Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
I wave a hand. “Doesn’t matter how they dress. They’re all bad boys cosplaying as artists and microbrewers, blacksmiths, and musicians,” I continue, on a roll as Juliet reaches for some more rosé. “A bad boy is someone who is emotionally unavailable but pretends to be looking for love and the woman to fix him. Your kind heart makes you want to help these guys, only to be disappointed. No motorcycle necessary.”
She groans. Heavily. Deeply. From the center of her soul. “Ugh. That…may be true.”
“It is true,” I say gently, but firmly. I’ve been watching her valiantly try romance over and over. But she keeps missing the mark while aiming for what she wants most—the real thing.
All because she picks men who are emotionally unavailable.
I should know. I’m one of those guys. The difference between the average online dating bad boy and me is that I have a modicum of self-awareness. Well, I’d better. The job and all.
“So who picks the matches, then?” she asks, still skeptical.
I nod with certainty. “You do. And since I know people and personalities, I can behave how each of them would on a date.”
I brace myself for pushback. The idea does sound unusual now that I say it out loud. “Hey, let’s practice date. And I’ll pretend to be a string of different men while I try not to get distracted by your sexy mouth.”
She hums doubtfully. “You really want to do that? You did bet me the other day that my date would fail.”
Ouch. Fair point. “But that was for the show,” I say, defending that on-air choice. “And that was before I met Elijah and nearly punched him in his full-of-himself face for being such a douche. I never want you to date douches again if I can help it, and I can. I definitely can.”
Curiosity flickers in her eyes. “Wait. Let’s go back to the you wanted to punch him part. You did?”
“Actually, I wanted to stab him with an olive toothpick, but same idea.”
She smiles, looking a little more relaxed too, like that detail reassured her. “Okay, okay. I’m seeing this. And, not to be a douche too, but what about your track record?”
The reminder of my failed marriage is a fair one, but it doesn’t sting as much as it would have when I was fresh off the split. It’s part of who I am now. Part of my history. And part of my toolkit. “Failure is the best teacher. Isn’t that what they say?”
“Then I should have an advanced degree,” she fires back, then picks up her rosé. She takes another sip and then lets out a thoughtful breath. “You do have the experience and the male perspective I’ve been lacking. And I suppose I would like to move past my unsuccessful dating years and into a stable relationship. But what’s in it for you?”
Answering that question requires one of my least favorite emotions—vulnerability. But she’s been putting herself on the line. I have to do the same.
I meet her green eyes, ready to be open.
I don’t tell her I’m battling jealousy.
I don’t tell her I imagined watching her wrap those legs around my face in the mirror last night.
I don’t say that sharing a bunk bed with a mirrored ceiling presents its own challenges.
I do set aside my baser desires and give her the truth. “Look, I know we give each other a hard time on air. I know we have this whole—”
“—Cat and mouse thing?” Her tone is borderline flirty for a moment.
I like that tone. I flash a cocky smile her way. But I still answer from the heart. “Yes. And I want to help because…I think you’re great, and I care about you, and I know how much finding a partner means to you.”
I don’t say no one deserves her though. And I hope she can’t hear it in my voice.
She seems to give that some thought before she adds, “Can I sleep on it?”
“Of course,” I say, relieved and hopeful.
The server arrives with our dinner, and the conversation shifts. Over the meal, we talk about our marketing plans for the podcast and the things we can do to grow it with the home proceeds. Then we segue to Eleanor’s sensual home itself, likely funded by her Christmas album.
“She sent an email this afternoon, asking what we thought of the house,” I tell Juliet.
“And did you tell her we already gave it a nickname?”
“I kept The Horny House between us. But did tell her it’s fantastic and we’re so grateful, then I asked how her honeymoon was. She said, and I quote, so good that I’ve only come up for air to send this email! Ta ta for now. Enjoy Darling Springs.”
She laughs. “Have I mentioned I love her?”
“She’s pretty great,” I say.
“The town’s not so bad either,” she says, then she gives me a dead-on look. “Is it hard, though, me doing this dating thing with my mom?”