12 Steps to Mr. Right

by Cindi Madsen

  “That’s it. I’m getting another.” I ate the rest of my first cookie as I broke open another. This would be my real fortune. I unfurled the paper. “A truly rich life contains love in abundance.”

  Great. Now even my fortune cookie’s rubbing the fact that I don’t have any dating prospects at the moment in my face. Thanks for that.

  I rolled it into a ball between my fingers and flicked it at the empty cartons. “Yours is better than both of mine combined.”

  “You can have it, then.”

  I shook my head. “That’s not how fortunes work.”

  “Then I guess you’ll just have to tie your future to mine.” He placed his hand on my knee, and despite the thick denim, heat radiated from his touch, spreading farther and farther the longer he kept it there. “We can take a risk together.”

  I looked into his eyes, thinking he couldn’t possibly mean it—not the risk that my mind automatically went to. But then he brushed his thumb across my knee, and my breath came out in a shallow whoosh of air.

  Add several shots of alcohol and we were in the same position we’d been in right before he’d kissed me in college.

  With no dating prospects in front of me and a dry spell behind me, the idea of blurring the lines with him called to me. This time I’d know it was just sex. I could enjoy his mouth against mine, the caress of his fingers.

  Heat built, firing hotter and hotter and threatening to burn out of control.

  My body screamed do it, while my brain grasped for the reins and reminded me how badly it ended last time. People often said that you couldn’t help who you fell in love with, but I call BS. You can stop it before it starts.

  It might be too late to completely stop my attachment to Linc, but I could pull back before I lost my mind.

  I stood and blurted out the first thing that came to mind—well, the second, after images of us kissing our way to the bedroom, like we’d done all those years ago. “Did you want a sweet tea? I could use some sweet tea.”

  Linc slowly exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. “Sure.”

  I strode over to the fridge. I might not make pies or biscuits from scratch, but I had a pitcher of sweet tea at the ready. Thanks to my brother, I also had a working ice machine.

  As I filled two glasses, I thought of the bottle of Southern Comfort in the cabinet that Ivy and I occasionally used to spike our tea. I spun around to grab it, then froze with my hand halfway to the cabinet door.

  Crap. Didn’t I just think that alcohol was the only thing missing to turn this into a repeat performance? Last time we were super drunk, though, and I couldn’t hold my alcohol back then. Now I held it better, but mostly I knew my limits.

  Then again, there was nothing like getting tipsy to forget your limits, and I often cautioned my clients to abstain if it’d impair their judgment or lead them to do something they might regret.

  I glanced toward the couch and found Lincoln looking right back at me. My heart thumped, thumped, thumped. I’m not sure regret is the right word…

  No. Bad thoughts, Savannah. Bad, delicious, naked thoughts. The trouble with trouble was it started out as fun, and I knew just how fun his kind of trouble could be. Desire swirled through me; my self-control turned fuzzy.

  If I didn’t do something—and fast—I’d lose my grip on it completely.

  Luckily, I knew what to do. Employ a few steps and all the reasons I needed to stay strong would come back into focus.

  Step Eight: Don’t settle for only half of a relationship, where there’s attraction and passion but your emotional needs aren’t met and there’s no promise of commitment.

  If the night Linc and I had spent together were any indication, we had plenty of passion—tonight proved it was still there, simmering under the surface. But the lack of commitment wouldn’t meet my emotional needs. Letting myself think that I could handle no-strings-attached or that he and I might end differently this time—just because I wanted it to—was like standing on quicksand and being surprised when I got sucked under.

  I knew how it felt to be sucked under, struggling for breath and wondering where I went wrong, and it wasn’t something I wanted to experience again.

  That awful memory of realizing I’d been nothing more than a one-night stand to Linc hit me, and instead of pushing it away, I let it in.

  Recovering from the feelings of betrayal had been hard enough, but as the days went on, I’d also had to deal with the loss of one of my best friends.

  Old wounds reopened and my lungs constricted. Not only would I end up crushed and questioning everything, including my job, I’d lose one of my closest friends all over again. For good this time.

  No casual sex for me. No settling for half a relationship.

  My self-control firmly in place, I picked up the glasses of sweet tea and headed back into the living room. After the amazing-sex-versus-rational-thought roller coaster, I didn’t exactly know how to act, especially with the hurt from our past crowded in there, too.

  “Here you go,” I said, handing Linc a glass and then sitting a bit farther away on the couch, a full cushion between us. Life would be less complicated if I completely cut ties with him, but thanks to how miserable I’d been this past week, I knew that despite everything, I still wanted his friendship. Maybe even needed it.

  Which also scared me for reasons I couldn’t explain. So I took a large gulp of my tea, thinking maybe I should’ve spiked it after all.

  The silence tiptoed into awkward territory. A dozen topics flitted through my head, but none of them seemed right. He had to have noticed a shift—it was all I could notice.

  Linc set his glass on the coffee table and sat forward. He ran his palms down his thighs, and I knew he was going to make an excuse to leave. Even though it was probably for the best, disappointment flooded me. “So, which anniversary are your parents celebrating?” he asked.

  I blinked, my tongue tangling up for a moment before I recovered from the unexpected question. “Their fortieth. That’s why Velma’s going all out. My parents are expecting a small, simple family gathering, but she’s invited their friends and wants to surprise them with a huge party instead.”

  “And will they be surprised?”

  “I think so.” Cool water droplets slid onto my jeans when I rested the glass on my leg, but I held it there anyway, thinking of it as an extra barrier. “My mama’s like a human lie detector, but so is Velma—it’s kind of like their own spy versus spy game. Whether or not my parents know about how big the party will be, they’ll definitely be surprised about the cruise gift we pitched in to get them. My daddy will probably be a bit horrified, to tell the truth.”

  I smiled, thinking of Daddy on a cruise ship, his usual conservative polo replaced with a Hawaiian print shirt. For the most part, Mama took charge of things. She made plans, and he went along. “He’s happiest in front of the TV with a drink in hand, or when all of his family is buzzing around him, but he’s not much of a talker or a fan of meeting new people. My mama is pretty much the opposite. She’s happiest when she’s hosting, and she gathers friends like most of the people in their neighborhood gather lawn ornaments—being against plastic flamingos and weird lawn gnomes is where they’re united.”

  Linc smiled at that, and I realized we never talked much about our families before—college was more about being on my own for the first time, basking in independence while trying to find the right balance of studying and partying. Most everything I knew about his family was from Ivy, and only that her mom and Lincoln’s mom were sisters.

  “What about your parents? Do they live in Atlanta still?” I knew he was raised here. I also figured that answer would reveal if they were together or divorced, without having to outright ask, in case it was a sensitive subject.

  “They moved to Kennesaw shortly after I started playing for the Crosscutters. It was a bit too stressful on my dad to keep living in the city. He suffers from vitelliform macular dystrophy, so as the disease got worse and worse, he need
ed somewhere smaller that moved at a slower pace.”

  “Vitelliform dystrophy?” I asked.

  “Sometimes they call it Best Disease—which I’ve always thought was a total oxymoron, but I guess it just happened to be the last name of the dude who discovered it.”

  I’d be proud of his use of “oxymoron” if it wasn’t attached to something so serious and devastating.

  “It’s an eye disorder that causes progressive vision loss,” Linc continued, his voice going flat. Tension tightened his features while his gaze drifted. Classic signs of reflection and sorrow, with a hint of disengaging himself from the words. “My dad started seeing things distorted and blurry, so my mom finally convinced him to see an eye doctor. You remember that night I showed up on your doorstep and I was a total mess? The one where you lifted your ban of sports movies to play The Sandlot?”

  I nodded. I’d known something bad must’ve happened, but prying had only made him shut down harder, and playing that movie was the only way I could feel slightly less helpless.

  “My dad had just received the diagnosis and found out he was only going to get worse. The disease mostly affects the central vision, so he has a bit of peripheral left, although even that declines the older he gets.”

  Words never seemed like enough when responding to information like that, but they were all I had. “Linc, I’m sorry. That’s got to be hard.”

  A nostalgic look overtook his features. “He taught me most everything I know about baseball. Every night after work, no matter how tired he was, he’d take me to the field near our house and we’d practice. Catching, pitching. Hours of BP.”

  “BP?”

  Linc turned to me. “Batting practice.”

  “Oh. Should’ve put that one together.”

  That earned me half a smile. “He used to be quite the ballplayer in his day, and I remember thinking I’d never be as good as he was. Took me till my senior year to feel like I could keep up. He always told me I needed to go after my dream to play professionally, no matter how hard I had to work to make it.” The line of Linc’s jaw tightened. “When I couldn’t get back after my surgery, one of my first thoughts was that I’d disappoint him.”

  My heart sank, but I tried to keep it out of my voice. “You played for years, and even now you’re carrying on that legacy, helping those kids at the camp. I’m sure he’s proud.”

  “I know,” Linc said. “But I still hate that I didn’t make it further, especially since I felt like I was playing for both of us. He could’ve easily played in the minors—probably could’ve even made it to the majors. But he met my mom in college, and he gave it all up to settle down and have kids. Or kid, as it turned out.”

  “Couldn’t he have gotten married, had a family, and still played?”

  “You said it yourself. A lot of women are hesitant to marry into that lifestyle. The traveling and the nonstop training—it wasn’t what my mom wanted. I know my dad never regretted his choice, but I also know he always wondered how far he could’ve gone. He told me that if I really wanted it, I had to make it my only goal.

  “So that’s what I did.” Linc’s gaze slowly lifted to mine. “It’s funny, because he always wondered what would’ve happened if he had kept baseball his top priority, and I sometimes wonder what would’ve happened if I hadn’t.”

  My hand went to his knee before I had time to second-guess it. “Just because things worked out differently doesn’t mean you made a mistake going for it. A lot of people let their dreams pass them by, but you went for yours. No matter where you go from here, baseball is a part of you and it always will be—your passion for the game is one of the things I remember most about that year.”

  Linc covered my hand with his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I remember a lot of things about that year.”

  The air changed, the same way it had earlier, only instead of heavier, it seemed super-charged, like a word or movement might cause a spark. I wasn’t sure what kind of reaction it’d cause, only that there was a level of excitement that clashed with the trepidation rising up and warning me that sparks left burn marks.

  After a moment, I had to say something, so I went with my go-to move. “It’s better to have a life of ‘oh wells’ than a life of ‘what ifs.’” At his amused expression, heat filled my cheeks. “Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.”

  He laughed. “I actually like that one. And honestly, once my dad was diagnosed and we learned the disease was genetic, it only drove me more toward baseball. I kept thinking what if I get it and the symptoms start earlier for me? It’s amazing what he can do despite the big blank patch in the middle of his vision, but he can’t play ball anymore. He can’t do a lot of little things most people take for granted.”

  Here I’d been talking about my dad not wanting to meet new people.

  “My mom never complains, though,” Linc said. “I asked her once how she deals with having to take care of him, and she told me that she didn’t have to. That she loves him and chooses to spend every day with him, so they can both be happier.”

  A string pulled in my heart, unraveling it bit by bit. After witnessing and even experiencing the scars that love-gone-bad could leave, I sometimes forgot how healing it could be. I saw the result of people finding each other often enough, and how it changed people for good, but it’d been a while since a story had struck me so strongly.

  “Anyway.” Linc fidgeted, and I could tell he hadn’t been entirely comfortable with how much he’d divulged. I wanted to tell him it was okay. That the information was safe with me.

  “I…” My phone cut through the quiet, and I glanced at it. Then I reached over and picked it up. Amy Lynn. “I’m sorry. This is one of my clients, so I should probably answer.”

  Technically she wasn’t my client, and not even my workshop attendee, considering most of the word implied actual attendance.

  Sobs greeted me first.

  I pushed the phone tighter to my ear. “Amy Lynn? Are you okay?”

  “I asked Jacob if he ever planned on marrying me, and he told me I should stop pressuring him.” Amy Lynn sniffed and let out a stuttered exhale. “So then I asked if he’d at least get a paternity test done so we could put that situation behind us, and he blew up. I think…I think it’s over.” She dissolved into tears and squeaky noises I couldn’t quite decipher.

  “You want to meet up and talk?” I asked.

  I fully expected her to say no—and maybe even accuse me of ruining everything, which had happened to me before, although they usually came around—but she sniffed and rattled off her address.

  Chapter Twenty

  I’d lost count of how many tissues I’d handed Amy Lynn, but the box neared empty and the trash can overfloweth with the crumpled, lotion-infused squares. Annabeth was on her way, but had attended a political fundraiser tonight and didn’t see the voicemail message until about twenty minutes ago. I’d spent the last hour at Amy Lynn’s apartment, listening as she cried and poured out every detail about her and Jacob’s relationship, the good, the bad, and the ugly.

  Honestly, a lot of it was bad and ugly. After Jacob had stormed out, Amy Lynn tried to break into his phone. When that didn’t work, she turned to a website for people who suspected their significant others of cheating and paid to have them track the phone numbers he’d called.

  The number that showed up most often? The woman Jacob had called crazy—the very one who claimed he was her baby’s father, which more and more, looked to be true.

  You’d think it’d make Amy Lynn feel vindicated, but instead it obliterated her last shred of hope, and she’d clung to it for so long that without it, her world crumbled around her.

  “I wasted so much time and energy on him,” Amy Lynn said, dabbing at her red eyes.

  “No relationship is a waste of time. If it didn’t bring you what you want, it taught you what you don’t want.” I wrapped an arm around her shoulders in a side hug. “Now that you’ve kicked that jerk to the curb, you’ll find someone better,
who’ll see how amazing you are. You deserve that.”

  She nodded. “I’m going to go to your workshop again, but this time I’m going to take notes and do it right. I’m so done with guys who take, take”—her chin wobbled and tears strangled her voice—“take.”

  “No rush.” I rubbed my hand up and down her arm, hoping she found it comforting. As long as we weren’t talking about my hair, my personal space bubble had always been fairly small, and after years of comforting and encouraging a lot of distraught women, it’d shrunk to microscopic. Her tears had soaked through the sleeve of my shirt, too, so I assumed that put us on a more intimate level. “Take some time to get over Jacob, and I’ll set you up for the next workshop. That way you can start from the beginning.”

  Someone knocked on the door, and I offered to answer it—most likely it’d be Annabeth, but it could be Jacob, and I’d happily set him straight about his no longer being welcome here.

  My posture relaxed when Annabeth stood on the other side of the peephole. The black sequins on her dress glittered underneath the porch light, making it clear she’d come straight from the fundraiser. She made a beeline for her sister.

  They embraced and talked over each other, a mixture of sorrys, reassurances, and I love yous. “I should’ve listened to you,” Amy Lynn said, shaking her head. “When we first got together, he told me that he’d never been the commitment type. And I stupidly thought I could change him. I was actually flattered, thinking I had.”

  Step Nine automatically popped into my head—it was a classic mistake, made by many, many women.

  Step Nine: Don’t think you can change a guy. People have to want to change themselves. So change yourself. Decide who you want to be, and go for guys who don’t need to change.

  Now wasn’t the right time to recite steps, but I did take comfort in the fact that Amy Lynn recognized a few of the red flags she’d missed. It’d make it that much easier when she did start my program.

  Amy Lynn wiped at her watery mascara streaks as a fresh round of tears started. Annabeth looked at me, and I could see how helpless she felt.