m happy she got here so quickly.

The man, however, I’m very disappointed to see.

He smiles and approaches. “You must be Azalea Clark. It’s so nice to finally meet you. I’m Robert Rackman.” He holds out his hand to shake mine. “Your assigned partner for this… uh…” He gets a little tongue-tied. “Well, this. Whatever this is.” He chuckles self-consciously.

“Just Zae,” I say. “No one ever calls me Azalea.” Only my grandmother.

I shake his hand, but flinch when I realize I’ve extended my left arm. My shoulder is still pretty tender.

Robert pulls his hand back like I’ve shocked him. “Er. Sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“It’s okay,” I say. “My fault for offering the injured arm. It’s good to meet you too.”

The most advanced AI in the world played matchmaker to the smartest, and richest, humanity had to offer. Robert should be my soul mate, if such a thing exists. Or at the very least, my ideal match.

And while he seems perfectly nice, and perfectly attractive, with dark blond hair, hazel eyes, and a reassuring if self-deprecating smile… my heart sinks. There is zero chemistry between us. Like, if there could be negative chemistry, we would have reached the depths of those levels in this one meeting.

I bite my lip and give myself a mental kick. Not all love is built on fireworks and butterflies. Some love is built on kindness and mutual interests.

So are friendships, but, no, I must make the best of this. The AI couldn’t be that wrong, could it? I’m sure Robert and I will find a hidden spark, once I’ve healed up a bit and gotten my mental marbles back in place.