by Grey, R. S.
Date Me Like You Mean It
Copyright © 2020 R.S. Grey
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a piece of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Published: R.S. Grey 2020
[email protected]
Editing: Editing by C. Marie
Proofreading: Red Leaf Proofing, Julia Griffis
Cover Design: R.S. Grey
Contents
Copyright
Author’s Note
Date Me Like You Mean It
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Part Two
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Excerpt
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Stay Connected
Acknowledgments
Author’s Note:
Date Me Like You Mean It is a full-length standalone novel. At the end, I’ve included an excerpt from my bestselling romantic comedy COLDHEARTED BOSS.
Date Me Like You Mean It concludes at around 90% on your device.
Happy Reading!
XO, RS Grey
Chapter One
Maddie
Oh no, I’ve let another one into our condo.
He’s going to kill me.
This one has really made herself at home on our couch. I made her some macaroni and cheese since I wanted some anyway, and now she’s forking it into her mouth in huge clumps while she cries. She’s been here longer than I expected her to be. Her big fat tears are making it hard for me to hear the TV show I’ve put on in the background.
I turn the volume up a little bit.
“And then…he just never called me again,” she wails.
I react with an overabundance of concern in a high-falsetto tone. “What?! Nooo. Really?”
I make the mistake of lilting my voice almost to a squeak and I think I’ve overdone it, but she doesn’t even notice. Compared to the others, she’s pretty self-absorbed.
“I just don’t get it. I thought he and I were meant to be. There’s a Taylor Swift song with lyrics that are perfect for us.”
Now this piques my interest. I forget about the sitcom. “Which song?”
“‘Lover’.”
I make a mental note to assault Aiden with that song every chance I get.
“And how long has it been since the…er…split?” I ask, wondering if Aiden has failed to mention another breakup to me. Lately, he’s gotten weird about sharing details about his dating life. Ever since I told his mom about the girl who showed up at our door wearing a wedding dress in the hopes of winning him back, he’s demoted me to a need-to-know basis. It’s part of the reason I let this girl in. I’m a sucker for insider information—especially about Aiden.
“It’s been, I guess…” She’s looking up at the ceiling as if ticking off days. “Six months.”
“Oh. That’s…”
Longer than I was expecting.
With her showing up at our condo, unannounced, crying and disheveled, I assumed it was because Aiden had broken up with her like, yesterday or the day before. A week, tops.
She puts her bowl of cheesy pasta on the coffee table and turns to me, her stunning blue eyes piercing through me. “So what do you think? Can I win him back?”
I nibble on the corner of my lip because I hate this part.
Could I help this girl win Aiden back? Absolutely. I doubt there’s anyone who knows him better than I do. Like a zoologist, I’ve studied his living and mating habits with laser-like focus during the two years we’ve lived together. I know his favorite food (sloppy joes), his favorite TV show (Curb Your Enthusiasm), his top pet peeve (people who don’t put their carts away at the grocery store), and his guilty pleasure (belting out early 2000s hits in the shower). It’s Britney, bitch.
But the real question is…do I want to help her?
That’s where this whole situation gets a little complicated.
I turn and level her with a Let’s get real stare. “I don’t know if it’s going to work out between you guys.”
“But what about the song—”
I wave my hand to cut her off, unwilling to go down that road again. “Right. Sure. That’s pretty compelling stuff.”
It’s not like just anyone can find something to relate to in a Taylor Swift song.
I ease into the next part of our conversation. “I don’t think you should give up hope, but since I’m not Aiden, I can’t really say whether or not you guys have a future.”
She sniffs and nods, delicately wiping a tear from her honed cheekbones.
I think she’s a model. Aiden seems to be a magnet for them.
“So what can I do to help?” I ask, giving her a half-smile.
She shakes her head as if not quite sure how to answer. “I just feel like there wasn’t enough closure with us.”
“Closure.” I nod in understanding. “Of course.”
Then I suggest the perfect solution.
It’s not something I came up with on my own. It first happened last year, when a girl came over hoping to find Aiden at the condo and instead found me. After a few hours of talking (all her), she begged me to let her take one of Aiden’s t-shirts. I felt helpless. She didn’t want to leave. What was I supposed to do?
Anyway, this new girl takes his pillow.
“Maddie!” Aiden yells as soon as he gets home.
It’s later that night. I’m in my room, on my bed, watching a Korean drama on my laptop with my headphones on.
“Maddie!” he shouts again when he’s at my door. He doesn’t even knock, just pushes it open and leans on the doorframe, all six-plus feet of him.
“Oh, good evening,” I chirp sweetly, slightly nervous.
He doesn’t smile in return. His jaw is locked. His refined features don’t have any softness to them, at least not right now.
“Did Kelly come by today?” His eyes narrow like he’s going to assess my next words and determine whether I’m guilty or innocent.
I feign amnesia. “Kelly?”
I put my finger in the air and pretend to go through a mental Rolodex of all my acquaintances, coming up short when I reach the Ks.
He doesn’t buy it.
“Yeah. Kelly. She called and left me a message, said she came by today and you let her in. She also said she thinks I should give her another chance and you agree.”
My mouth opens and closes like a little fish in a little tank.
I’ve been found out.
There’s no way I’m going to get out of this now, especially when he walks into his room and finds his pillow gone.
“She seemed nice,” I plead.
Aiden drags his hand through his black hair. Then he tugs at the roots as if trying to refrain from strangling me. When he lets go,
his short hair stays up, all disheveled.
“I told you not to let them in anymore.”
I push up to sit on my knees on the bed. “I can’t help it! I feel bad for them!”
“You shouldn’t!”
Spoken like a true heartbreaker.
“They’re like lost puppies searching for a good home—I can’t turn them away!”
He tilts his head, his anger dissolving only slightly as he says my name.
“Maddie.”
God, I love the way it sounds coming from his lips, but I force myself to focus.
“I’m serious!” I say, flinging my arms into the air for emphasis. “You don’t know what it’s like having them show up on our doorstep all sad and desperate.”
He’s walking away now, stomping down the hall. Soon, he’ll get to his bedroom and find an empty spot where his pillow should be.
“I made macaroni!” I shout out, hoping to distract him for a minute longer.
It doesn’t work.
There’s a pause—his door creaks open—then, “Where’s my goddamn pillow?!”
Okay, I get it. Maybe the pillow was too far. The t-shirt was understandable. The pillow is a little psychotic. Is she going to sleep with it every night? I mean, I understand the urge. It probably smells like him. I’d want an Aiden pillow of my own if I were one of his exes. Which I’m not. I’m Maddie. His friend. Roomie.
Stomp stomp stomp. He really is a big guy, and when he gets frustrated like he is now, he enjoys putting his full weight into his walk.
He barges back into my room and yanks the pillow out from under my butt so I topple over onto my side. Then, without a word, he tucks it up under his arm and leaves me.
“That’s my favorite one!” I shout back at him.
It’s soft, but not too squishy.
“Tough,” he barks back.
Okay, I guess I’ve really pissed him off and he wants me to know it.
I give him a minute to calm down then I creep out of my room on tiptoes, scared he’ll be lurking around the corner. I find him in the kitchen with the macaroni pot in his hand, using the wooden spoon to ladle bites into his mouth. My pillow is still secured under his arm. He’s smart, not letting it out of his sight. Obviously, my plan was to steal it back right away.
Instead, I’ll have to negotiate. “Can I propose a barter? That pillow for one of my others? I have a nice firm one that has your name written all over it.”
“No.”
Well then.
I grab a spoon out of our utensil drawer and head over to snag a bite of pasta for myself. I didn’t get enough earlier.
He moves the pot out of my reach before I can get another scoop. Clearly, he still wants to punish me.
I poke him in the ribs with my spoon and he relents, holding the pot low enough for me to get some.
“So you don’t think you’ll get back together with her?” I ask, going for an extra cheesy bite.
“Absolutely not. We broke up months ago. I haven’t thought about her since.”
Ouch.
“She seemed pretty hung up on you.”
He hums in disinterest.
I peer up at him from beneath my lashes, wondering. Always wondering. Aiden is such a rare breed, the sort of man who inspires women to show up on his doorstep months later, the sort of dreamboat that makes you squint when you see him head-on…but he’s not pretty. That’s important to clarify. He has a square jaw, thick dark brows and a crooked smile.
He meets my stare, his mossy green eyes studying me.
“Still mad?” I venture, tilting my mouth in an attempt at a half-smile.
“Maybe,” he says, his gaze flitting to my smile for a second before he turns his attention back to his dinner.
I’ll win him over again soon enough. He never stays mad at me for long. It’s one of my superpowers: taming the beast.
I first met Aiden a little over two years ago at my sister’s wedding rehearsal. He was late to arrive. The rest of the wedding party and I were standing on our marks at the front of the church, listening to the officiant walk us through the customary spiel. I was admittedly spaced out—taking in a sculpture of Jesus that depicted him with some seriously rock-hard abs—when the church doors opened. With the sunset at his back, in walked Aiden, instantly stealing the hearts of every woman in that room.
He hustled down the aisle, apologizing for his delayed flight, only pausing to kiss his mom on the cheek before walking up the stairs to take his spot opposite me at the altar.
My date, Darren, had been filling his spot, and there was an awkward shuffle as they changed places. Talk about trading up. I stared, slack-jawed. For one brief moment, my imagination warped the situation, and it almost felt as if he and I were the bride and groom, up there about to get married.
My heart raced with anticipation. My other organs, enjoying the fairytale, all joined in too. I was sweating and breathing hard and it took an embarrassing length of time to regain my grasp on reality. He wasn’t the groom; he was the best man. I wasn’t the bride; I was the maid of honor. I had a date and he was not Aiden. Not even close.
Aiden’s brother, James, ribbed him for his tardiness then tilted his chin in my direction.
“We’ll make formal introductions later, but that’s Maddie, your partner.”
His partner!
Aiden’s eyes flitted to me and I fainted. Or at least I got close to it.
My knees did jiggle like they were threatening to give out. I locked them and aimed a pipsqueak wave Aiden’s way.
He nodded but didn’t smile, and then he turned his gaze to the officiant as if ready to have the attention off him.
Of course, there was no getting my attention off him. I strained my eyes trying to simultaneously get one of them to focus on the pastor and one to stay trained on Aiden.
I couldn’t help it.
He was…in short, unexpectedly hot.
I assumed he’d be a lookalike of my sister’s groom—brothers do tend to look similar—but no. No no no. Aiden and James were not alike. To compare them is to compare stale moldy bread to fresh-out-of-the-oven butter rolls. Sure, technically, they’re related. But barely.
Don’t get me wrong, James is fine. Cute, even, but in a clean-cut, lawyer kind of way. He likes wearing polos and pressed khaki shorts. He’s the sort of guy who, even in his twenties, could pass for 58.
It’s like whatever bucket of hot genes James missed out on got dumped all over Aiden.
Stop staring, I chided myself half-heartedly.
It was no use. I liked his features. I liked the way they combined in a way that captured my attention. I wanted to pick them apart and study them under a microscope because he shouldn’t have been as hot as he was. He wasn’t perfect, not exactly. It was just that he had these green eyes that were so pale you couldn’t ignore them, especially set off against his tan skin and dark brows. His black hair wasn’t perfect like James’; it was a little disheveled and in need of a trim. His shirt was wrinkled—probably from the flight—and he was wearing jeans when everyone else was dressed in slacks and ties.
I was so busy breaking him down into bite-sized chunks that I was slow to catch on to the fact that the rehearsal had ended and we were now supposed to be following the bride and groom down the aisle so we could practice our departure from the altar.
Aiden walked up to the center of the aisle and crooked his elbow for me to take. I did—after a long, awkward Oh right, that’s my cue pause.
I forced a laugh, and he narrowed his eyes like he was wondering what planet I’d originated from.
“Hi, I’m Maddie,” I volunteered, introducing myself for the second time as we started to walk.
With his tall frame, he could have taken us down the aisle lickety-split, but he purposely slowed down as if not wanting to rush me.
“I’m Jolie’s sister,” I continued.
“I can tell.”
Right.
That day, far more than any other,
my sister and I could have passed as twins. My mother had booked us hair and makeup appointments at Sweet Magnolia, a swanky salon. My long blonde locks were curled and teased and poofed up like they were trying to reach the roof of the church. My makeup started off as tasteful and delicate, consisting of soft browns that set off my eyes, but with the false lashes and thirty coats of lipstick, the end result left my face feeling stiff and frozen, like I’d escaped from a wax museum. In the salon, after we were done, I joked with my mom that I was going to add black cat-eye liner and glitter, and she about had a heart attack.
“Please, Madison. Be sweet to me,” she said, hands clasped in prayer. “Just for one day.”
So there I was, all poofy and pink in my monstrosity of a dress.
It was another gift from my mother. She’d had it custom made for me, so my outfit coordinated with hers and my sister’s.
I could barely move in it, what with all the tight layers of tulle and silk.
“Cotton candy,” Aiden said, drawing my attention back to the church.
I frowned in confusion. “What?”
“The color of your dress.”
My cheeks turned bright red. “Yeah, hard to blend in with a dress like this.”
His green eyes shot up to mine, gently narrowing at the corners, but he didn’t say anything more because we were already at the end of the aisle. He paused and let go of my arm, offering me a hint of a smile before turning toward his family. They gathered him in close, his dad wrapping his arm around him for a side hug and his mother beaming at him with pride.