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 glance down at my bare arms, a little glittery thanks to the lotion I rubbed in.
I’ve got on jeans and a pair of red platform sandals. My hair’s swept up in a loose twist with tendrils framing my face.
I really should go in, but my belly swoops once more with nerves. Is this too outlandish, this dating experiment? Is this outfit too sexy? Should I dab off my red lipstick?
Probably. I snap open my purse and hunt around for a tissue when shoes click on the stone path behind me, then deep voices laugh. Two handsome men are heading my way. One has deep brown skin and shiny shoulder-length hair and wears a sharp vest. The other is fair-skinned and freckled and sports a tight paisley shirt.
“Need anything, hun?” the blond asks kindly, stopping a few feet from me.
“Just a little courage for meeting my date?” I ask.
The guy in the vest shoots me a sympathetic smile. “First date?”
I nod.
“You look great, if that helps. And this is a great place for a date too. This is where I met Bowen a year ago,” he says, then runs a hand down his date’s arm. Bowen looks at the dark-haired man with such affection my own heart skips a beat or two. They seem so happy. That’s why I’m facing these nerves. To move closer to finding my own happiness.
“But I met Vikas online first,” Bowen points out.
“And we’re getting married on the lavender farm here next month,” Vikas puts in.
Small world indeed. “The one Ripley runs?” I ask, thinking of my new friend.
“The one and only.” Bowen reaches out and squeezes my arm affectionately. “You never know when you’re going to meet the one. Now, c’mon, hun. We’ll walk you in if you’re ready.”
I am so very ready. “Let’s do it.”
Bowen swings open the door, and I head inside, jazz music greeting me. Immediately, I soak in the atmosphere—dark wood walls, mahogany bar tops, leather furniture, and subdued lighting. A long, elegant counter is stocked with a variety of whiskey brands on mirrored shelves.
“Do you see him anywhere?” Bowen asks, looking around. “Please say he’s the hunk in the suit at the bar.”
Vikas gives a low whistle. “Yesss and please and sir.”
Bowen chuckles, then drops a possessive kiss onto his soon-to-be husband’s cheek as I turn my gaze to the end of the bar, searching for Monroe, playing Jared and—
I gasp. My heart stutters. “Ohhhh.”
Vikas laughs. “That’s right. We told you the vibes were on point.”
And so is my dating coach. He’s wearing the hell out of a deep blue suit that hugs his strong body. No tie. Monroe’s holding a tumbler of amber liquid, and he hasn’t seen me yet. He’s sitting at the bar, casual, relaxed, and…powerful.
When I swallow, I realize my throat is dry.
“Go get your happily ever after,” Bowen says.
“I will,” I say to them, and my voice sounds a little floaty. Hell, I feel a little floaty as I head to the bar.
As I walk, Monroe’s gaze swings to me. His eyes darken, smolder, glimmer. He never looks away.
It’s thrilling and gives me hope for this date.
When I reach him, the butterflies are flapping full speed in my chest. “Hi. You must be Jared. I’m Juliet.”
I stick out a hand, and when he takes it, he looks like he’s about to whisper a reverent wow. But he must switch gears because the words that come out of his mouth, in a slightly deeper tone than usual, are “Looks like it’s my lucky night.”
What?
That’s kind of a trashy opening line.
Immediately, all the sensual vibes slip out the door as Monroe/Jared pats the barstool next to him. “What’s your poison, babe?”
Babe?
Seriously? He’s playing one of those first date babe guys? This is so not fair.
“Anything’s fine,” I say, irked that Monroe’s already tanking the date. Is he doing this deliberately? And do I need to summon Jumanji already?
“You need to get the Woodford Reserve. Only the best,” he says in that voice he must have assigned to this character. He licks his lips wolfishly. “And you look like you deserve the best.”
I arch a skeptical brow. It’s a compliment, but it’s also too much. “Sure. Sounds good,” I say, keeping my tone even. I don’t want to let on how doubtful I am. I truly want to try this experiment.
He lifts a finger toward the bartender, who strides over. “What can I get for you?” the man in the leather apron asks me.
“Your best Woodford Reserve for the gorgeous lady,” Monroe says. “And put it on my tab.”
“Will do,” the man says, then heads off.
The second he’s gone, Monroe turns back to me. But right before he tries some new showy tactic, I grab the reins of the date and turn the conversation in a different direction—a more real one. “You said you worked all day. Sounds like you’re a busy man. What is it about real estate that excites you?”