Eddie sets his beer on the counter, signals for another, then mimes rolling up his sleeves. I don’t think he owns a shirt with rollable sleeves; they’re all of the T-shirt variety. “Okay, let’s figure this out. Let’s get a date for the Gav man after Denise dumped his ass.”
I shoot him a stare. “Gee. Thanks for reminding me of that.”
He claps my shoulder. “Hey, don’t be ashamed of being dumped. All the good guys have been dumped. I’ve been dumped. You’ve been dumped. It’s a rite of passage. I only mention the dumping because it’s going to make it that much sweeter when you find the woman you’re meant to be with.”
Eddie is a strange mix of crass and, well, romantic. He does believe in true love. He believes it’s coming for him, for me, for everyone.
The door to the bar opens, and in walks my coworker and good friend, Savannah Waters. Her hair cascades down her neck to her shoulders, and her trim figure catches my eye. But it always does. Empirically and all. She’s a friend, but she’s also a foxy friend. Eddie whips his head around and calls out to her, “Yo, Savannah. Come here.” Eddie pats the stool next to him.
She joins us, her dark-blonde hair framing her face. “I’m meeting Sloane and Piper in a few minutes, but what can I do for you two troublemakers?”
“Who says we’re making trouble?” I ask with an I’m so innocent smile.
She arches one eyebrow, and the look on her face is a little flirty. It’s a good look on her. A look I like. “Isn't that what you do?” she asks. “You cook and stir it up like a couple of chefs.”
“We have a vat brewing in the back,” Eddie says.
“Just add a little sriracha.” She leans against the bar. “Some hot sauce and I’ll have it like soup.”
I hold up a hand. “I want this trouble soup, especially if it’s extra spicy.”
She gives me a droll look. “Always spicy. I always like it spicy. That’s my mantra.”
Mine too. Food, sex, you name it.
“Screw mild” is my answer, and she responds with a wiggle of her eyebrows.
Briefly I wonder if Savannah likes it spicy or sweet in the bedroom, but then I strip that thought from my mind. We’re friends, and I’m not looking for anything more.
Eddie waves a hand, big and bold. “I got it!” He clamps the hand on Savannah’s shoulder. “Ask her to be your date.”
3
Savannah
Look, I’m not going to lie. I’ve kind of, maybe, sort of had a thing for Gavin for a long time.
As in, since I started working at Glass Slipper Records a couple years ago, handling PR for a number of our top acts. It’s not just a looks thing, because I’m not just a looks gal.
But he has those. Oh hell, does he have a fabulous face, great hair, and eyes that mesmerize me.
But looks fade.
What caught my eye and still ignites my brain is the way he holds the door for me and how we can endlessly obsess over music together, and the fact that he loves to try new food trucks at the farmers market near our office.
Plus, he remembers my coffee order. And I don’t know why that’s some magical thing that guys do, but it feels like it is. When a guy bothers to remember your coffee order and that you like your Thai food extra spicy, and thinks that you would love this cool new girl band that Glass Slipper signed (and he’s right)—that’s the someone you should be thinking of as boyfriend material.
Except . . .
There’s one little issue.
He’s had a girlfriend for a chunk of the time I’ve worked here, so we’ve been friends.
Just friends.
That’s why I zipped up my crush and then motherfucking stomped on it. I stubbed it out so hard that I stopped thinking of him that way, and now he is only and absolutely a friend. A very good friend.
And he’s the kind of friend I want to keep.
So it’s with only a friendly curiosity that I latch on to Eddie’s comment, meeting Gavin’s blue-eyed gaze as I ask, “What do you need a date for?”
“Well, it’s not really a date,” he says quickly. I try not to let the cheetah speed of his response bother me. Who cares that he doesn’t see me as date material? We are friends and that’s fine by me.
“Ha! Yeah! Exactly. No real dates going on here,” Eddie says, chuckling as if the idea of dating me is the height of comic relief.
Gavin gives his best friend a sharp stare.
“You’re friends. You’re one of the buds,” Eddie explains, smacking me on the arm then administering a series of very friendly punches. Male punches. “That’s why you’re perfect for this. Our boy here needs a fake date because his mom is riding his ass about his single status.”
“Ah, the plot thickens,” I say in my best spooky voice. It’s better than letting on that Eddie’s comments bum me the hell out, since he obviously knows Gavin’s true heart.
But then, why should I be bothered that they see me as one of the crew? Gavin and I are friends and have been for the last couple years. I'd ruthlessly squashed any wish for more, so there’s no reason to be saddened that Gavin doesn’t want more either.
“My mom is definitely on my case. I have to go to a party this weekend, and she wants to set me up with, like, a million women from the neighborhood. And I’m just not into my mom setting me up,” he says with a casual shrug.
I drum my fingers on the bar, understanding his situation. “If I let my mother set me up, I would be dating the butcher.”
“The butcher? Why?” Gavin asks.
“She works right next door to him, and she’s convinced he’s the perfect man for me.”
“You don’t even like meat,” Gavin says, with an inquisitive lift of his eyebrow.
“Exactly!”
“So, again, why the butcher?”
I wave a hand airily. “Seems he’s interested in getting married, and like most mothers, mine is obsessed with grandkids, so she figures if I take up with the butcher, I’ll be popping out babies nine months later.”
Eddie rubs his hands together. “The butcher is knocking up Savannah on their wedding night. Go, meat man!” He pats my stomach. “The butcher is going to put a baby meatball in the Sav-meister’s belly.”
I shoot him a glare. “Meat man? Meatball? Eddie, where do I even start dissecting everything that’s wrong with that?”
Gavin raises a hand. “I feel like meat man is a good place to start.”
Eddie shakes his head, heaving an indignant sigh. “The two of you are ballbusters. So what if Gav wants to date strippers and Sav wants to bang butchers?”
I snap my gaze to Gavin. “What? Strippers?”
Gavin slices a hand through the air. “He’s just being . . . Eddie.”
“And you two are being offensive to the noble industry of removing clothes for money,” Eddie adds with a pout, overdoing the put-upon routine.
I hold my arms out wide. “Date strippers, date butchers, date go-go dancers, date girlfriends-for-hire. I’m not judgy.”
Eddie points at me. “See? She’s the perfect fake plus-one for you. She’s totally chill.”
“And we’re back to the fake date for your mom’s benefit.” I scan the bar for Sloane and Piper, since we’re meeting for a game of pool. Neither is here yet, though, so I stick with the guys. “What is it about moms that makes them want to set you up? And usually with the completely wrong type of person.”
Gavin’s blue eyes twinkle as if we’re speaking the same language. “Right? Because we spend our whole lives trying to avoid being our parents or having the same taste as them. And then all they want to do is meddle in our love lives.”
“So it’s settled, then.” Eddie claps Gavin on the back and squeezes my shoulder. “You guys will be fake dates.”
Eddie raises a finger, signaling the bartender, and as he places an order, Gavin looks at me, vulnerability in his crystal blue eyes. “Do you mind though?”
My heart beats a little faster, and my pulse hammers a little harder, all from
the way he looks at me. Like he cares about me. Like he wants to make sure I’m truly good with this. “No, I really don’t mind. I mean, that’s what friends are for, right?”
He drags his hand across his forehead like he’s relieved. “Yeah. And you are an awesome friend, Savannah. I am so grateful. I’m just not ready to go to this event and have my mom arrange a plus-one.”
“And you’re probably not even ready to date again,” I offer, and then I wonder why I’m saying that. Why am I pointing out that it’s too soon? Oh right, I’m doing it because it’s my armor. Buckle it on, tighten it up. I need the steel covering to protect myself, lest he realizes I once wanted more from him.
“I haven’t really dated since Denise left,” he says.
The mention of her name makes my jaw tick. I hate that Denise hurt him. How could she not see what she had in front of her? Ingrate.
“I hear ya. You’re not ready to get back out there,” I say.
“Exactly. But I do need help. You don’t mind?”
“I don’t mind at all,” I say, as the front door swings open and I spot a mane of blonde hair and a pair of big brown eyes. “Listen, Sloane’s here, but we should come up with a plan. Backstory and all that.”
“Let’s make a date,” he says, then corrects himself. “I mean, to plan our backstory.”
We agree to meet before the party to spin our fairy tale, and I tell myself I don’t care that it’s all make-believe.
4
Savannah
Sloane arches a brow as she pulls back the pool cue, giving me an “I can’t believe you did that” lecture with just one look. I suspect I’m about to receive an earful too.
“So, let me get this straight,” she says, eyeing the red ball as she lines up her shot. “The guy you’re into asked you to go on a fake date.”
I gulp, then put on my best confident face. “Yes. He did. But I’m not into him anymore.”
“Right.” She studies the table then meets my gaze. “And you said yes?”
“I said yes.”
She nods like a professor employing the Socratic method. “And you thought this was a good idea?”
I lift my chin. “Sure. He needs help.”
“And you don’t think that’s a recipe for disaster?”
“Why would it be a recipe for disaster?”
She shoots me another knowing look. That’s the thing about good friends. All of Sloane’s looks are knowing because she pretty much knows everything about me.
I try to make light of my decision. It’s going to be fine. I’ve been friends with Gavin for a while now, and it’s all good. “I don’t see why it would be a recipe for disaster,” I say, leaning on my pool cue. “Besides, it wasn’t even really him who asked, so it’s not like it means anything.”
Sloane pulls back the cue and lightly taps the white ball, sending the red one rolling across the green felt and into the corner pocket.
“Nice.” Even though we’re competing with each other, I can’t help but admire such a beautiful shot.
Sloane and I are something of a pair of pool sharks. Since I was raised by parents who made pool balls, bocce balls, and croquet balls, I was encouraged in all leisure pursuits from a young age, ranging from music to crochet to pool.
“Thanks,” she says and returns to the topic. “And this fake date—it wasn’t even arranged by the guy you crush on, but by Eddie? Crazy, no-filter Eddie had the bright idea for Gavin to take you to his sister’s engagement party?”
“Yes. It’ll be fun,” I say, all cheery and peppy. But I do think the party will be entertaining. “Gav and I have a great time together. We have fun when we grab lunch, and we had a blast playing badminton on the company team. He’s a good, good friend.”
Sloane smirks, nodding several times as she lines up her next shot. “Oh, yeah. He’s a great friend. A friend you harbor no feelings for or fantasies about.”
I draw a deep breath. I’ll convince her with my certitude. “If I was able to shut my feelings down the entire time he was involved with Denise, I can do it now. And the party will be fun.”
“You don’t think it’ll be, how shall we say, tempting?” Her lips go all sexy pouty, making it clear exactly where she thinks the party will lead.
Scoffing, I shake my head. “It’s just a party. Now, come on, keep going,” I say, urging her to take another shot.
She works her way around the table, and when she misses the purple ball, it’s my turn, and I angle myself toward the middle pocket.
But before I can start, she beckons me, her fingers waggling, and dresses her voice in a whisper. “Don’t let him take advantage of you.”
My brow knits. “What do you mean? How the hell is he going to take advantage of me?”
“Who’s taking advantage of who?” The bold question comes from our friend Piper, who’s just sauntered in looking fashionable and perfectly put together. Piper is vibrant and outgoing and hates to miss any juicy gossip. “Tell me everything.”
“If you’re going to arrive late, you’re not going to get all the details,” Sloane says, chiding her before she gives her a quick hug. I’m next—we’re huggers and I love my girls, even when they gang up on me.
Sloane motions for Piper to come close and points my way. “Gavin Hot Pants Clements just asked her to be a fake date at his sister’s engagement party, and I don’t want him to take advantage of her soft, gooey side.”
Piper’s brown eyes go wide, and she rubs her hands. “Ooh. I nominate myself to plan your wedding when this gets serious. On account of your soft, gooey side when it comes to him.”
I roll my eyes once, and then again, just to reinforce how nonchalant I am about this. “It’s not going to happen. We’re just friends. I’m going with him as a friend. Don’t you understand that I can actually just be friends with him without it turning into anything more? There is nothing soft and gooey going on. Also, gross.”
Sloane smirks then holds up her fingers. She counts off on three of them. “Three times. You just said you’re just friends three times.”
“Because we are,” I insist.
Piper winks at me. “Sure. We get it.”
I wave the stick at the two of them, poking Piper’s arm then Sloane’s hip. “I swear the two of you read way too many romance novels. You think everything is going to turn into something.” A poke in the thigh. “Sometimes things turn into nothing.” A poke on the wrist. “In fact, most of the time they turn into nothing. Maybe try reading some nonfiction, and you would know that.”
Sloane scoffs haughtily then turns to Piper. “Can you believe she is mocking our reading habits?”
Piper holds up a stop-sign hand, going all California girl. “As if. Don’t even talk to me anymore. I love romance. You should too.”
I set down the cue, sighing. “Romance is my jam. But I’m a realist. Look around.” I gesture to the pool area and the bar beyond. “The world is a wild, crazy place. And only true, crazy romantics would actually believe that something like pretending to be his date—at his sister’s engagement party, no less—would turn into anything more. That just doesn’t happen.”
Piper purses her lips. “I beg to differ. As a wedding planner, I see romance bloom in all sorts of ways every day.”
“Right. But in regular ways. Online, at work, in the gym. Not in this way. Therefore, the fact that I’ve had a crush on the guy is a moot point. In fact, I’m going to get online later and go through my Match.com requests, because there is no way anything will happen with my good friend Gavin.”
Sloane cuts in. “Are you sure though?”
“One: I may not have mentioned this, but we’re friends. Two: we’re coworkers. Three: he’s not ready for more. Four: let’s focus on something useful, like how to make this fake date believable. Because, five, here’s how stuff works in the real world: he meets some hot girl online who looks just like the other girl he dated, he rebounds with her, and I continue providing a shoulder to lean on. Meanwhile, I eventu
ally get over my crush on him and move on with some other sexy, music-loving hipster. Or a lumberjack maybe. That’s how it works.”
Piper raises her hand. “That’s how it works sometimes. But let’s talk about the whole ‘is someone ready’ notion.” She takes a beat, gathering herself to make her point. “Whether someone’s ready is a pointless argument. Love doesn’t come when anyone is ready. Love sneaks up and bites you on the ass at the most inconvenient times. I should know—look what happened to me. It’s not like I was expecting anything with Zach,” she says, going all soft at the mention of her guy.
I set a hand on her arm. “Maybe not. Point is, it didn’t happen in any crazy way. You got together in a very natural way.” I turn to Sloane to bolster my case. “And the same with you and Malone. You worked together, and then you got back together. Case closed.”
Sloane hums doubtfully. “There was a little more to it than that. But be that as it may . . . let’s go over some tips to help you get through this event.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Yes. Please. All I want is to make this believable.”
Sloane wiggles her brows. “So you don’t want it to be obvious that you’re in love with him?”
I glare death rays at her. “I hate you.”
Piper gives a big smile. “You love us.”
“I hate you with the fire of a thousand suns.”
“No. You love us the same way.”
“Obviously,” I grumble.
Sloane raises one finger. “But you’re not wrong. First tip: let on that you want to have sex and make babies with him.”
“I don’t!”
“Don’t be too touchy-feely,” she adds.
“I wasn’t going to,” I insist.
“But do be just touchy-feely enough,” Sloane continues.
“A hand here, a brush there,” Piper adds. “You never know.”
I set down my pool cue and cover my ears. “Stop. Just stop!” I uncover them. “You two are no help. I’m going to reread today’s post from The Modern Gentleman in New York. It’s about asking a friend when you need help, which is the only reason why Gavin asked me to be his fake date.”
Instant Attraction Page 2