The Matchmaker

Chapter 6

"Ffff-fighting?" I repeated, dumbfounded as I try to envision Zander in a boxing ring but only come back to the image of him inhaling a chocolate bar whilst looking like a sad knockoff of Sheila.

"Yeah, I do mixed martial arts." 

Oh. I am so dead if he finds out I lied to him and pretended to be a helping neighbour when I'm really the matchmaker he's been looking for. Was it possible to severely karate chop a human into various gruesome pieces till they're unable to move or breathe?

Given information: Zander Nolan does mixed martial arts...

"You seem a little pale?"

"It's the tequila," I said absently, waving a hand to dismiss his look of concern.

"Alcohol makes people flushed not pale."

"Listen, wise guy, are you a doctor to tell me that?" Gasping, I cover my stupid mouth and stare wide eyed at him.

Please don't kill, please don't kill me, pleeaassee don't kill me...But oh my god, he could kill me right now for what I've done to his face!

"O-kay, I didn't mean to offend you."

"Your turn, ask away," I quickly try covering up my mistake with fake kindness, hoping he doesn't notice my shrill tone.

"Favorite hobby."

"Baking."

"You're supposed to pick either truth or dare." Frowning at me, I stay quiet and pour myself a shot before downing it.

"Fine, you're turn to ask me something." I sense the bitter petulance behind his voice and I simply roll my eyes. Of course he wasn't a fighter, fighter! What tough guy would let a girl doll him up in makeup and then feel wounded over a simple game of truth or dare? My overactive imagination will be the death of me one of these days.

Clearing my throat, I decide to ask more generic questions to play it safe and for the purposes of his file, the tedious work can be dealt with here and now without Celia having to attempt to tail him in the foreseeable future.

"Favourite colour."

"Hmm, I recently like the colour of light brown."

"Um, could you be a tad more specific?"

His green eyes bore into mine, and I lean back involuntarily. What is he getting at? The coffee table? Because it definitely is a luxurious shade of brown.

"And you were supposed to say truth or dare," I suddenly add.

"I prefer your method, the direct approach is always better."

"Is it?" I asked meekly.

Smirking at me, he gets up and walks into the bathroom before emerging with all the makeup wiped away. 

Gulping, I stare at his face as water droplets were still dripping from his hair but the lipstick and eyeshadow left glittery traces begging to be photographed. Biting my lip, I quickly look away before deciding I needed to avoid drinking anymore alcohol, otherwise I could be sent to an early grave from all the blackmail photos I've gathered.  

"Do you have anymore cupcakes?" 

"Um..."

"Hey, don't hold back the goodies besides, you look like you're about to bolt from your very own place. I won't force you to continue, so what do you say? Cupcakes?"

"Yeah, I have some," I mumbled under my breath, surprised by his thoughtfulness. I did want to bolt but I assumed, at least to myself, that I was as cool as a cucumber, except of course, my moment of panic when I thought he was a professional ring fighter.