How to Choose a Guy in 10 Days: Chick Flick Club #1

by Lila Monroe

  Until the dash lights up.

  “Um, Zach,” I speak up. “The engine light just came on.”

  “Shit,” Zach looks over. “You’d better pull over. I’ll call triple-A.”

  “Relax. You only need to pull over if the light’s flashing,” I laugh.

  At his incredulous expression, I flutter my lashes. “What? A girl can’t know something about cars? Let me take a look.” The car is driving fine (better than fine—it is a beauty of a ride) and nothing seems wrong but maybe it’s something quick and obvious.

  I pull over on the shoulder, then go around to the front of the car, click the latch, and lift the hood.

  “You a mechanic?” Zach teases, coming up beside me.

  “Not a licensed one. Though, I do know my way around an engine,” I say and then quickly add. “But I’m no hooker!”

  Zach looks confused. “What?”

  “Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman? She knew about cars. Drove the Lotus Esprit like it was on rails. A hooker with depth and a backstory.”

  “Oh,” he chuckles. “Never seen it.”

  “Well, that’s a damn shame,” I say as I lean over and pull out the oil dipstick. All looks good. I return it and check the other fluids. Nothing here I can see. I drop the hood and look over at Zach. He’s staring at me. “What?”

  He smiles and shakes his head. “Sorry. Nothing. Just you’re…surprising.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Because I can double as a grease monkey?”

  “Yes. But in a good way. I underestimated you, Gemma.”

  I’m not sure I want to know what he first thought of me, so I just give him a smile and reach into the car and pop the fuel door. While he watches, I go around to it and open it up. Ah ha! The gas cap was loose. I turn it so it clicks into place.

  “C’mon, GQ,” I beckon. “We’re good to go. The gas cap was loose, that’s all.”

  Zach looks sheepish. “I guess I should have known that. You are one smart cookie, Emma.”

  “Yeah, well, if you didn’t have such huge Bigfoot hands, you’d have tightened the cap better.” I tease.

  He reaches over and ruffles my hair. “I’ll give you Bigfoot hands! Just drive, pretty woman.”

  So I do—even just to hide the smile I can’t seem to wipe off my face.

  * * *

  We reach the diner around ten. It’s a cute, old-school place with a retro vibe – and the mandatory grumpy waitresses. I love it. As we wait for our burrito order, Zach slowly eases into a better mood.

  Another mug of coffee seems to help, too.

  “So, tell me about this camp thing,” I ask, when he seems to have thawed enough for real conversation. “How did it all start?”

  “Marty and I used to go there as kids,” Zach replies, with a nostalgic smile. “We had some of our best summers as campers, and then as counselors.

  “And now it’s some sort of reunion?”

  Zach nods, taking another gulp of coffee. “It started small, but now a lot of people have families, so it’s a pretty big group. Some have moved away, out of state or even out of the country, but almost everyone comes in once a year to catch up.”

  “That’s really nice that you can all get together,” I say. “And that you can rent the camp.”

  “Until it went up for sale.” Zach says. “The owners retired, so the plan was to shut down the summer camp and sell off the land for development.”

  “I’m sorry. Will this be your last year, then?”

  He looks up at me, confused. “Oh, no. That was the plan, but then Martin bought it.”

  “What?” I blink.

  “Martin … and Julie, since they’re married now, I guess. They bought the campground. They lease it to a boys’ and girls’ club for most of the summer, but keep a week blocked out for the reunion.”

  “He must be doing well, to own land like that,” I say, then laugh. “Sorry, I’m just impressed when anyone our age owns something.”

  “I guess, he’s doing OK.” Zach gives a sheepish smile.

  Wait. Why is Zach’s smile sheepish?

  Then I put the pieces together. “He was your business partner.”

  It all clicks into place. The multiple cars, the way he doesn’t seem to worry about the cost of this makeover, the way he tipped two hundred percent at the coffee shop the other day…

  “Does this mean you’re rich, too?” I ask.

  Zach grins. “I do okay too,” he says vaguely. “We sold the company we built together.”

  “For a gajillion dollars?”

  He laughs. “Something like that.”

  “So, you’re not just sitting around all day because you’re unemployed…” I realize.

  “Technically I am.” Zach smirks. “But because I want to be.”

  I laugh. It turns out I had him wrong. Way wrong. “So, you’re just a retired playboy, slumming it in our building for kicks.”

  “Slumming it?” Zach asks, looking wounded. “What are you talking about? It’s a nice building!”

  “It’s not bad,” I laugh. “But it’s not a palace. You sound like you own it or something.” Zach looks down. “Oh my God! You DO own the building!” I toss my crumpled-up napkin at him. “Jerk, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You never asked,” he says with a shrug. “And I only bought it as an investment. I don’t want to be a landlord—I pay the management company to take care of all that.

  “Anyway, the money thing …” he continues, “it’s still kind of new and feels weird sometimes. Marty and I did well, but a lot of our friends are still struggling, you know? I don’t normally like talking about it. Sometimes it feels like I’m rubbing their noses in it, when the truth is, we got lucky. We had no idea our games would go viral like that. We used to joke about selling out, but I don’t think either of us actually expected it to happen.”

  “I know what you mean. Not the rolling in cash part,” I add with a wry smile. “But I know I’m lucky just to have a steady gig with a decent paycheck. Well, it’ll be a lot more decent if I get this promotion,” I add without thinking. Then I stop. Crap. Was I not supposed to mention that?

  But Zach doesn’t seem to notice any slip. “You’re a good stylist, Gemma,” he says.

  Something in my chest twists at his words. “Thank you,” I say, feeling weirdly emotional at the compliment.

  “I mean, look at me,” he adds, with a grin.

  I relax. “Do not give me credit for that outfit!” I laugh, pointing at his faded old tee. “That mess is one hundred percent on you.”

  * * *

  A few hours later, after some carpool karaoke (I discovered caffeinated and fed Zach will even belt out Taylor Swift tunes and has a surprisingly good baritone) we arrive at the turn-off for the camp, under a big arch made of tree trunks and sticks, proclaiming it ‘Camp Dagwood’.

  “What’s with the name?” I ask, as I gingerly drive the Jag along the gravel road. The trees are thick around us, a lovely green landscape just turning golden with the first hint of fall.

  “That’s on Marty. He’s such a fan of massive sandwiches that he got the camp name Dagwood. That’s what we all called him back in the day, after the comic about the guy who loves giant sandwiches.”

  I smile over at him. “That’s a cute story.”

  The parking lot is already packed, and more are crunching up the driveway behind us. “What was your camp name?” I ask.

  Zach shakes his head as he unlatches his seatbelt. “Didn’t have one.”

  Right. Sure he didn’t. “I’ll just ask Julie—she seems to know everything.”

  “You can leave your stuff here,” he says, as though he didn’t hear me. “We’ll check in and grab our stuff after.”

  We get out of the car and follow a path that cuts (barely) through the forest.

  “Should we have stopped for supplies?” I ask, realizing how unprepared I am. I mean, I brought clothing essentials: sneakers, a swimsuit, cute shorts and tees, a mosquito-defying hood
ie and jeans for marshmallow roasting at dusk. But I gave no thought to where we’d get those marshmallows.

  “No, we’re covered,” Zach says. “The kitchen staff up here is really great.”

  I see some rustic cabins nestled in the trees, and realize—never mind snack food, what are we doing about sleeping arrangements?

  Does he expect us to share the same tent? Sleeping bag?

  And would I have any complaints if he did?

  Finally, the trail gives way to a clearing. Right in front of us is a big log-cabin style lodge with huge windows. It’s surrounded by a colony of canvas huts and vintage trailers—Airstreams, boxy striped numbers, even a couple of converted school busses. There are clotheslines strung between them and lawn chairs arranged around fire pits at regular intervals. The smell of campfire and sunblock fill my nose.

  Something in me eases—I never went to camp, but suddenly feel good here and get why Zach does too.

  “It’s hipster utopia!” I say, clapping my hands because it’s just so cool and quaint. Also, I’m so relieved that we won’t be roughing it in a tent. “I love it!”

  Zach leads inside the lodge, where there’s a big front desk, manned by a familiar face.

  “Welcome, campers!” Julie exclaims as she comes around the counter to give me a big hug. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

  “Where’s Martin?” Zach asks.

  “Off somewhere with his nerd hat on,” Julie says. “Planning out the games.”

  “I can’t wait,” I say, rubbing my hands together. “You are looking at the four-time Jones Family Reunion three-legged race and water balloon toss champion.”

  Zach laughs. “It’s on.”

  “You’ll lose like you do every year,” Julie taunts.

  “Not with me on his team, he won’t,” I say, smiling up at him.

  He grins back, his eyes smiling at me, warm amber. My stomach does a slow flip, and suddenly, I’m very focused on learning about our sleeping arrangements.

  But before I can ask, a whole group of people surrounds us, greeting Zach with enthusiastic back-slaps and high-fives. I lose track of names as I’m introduced. Probably because I’m focused on the happy, relaxed expression on Zach’s face. It’s a complete 180 to the scowls that have been greeting me in the hallway for months, and I have to admit, I love seeing this side of him. I got a glimpse of it last night with Julie and Martin, too, but here he’s really in his element.

  After the greetings, Julie consults the guest book. “You and Gemma will be in your regular trailer, Zach. If that’s OK,” she adds, giving me a glance. “I didn’t know if … you know …”

  I open my mouth to reply—even though I have no idea what to say—when Zach tenses beside me.

  OK, so clearly he’s no into the whole ‘shared trailer’ arrangements, either.

  For some reason, my heart sinks, but then I look at him, and find he’s not even paying attention to us. His focus is all the way across the lobby, on a couple just stepping through the doors. She’s a stunning redhead, and he’s not too shabby either, kind of a preppy guy wearing what looks like half the North Face catalog.

  “Julie? What is she doing here?” Zach asks, his voice tense.

  Julie’s jaw drops. “Shit, I don’t know! I swear, she wasn’t on the invite list. Are you going to be OK?”

  “Fine,” he grounds out, looking anything but.

  Now I’m really confused. Zach is acting like she’s an ex, but he’s always so casual with his hookups. I’ve literally never seen the same woman twice coming out of his place. Not that I see them all, but enough to know he hasn’t had anyone regular.

  And I haven’t seen this woman, either.

  “I really am sorry,” Julie says, cringing. “Do you want me to kick them out? I can totally kick them out.”

  “No. I said, it’s fine.” Zach storms out, leaving me stranded in a room full of strangers.

  “Shit,” Julie curses again. “I’m going to kill Martin.”

  “Why?” I ask. “Who was that?”

  “Lisa.” Julie looks awkward. “I shouldn’t … I mean, it’s Zach’s business …”

  She seems like she wants to talk, and if I pushed some more, I could probably get something out of her, but right now, Zach is the most important thing. I remember the look on his face when he saw Lisa, and feel a pang of sympathy.

  Whatever happened between them, it wasn’t good.

  “I should go after him,” Julie says, but the lobby is full of people.

  “Look, I’ll find him,” I tell her quickly. “Maybe I can talk him down. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

  “Uh huh.” Julie looks skeptical, but I turn and hurry after him, hoping our adventure isn’t over before it even began.

  12

  Zach

  - Day 5 -

  I thought that being in nature was supposed to be relaxing, but as I stomp back through the woods towards the parking lot, I’m just about ready to blow.

  I can’t fucking believe Lisa showed up. Here. This was supposed to be my spot, and instead, she just waltzes right in, with another guy on her arm, like nothing has happened at all.

  “Zach, wait!”

  I hear Gemma’s voice behind me, but she’s the last thing I need right now. I want to get away—from here, from Lisa, and from the shitty, dark feeling in my chest that’s like a black hole, threatening to swallow me whole.

  “I said, wait up!” Gemma arrives beside me, breathless. “Jesus, do you moonlight as a sprinter or something?”

  I don’t reply. I reach the car and open the trunk. “Are you staying or coming with me?” I demand, grabbing her bag.

  “You’re leaving?” Gemma blinks at me, disappointment clear. “But we just got here! Is this about that girl?” she adds. “The redhead, in the lobby?”

  I scowl.

  “That’s a yes then.” Gemma cracks a smile. “Let me guess, an ex?”

  “You could say that,” I growl.

  “That sucks,” she says cheerfully. “I mean, ugh, you make a break and then she shows up. My cousin’s wedding last year? Turns out I had dated the best man, which was awkward enough. Then, I ran back into the church because I lost an earring during the ceremony, and catch the photographer—who I’d also dated—making out with a married bridesmaid in the confession booth.” She grins.

  I know what she’s doing, she’s trying to cheer me up. But it won’t work.

  “I don’t believe you. That shit only happens in movies.” I grumble.

  Gemma lifts an eyebrow. “Come on. Would I lie about what happens in a confessional? I’d go straight to hell.”

  “And give the devil a hard makeover,” I add, imagining it. She’d probably tell him that red does nothing for his coloring, and that horns are so last season.

  She laughs. “Anyway, it was very Four Weddings and a Funeral, but the guy was no Hugh Grant, if you know what I mean.”

  I don’t really, but I do know that she’s made me feel better, despite myself.

  “So. Do you really want to leave?” she asks, looking up at me earnestly “And miss out on being with all your friends? I thought the whole point was to relax, have fun. Are you going to let your ex send you running just because she showed up?”

  Not when she puts it like that.

  “Besides, I was promised a good time with stupid games in this hipster utopia,” Gemma grins, “I want to sit by a campfire and roast marshmallows, because I’m sure they’ll be artisanal, handmade marshmallows made from only the finest ingredients. I expect the entire experience to be transcendent. You aren’t going to deny me that, are you?”

  Dammit, now I really am smiling. Because Gemma can be remarkably persuasive when she puts her mind to it.

  Persuasive, and hot.

  Like when she puts her hands on her hips—and stretches that ridiculous T-shirt tighter across her chest. I’ve been trying not to look all morning, but dammit, I’m only human.

  “So, GQ, what do you say? It�
�s a big camp,” she sweeps her arms around. Her chest bounces slightly at the motion.

  Not that I’m looking.

  “These woods are definitely big enough to avoid one person. And if not, I can always run interference,” she continues. “Maybe I’ll put on the fashionable muumuu you bought me and dazzle her away. Like a zebra-striped rodeo clown.”

  I can’t help it. I laugh. “All right, you convinced me.” I say reluctantly. “I’ll stay.”

  “Excellent choice.”

  I grab our stuff out of the trunk and lead her back through the woods, to where the Airstream is parked. Inside, there’s a pull-out couch, and a tiny kitchenette area, with the even-tinier bedroom in back.

  Gemma looks at the couch for a long moment and then swings her eyes up at me. “Do I get the full tour?”

  Full tour? Of an old tin can of a trailer? “OK,” I shrug, not moving. I point my thumb over my shoulder toward the back of the trailer. “Bedroom. Next to it is the head.” I indicate the counter beside me. “Kitchen.”

  She blinks at me. “And I am sleepiiiiiiiing …?”

  I point to the couch. “There.”

  She laughs. “Um, nope. I’m the guest, shouldn’t I get the bed? Chivalry and all.”

  “I thought your foremothers fought for equality so you could be treated exactly the same as any guy,” I tease back.

  “I draw the line at breaking my back like a man.” Gemma laughs. “Flip you for it?” she gets out a quarter, but before she can toss it, there’s a knock at the open door. Marty.

  “Whoops, heads, I win!” Gemma exclaims, the minute I’m not looking.

  “Hold that thought!” I warn her, as I head outside to talk to him. “You cheated!”

  “Did not!”

  I’m still smiling when I reach him, which is probably why he looks so relieved. “Having fun?” he asks.

  “Lisa? Really?”

  He makes a face. “I heard she showed. I’m really sorry. I had no idea, man.”