Dating Mr. Right: Four Standalone Romantic Comedies

by Blakely, Lauren

  Red.

  Everywhere I see red. Hearts, flowers, balloons, candy, cards, ribbons, streamers, and Cupid.

  That dumbass angel is everywhere. On windows. Winking from billboards. Shooting arrows in stores.

  As I head down Eighth Avenue to the rehearsal studio, it’s as if New York City has grown red octopus arms, and every storefront spews pink paper hearts, teddy bears, and every possible valentine decoration, topped off with candy-bearing, soul-sucking sayings like Be Mine, Let’s Kiss, and the worst one of all—Soul Mate—mocking the non–soul mate seekers of the world.

  It’s three days from that wretched holiday, and I would give up a free lifetime supply of pale ale if I could escape from pink, red, and white New York for the next few days.

  Wait. That’s crazy. I’d never give up a lifetime supply of good brew.

  It’s not that I hate Valentine’s Day. It’s that, well, Valentine’s Day hates me.

  I’m cursed.

  Truly.

  Bianca Sweetwater hexed me in fifth grade when I sent her a white rose instead of the red one she wanted. In my defense . . .

  I WAS ELEVEN.

  I thought a white rose was just fine.

  She said a white rose meant friendship, and I said friendship was good, and she said everyone knew friends couldn’t fall in love, and I said I was eleven and didn’t want to fall in love, and she raised both arms high above her head, mimed shooting lightning at me, and declared I was cursed to fall in love with a friend who’d never love me back, just as I’d done to Bianca.

  I shudder at the memory as I push open the door into the building, leaving the cold air behind. I say hi to Pete, who mans the desk here.

  “How’s it going? Did you see the game last night?”

  “I did. And now I’m just counting down the days till Valentine’s.”

  I refrain from rolling my eyes. Is there anyone in this city who doesn’t give a shit about the holiday? I want to talk hockey, not hearts.

  “The Mrs. is big on V Day, I take it?”

  His smile spreads from cheek to jowly cheek. “She is and so am I. I like to go all out for my woman. Italian dinner. Gourmet chocolate. Flowers.”

  “You do all that? For a greeting card holiday?”

  He puffs out his chest. “Damn straight. Only folks with a black heart don’t like it.”

  Laughing, I add, “Guess I have a black heart.”

  “Ah, I don’t believe that, Kirby.”

  “Oh, it’s definitely black. Just like my ink.” I hold out my arm, even though he can’t see the swirls of tattoos under my Henley.

  “Someday you’ll tattoo a woman’s name in a heart under that whole badass tough guy exterior.”

  “Ha. I sing songs on YouTube with my sister. I don’t have a badass exterior.”

  “Take away the songs, and you’re one hundred percent tough guy, won’t let anyone in.”

  I wave him off, even though he’s kind of right. “See you later,” I say as I head to the elevator.

  Look, I don’t believe in white magic or black magic. But curses? There’s something to them. Some people just have bad luck.

  I’ve been lucky in some aspects of love. Cough, cough. The ladies like me and I like the ladies.

  But love? That’s been a tough nut to crack, and every year Valentine’s Day reminds me.

  Starting way back when.

  For instance, in seventh grade I failed a math test on the holiday because the teacher claimed I hadn’t turned it in. Bianca’s handiwork? Perhaps.

  In ninth grade, I’d brought a white teddy bear for my friend Madison Greenbray, a cute, nerdy girl. But when I reached for it in my locker to give to her at lunch, the bear was missing. He turned up later that day in the dumpster.

  As a senior, when all the girls were swooning over the Valentine’s Day flower exchange, I decided to try again. I ordered a red flower for Lily Van Tassel, a good friend at the time.

  Only one problem.

  Everyone else liked Lily Van Tassel. Everyone sent her red roses. Including Chuck Zorax, the wrestler who was seven feet tall and built from redwood trees. When he found out I’d sent a rose to Lily—even though I was one of so very many who did—he introduced my nose to his fist.

  As the doors to the elevator open, I step in, rubbing my palm against my nose. Yup, still have the crook in it to prove that sliding out of the friend zone doesn’t work.

  Learned my lesson.

  Love and friendship don’t mix.

  That’s why I haven’t tried to level up in the friendship game with a certain someone.

  Sexy, snarky, lively Macy who thinks Valentine’s Day is fabulous.

  Macy thinks everything is fabulous.

  She’s the most upbeat person I know. She’s the Tigger to my Eeyore.

  I reach the sixth floor and head into the rehearsal space to find her standing on a stepladder, pinning a pink paper heart to the wall. For a moment, I savor the view. She’s wearing tight jeans, black boots, and a pink sweater that’s as snug as a sweater on a babe should be.

  So snug I want to pull it off and discover what’s underneath. To get my hands all over her lush, trim figure.

  But I can’t linger there too long or it’ll be tent time.

  Can’t let on I have dirty, filthy fantasies about the sweet, perky blonde.

  Especially since she’s one of my best friends. I stare at the decorations, since they’re a boner killer, and in seconds, that does the trick. Tent’s all packed up. “Wow. Did Hallmark lose its lunch in here?”

  She shoots me a smile that stretches from her green eyes to Queens and back, chiding me as she reaches for a red paper heart from a bag on the top step. “Don’t be silly. This is way more than Hallmark is capable of. This is what happens when Target meets Pinterest meets Etsy and I assemble the most beautiful valentine decorations in the world.”

  “And please tell me why our rehearsal space has turned into a valentine fiesta?”

  She spreads her arms out wide. “Because Valentine’s Day is wonderful. It’s romantic and full of all the best things in life—like hearts and hope and love and red. Have I mentioned I love the color red?”

  My eyes drift to the decorations. “You didn’t have to mention it.”

  “Don’t be such a naysayer. The rehearsal space has never looked better.”

  I furrow my brow. “You can’t be serious about all this.”

  She climbs down the ladder, parks a hand on one hip. Her pouty pink lips curve into a grin, and I’d like to kiss that smile off her face. Kiss it and make her moan against my mouth, sigh against my body.

  But yeah, there’s that little matter of friendship, and that big curse about how friends can’t be lovers.

  “I’m deadly serious. I never joke about valentine decorations. Just look at all the yumminess here.” With her blonde ponytail bouncing, she strolls over to the grand piano, where my sister and I will perform our patented duets for a new YouTube series. Macy taps a glass bowl crammed with red candy.

  “I love cinnamon.” She dips her hand into the bowl, plucks out a red cinnamon heart, and pops it in her mouth. Her eyes seem to light up. They twinkle. They sparkle, and her lips do all sorts of interesting things, as she sucks on that red heart. My dick does all sorts of things too, perking up and taking notice.

  Down, boy.

  “Do you like cinnamon?” There’s something new in her voice. It’s a little sultry, a bit naughty.

  And matters south of the border are liking that voice. I step behind the piano. God bless erection shields.

  “Love cinnamon.” I bet she tastes like cinnamon. I bet the taste would drive me wild on her tongue.

  “Then you won’t object when the Zimmerman Duo’s new series is Valentine’s themed.”

  I press my hands together in a plaintive plea. “Please, for the love of all that is holy—like spring training, the power play in hockey, and any and every Rolling Stones tune—tell me you’re joking.”

&nbs
p; She clasps her hands over mine. “You are twenty-seven and a total curmudgeon.”

  “So that’s a maybe that you’re joking?”

  She squeezes my hands tighter, and this isn’t such a bad turn of events. Macy touching me? I’ll take it.

  She shakes her head. “I know you hate it, but it’s going to be fine. YouTube is giving you and Ally some great placement, and since I’m sort of your manager, I also appointed myself chief decorator. That means you’re going to suck it up, like a big boy.”

  I sigh in an exaggerated fashion. I can’t stay irked at Macy. “Well, since it’s YouTube . . .”

  YouTube has been good to my sister and me since we formed our duo and began producing online videos of popular mash-ups of songs. Since we were young kids, Ally and I have duetted, and I sure don’t mind the way the income supplements my day job at an ad agency.

  “Fine,” I admit grudgingly. “As long as I don’t have to wear a red shirt or cupid hat.”

  “Oh please, I know you hate all that. We’re only going to make you sing.” She takes a beat, shoots me a playful look, and says, “Vrooge.”

  “What?”

  “You’re Vrooge. Valentine Scrooge.”

  “Wow, that is harsh.”

  She shrugs coyly. “If the name fits.”

  “Then I will wear it with pride, because I am definitely Valentine Scrooge.”

  The trouble is this Vrooge is crazy for a woman he can’t have.

  No wonder Vrooges are grumpy fuckers.

  2

  Macy

  “He has no voliday spirit. Simply none,” I tell my friend Olivia as I sort through a display rack at Eden.

  “Some men are like that,” she says nonchalantly, checking out a drawerful of satin underthings at the lingerie boutique in Chelsea. She loves to shop here, and she’s positively addicted to sexy garments. Maybe because her husband is addicted to them too, and when he sees her in them, he can’t resist, or so she tells me. It’s not as if I’ve witnessed his helplessness before her feminine charms.

  She likes his inability to resist.

  “But Kirby’s truly against the entire concept.” I frown, stopping my hunt for just the right sexy number. “It kind of makes me sad.”

  Olivia tuts. “Macy, Valentine’s Day is not everything.”

  “Of course it’s not everything. But it is a fun, festive holiday. I love it. I always have.”

  Olivia shoots me a look with cool blue eyes. “True. You used to make me valentine cards back in school.”

  “I baked you cookies too. And I tied bows around them. Admit it. I’m all kinds of awesome.”

  “You are thoroughly fabulous. But so what if he doesn’t like it? It’s just another day.”

  I shake my head vigorously. “Oh no, it’s not.”

  “Look, I do enjoy flowers from my hubby, and a big old basket of chocolate, but it’s a made-up day.”

  I shake my head, correcting, “It’s a day made up of fabulousness. Plus, I don’t think you so much enjoy the chocolate. You work off the chocolate horizontally, don’t you?”

  She shrugs knowingly. “Perhaps we do.”

  “So if your hubs likes it, and Ally’s friend Miller likes it, I can convince Kirby to like it.”

  “I don’t know. From what you tell me, Kirby’s a committed bachelor and a committed Valentine’s Day hater.”

  My optimism rules the day though. “That’s just because he hasn’t experienced the Macy Valentine Treatment. I know deep down that Kirby Zimmerman could learn to love it.”

  Olivia continues her hunt, assessing lacy boy shorts now. “Ooh, these are hot,” she says, showing me a black pair with a tiny white bow.

  I pant like a dog. “So sexy.”

  “I’m getting them.”

  “See! You try to deny you like Valentine’s Day, and here you are buying lingerie to seduce your husband.”

  She smiles like she has a dirty little secret. “Studies show that sex on Valentine’s Day can deliver multiple orgasms.”

  I grab the black panties from her. “Gimme them. I want more than one O. Wait, I haven’t even had a single O from a man in a while. I won’t be greedy. I’ll happily take just one, thank you very much.” I give her back the panties, and return to the rack of red teddies, sexy tanks, and racy bras that boost boobs in ways that will drive a man wild.

  I’d like to drive Kirby wild.

  There’s only one issue.

  Yes, he’s my good friend Ally’s brother, but Ally doesn’t care about that. She’s not one of those “don’t touch my brother” girls.

  The issue with Kirby is our friendship.

  He’s committed to it, and has said as much many times over. I love him madly as a friend too, and working with him, planning the videos, then grabbing a cup of coffee and gabbing about everything and nothing has been fantastic. He’s funny, smart, and has just enough of a grump in him that my happy side wants to convert him to the light.

  I’m completely devoted to our friendship.

  But I’m devoted to something else as well.

  Having more of that man. Every time I look into those bright blue eyes, each time I take in the cut of his jaw with his perma five o’clock stubble, or catch a glimpse of his ink-covered arms, I want more than friendship.

  That’s why when I find the pretty red bra, demi-cup and deliciously lacy, I decide it’s perfect for seduction. “This will do the trick.”

  “Ooh la la,” Olivia says approvingly. She touches her finger to her tongue and then the air, making a sizzling sound. “But if you really like him, and I know you do, aren’t you better off asking him out on a regular date? Like, maybe during literally any other time of year?”

  “What’s so wrong with trying for Valentine’s Day?”

  She laughs. “You’re fighting a losing battle. If you truly want that man, you should seduce him at a hockey game.”

  I stick out my tongue. “I disagree. If he can’t fall for the spirit of Valentine’s Day, then he’s not the man for me.”

  “It’s that simple? V Day or bust?”

  “Look, Valentine’s Day has been good to me. I won a scholarship for college on Valentine’s Day, I landed my first good makeup artist job on this day, and I saw Wicked on Valentine’s Day and went backstage to meet the woman who does the green makeup. It’s my good luck day.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Every day is your good luck day.”

  “True. I’m kind of made of sunshine. But that’s also why Valentine’s Day has to be it. I don’t need to convert the man, but I also don’t want to get involved with a man who’s stubborn and set in his ways. Think of it as the perfect litmus test. If he bends a little, I’ll know he has an open mind and heart. It’ll be a sign that he won’t shut me down. I don’t want to clash too much with him, so I need to know we can both bend a little.”

  Olivia drops her hand over mine, stopping me. Her expression turns serious. “If you’re trying to win his heart, you shouldn’t use lingerie.”

  I pout. “Why not?”

  “How will you know it’s not simply sex if you’re seducing him with sex?”

  I consider her question. Olivia has always been the quizzical, logical one. But even though I lead with enthusiasm—hello, I was a former cheerleader—I have plenty of logic in ye olde brain too.

  And sometimes the way to a man’s heart starts with his other parts. “But maybe that is the way to his heart.”

  And if it is, I wouldn’t mind finding out.

  All I need is a sign from him.

  3

  From the texts of Ally & Miller

  Ally: Did you hear the news?

  Miller: There’s a new edition of Bananagrams? I am so on it. I’m going to the store right now. I can’t wait to spell “diphthong.”

  Ally: You are ridiculous! As if that’s why I’m messaging you.

  Miller: Then spill the beans. Why are you messaging me if it’s not for something as epic as a new board game? We could even play dirt
y words.

  Ally: It’s amazing that you’re actually an adult.

  Miller: Don’t say that word. Makes me feel like an old man.

  Ally: Anyway, I was texting to tell you something fun. Drumroll . . . Kirby and I are doing a series of special videos. For . . . guess what?

  Miller: Winter solstice? The next lunar eclipse? When the Yankees finally turn good again?

  Ally: Please. That last one will never happen.

  Miller: Don’t remind me. I know too well.

  Ally: We’re doing a Valentine’s series of music videos.

  Miller: Hell yeah! That’s only one of my favorite holidays.

  Ally: Every holiday is your favorite holiday.

  Miller: I believe in holidays. What can I say?

  Ally: You are definitely a holiday lover.

  Miller: Holidays, vacations, time off. I adore them all.

  Ally: Time off from what?

  Ally: Collecting royalties from all the hit songs you recorded from your hot boy-band days?

  Miller: I’ve recorded plenty too in my hot man days.

  Ally: True, some would say you’re still a heartthrob.

  Miller: Once a heartthrob, always a heartthrob.

  Ally: You said ‘throb.’

  Miller: I’ve got a throb right here for ya, baby. :)

  Ally: You’re too much. Anyway, it’s ironic because my brother is a total Vrooge. That’s what Macy calls him.

  Miller: The Kirbster is a total Vrooge. And what’s the point in being that? V Day is all about love and sexy times and getting into the groove. That makes it a very good day.