“By the way, I totally approve of the look, but your mom said we have to get you to bed. The girls are coming over soon.”
“Look, look, look.” She grabs my hand, pulls me into her room, and shows me her find. Their Siamese cat, Chaucer, who’s part cat, part Satan, is curled around a teddy bear. “He’s cuddled up with my old stuffy. Isn’t he the cutest?” Lena hops onto the bed, tucks her feet gracefully under her legs, and pets the demon. She leans her face in to him, rubbing her cheek gently against his downy fur. He snuggles against her, clearly plotting misdeeds. “My mom says he’s a troublemaker, but I don’t believe her. He’s so sweet to me.”
I clear my throat. “Yes, that’s exactly what she calls him.”
Her mom actually calls the cat Captain Asshole, but that’s not for me to repeat. Chaucer is a master of knocking stuff off of other stuff—dressers, tables, shelves. Once, he whacked a vase off the cupboard above the stove, shattering it into a thousand shards. Hayden was real happy about that.
Lena pats her bed. “Can you show me your old videos here?”
I flip open the laptop and trawl through the archives of The Fashion Hound on the hard drive, accommodating her stroll-through-memory-lane request. “Here you go.”
We watch several videos as Lena grabs potential outfit combos from her closet, displaying the tween-centric looks for my thumbs-up or -down.
When she finds a yellow shirt with a unicorn leaping over a pot of gold, I jump up from the bed. “I want to be twelve, so I can wear this,” I say, grabbing the shirt and pressing my cheek near it. The style doesn't suit me anymore, but it would have fit with tween-me’s quirky, sassy, cute look.
Lena giggles. “You can borrow it anytime.”
“I wish I could wear this when I meet with investors. But I’ll probably have to wear pants and a starched shirt.”
She pretends to barf.
“Exactly.”
Crash.
A sharp smacking sound rends the air. I swivel around. My eyes bulge as I stare at the carnage.
Chaucer licks a paw fastidiously as my hard drive lies broken on the floor, the case cracked open.
“Bad boy!” Lena shakes her finger at the cat, scolding him.
He doesn’t give a shit. He simply moves on to the other paw.
Hayden rushes in from her office and surveys the damage. “I’m so sorry, McKenna.”
I wave it off, because cats can be dicks, and I should have known better, given this dick’s track record. “I never should have left it on the bed. What can I say? I was distracted by a unicorn shirt. And hey, this gives me an excuse to visit Gadgets, Gizmos, and Geeks. They can fix it.”
She grabs my arm, pleading with big brown eyes. “I promise if you ever need a patent attorney for anything, I’ll handle it for free.”
“Well, duh. Who else would I go to when I finally invent a website that works without me needing to do a single thing to run it?” I add with a wink then pick up the laptop and the damaged drive.
She laughs and tells Lena it's time for bed, since the other women are on their way over.
I dart back to my place, drop off the laptop on my desk, and return to Hayden’s.
After Lena conks out, my sister, Julia, and our good friend Erin arrive. I’ll save my news till the end of the show. The four of us pile onto Hayden’s couch and catch up on the latest in the saga of dragons and character deaths that leave you reeling.
“Whoa! I didn’t see that one coming,” I say when a beloved character meets his messy end.
“I did.” Erin enthusiastically brandishes the notepad with her predictions. In her triumph, her big red plastic hoop earrings swing wildly around her small, pert face and suit her sandy-brown spiky pixie do.
“Damn.” I grab my wine, and Hayden and Julia do the same, all of us imbibing as the drinking game requires.
When the show is over, I tell them it’s special bonus-viewing time.
I’m absolutely giddy about my red-hot idea. Nervous too. But definitely excited.
I click on a folder on my phone and show them the short video I recorded yesterday for my blog. I haven’t posted it yet because I want to know what they think of it first.
“Hey there, all you fashion hounds and fashionistas. I have a very special edition today. It’s a little more personal than usual, but it’s chock-full of the best clothing tips.” On-screen me pauses dramatically then declares, “It’s the best outfit for when you’re finally ready to date again after a prolonged time-out.”
Julia leaps from the couch, her red curtain of hair flying behind her. She crushes me in a hug while the video plays, detailing my attire when I met the restaurateur. “That’s what I wore when I was asked out . . .” I gasp dramatically, leaning into the camera to whisper, “in real life.”
Julia lets go and mouths, No kidding?
Girl scout’s honor, I mouth back.
The video finishes, and I’m engulfed in a group hug. No one has wanted this more than my best friends.
When we manage to separate, we return to the cushy couch where they pepper me with questions.
“When did this happen?” Hayden asks.
“How did you decide you were ready?” Erin tosses out.
I give a quick overview of running into Todd and Amber. They cringe and offer sneers for him and leg pats for me, but I assure them it didn’t hurt. “It reminded me that I’m over him. That I’m ready for the next phase.”
“And you met someone right away?” Erin asks.
“Yeah, who is this guy who asked you out? The one you mentioned on your vid?” Julia inquires.
“Are you on the apps?” Hayden asks, reaching for her wine with her long arm. Well, both arms are long. She might be part-giraffe. Her limbs are endless.
“Aha,” I answer. “That’s my grand plan, and I think it’s innovative.”
“To go on the apps?” Erin asks, deadpan. “Everyone’s on the apps, hon. That’s how I met Pete.” Pete’s her live-in boyfriend. “Hate to break it to you, but everyone meets on the apps these days.”
I heave a dramatic sigh. “I know. And since it’s been, oh, six long years since I dated, I’m a little app-averse.” Todd and I met when I graduated from college; we were together for five years. And back in college? No one needed apps. College was one gigantic hookup fest.
Ah, those were the good old days.
“Basically, I haven’t dated. Ever,” I say in a confessional tone.
Erin gives me the side-eye. “Really?”
“I had a couple hookups in college and then a boyfriend my junior year. So that would make high school the last time I actually went on a regular date.” I let out a long stream of air. “Damn, that was a long time ago. I’ve more or less missed the online-dating phenomenon.”
“So what’s your plan?” Julia asks. “Are you going to do Plenty of Fish or Bumble or Tinder or something else?”
I wiggle my eyebrows, bubbling with enthusiasm. “I’m going to get back in the saddle IRL.”
Erin tilts her head, like she didn’t understand. “IRL?”
“Yes. In real life.”
She rolls her eyes. “I know what the acronym means. But why on earth would you do that? We have better options these days.”
“Sweetie, I know you met Pete online. But he’s the exception.”
Hayden clears her throat. “I met Greg while shopping for a watch for my father. He was shopping for the same watch for himself.”
Erin shoots her a you’ve got to be kidding me look. “You met Greg sixteen years ago.”
Hayden’s jaw drops. “Don’t be an ageist just because I’m nearly ten years older than you ladies.”
Julia pats Hayden’s knee. “Forgive her. She knows not what she does. Plus, we love your wisdom when you share it, and your young-at-heartness too.”
“Thanks. I’ll be right back. Just need to get my dentures.” Hayden rises as if to go.
Erin tugs her back down. “I love you. Just saying, though, yo
u and Greg met before apps were trendy.”
“Guys,” I cut in. “I don’t want to get on the apps. I know there are plenty of successful matches, but I’ve heard horror stories too. Every woman I talk to has an online dating tale that will scar you. Kara from Redwood Ventures, my lead investor, told me about a guy who tried to talk her into a threesome on the first date. A makeup blogger I know went out with a guy she met online, and in the first hour, he tried to recruit her for his pyramid scheme.”
Julia jumps in. “I’ve heard of that. It’s actually becoming a common way for the MLM-ers to bring new recruits in. I hear all those stories, too, at my bar.”
I nod. “My point exactly. Besides, I’m more of an old-school gal. I like my old-time music, and I like the idea of meeting someone in real life. Seeing if there’s chemistry. So here’s my plan—I thought I’d do a little video series. My videos always do best on Insta and online when I make them personal. And I try to be open on those social channels. So why not pair my fashion expertise with dating? It’ll keep me motivated to put myself out there.”
“Since you’re married to work,” Erin puts in.
“Work has been faithful to me,” I add.
“It’s understandable that you’d want to connect your dating quest with business if you can. You’re an online influencer. Your Instagram fashion vids get crazy views,” Julia points out. “So, you’re going to do a what-to-wear-on-dates kind of thing?”
“Well, presuming I find anyone to date. But that’s where you all come in.” I gesture to the three of them. “I want you to set me up with any single guys you know.”
And that’s when my friends lose their ever-loving minds. We’re talking cheers, hoots, hollers, and squeals that threaten to wake up Lena.
Turns out, there is little a pack of happily paired-off women love more than setting up the single friend.
Erin claps. “Yay! I have been counting the days on my calendar until you were finally ready to start dating again. And maybe to bang again.”
“I’ll toast to a good banging,” Hayden adds.
Julia pipes up. “Call me crazy, but I’m going to toast to you falling in love.”
A part of me wants to raise a glass right along with her. To say wistfully, Wouldn’t that be something? Because, really, that would have been everything I wanted once upon a time. I was born a romantic, and bred a romantic.
But I’m not one anymore.
No thanks.
No can do.
Getting left at the altar has a way of torching all your fairy-tale dreams.
I threw them in a bonfire last year, watched them burn to the ground and the ashes blow away in the wind.
I might have moved on. I might have held my head high. But I am not interested in love. No falling, no swooning. Not in any way, shape, or form. Been there, done that, and if I hadn’t returned them, I’d have the KitchenAid mixers to prove it.
I am, however, quite interested in having some clever conversations, a few interesting dates, and a good time. I don’t even mean in bed. I’m not looking to get laid. I just want to have fun.
“Love isn’t in the cards. All I want is to spend some time testing the waters, seeing what’s out there, instead of seeing the sad end of my WebFlix queue,” I say.
Julia sighs. “It is sad when you get to the end of a binge and WebFlix doesn’t even know what to serve you next.”
“It’s the saddest.”
Erin leans in conspiratorially. “I already have someone in mind. One of my massage clients at my spa. He works in advertising, and he’s a cyclist. He’s on the Lemonhead team or something. He comes in once a week. He has a perfect body. Not an ounce of fat on him.”
“I can scope out any of the non-alcoholic hotties at my bar,” Julia offers, and I nod my approval, since bartenders meet lots of men. “There are some guys who work at a tech firm nearby who come in for Thursday darts. One of them is quite funny. His name is Nathaniel, so I’ll work on him.”
“I’ll keep my eyes peeled for any attorneys,” Hayden offers.
Then, a voice pipes in, small but strong, from the other side of the kitchen. “What about the FedEx guy at your office?”
Hayden whips her head around. “Lena! What are you doing up?”
Lena smiles innocently. “Well, you always say he is cute . . .”
Hayden scuttles her back to bed, this time shutting the door all the way, and returns to the table.
“So tell us about the FedEx guy,” Erin says with a sly grin.
“All the ladies think he’s a catch. He has blond hair, brown eyes, and these crazy toned arms,” Hayden says, her eyes going a little dreamy.
Reality smacks me with a big old bag of worry-filled bricks. “Wait. Am I even a catch?” I point at myself, and a new dose of fear shimmies down my spine. “What if no one wants to date me? Oh God, I’m an idiot. I’m about to put myself back on the market, and I might get zero takers.”
Hayden squeezes my knee. “Enough with that nonsense. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? You’re a babe, McKenna. You’re tall and thin, and you have great skin.”
Erin flicks my hair. “And you have this lush chestnut hair—which is even hotter than your blonde hair—and crazy, wild bluish-hazel eyes.”
Reflexively, I raise a hand, fingering a lock of my hair. I’m a natural blonde, but a month ago, I went darker, eager for a change. Maybe that was the start of my emergence from hibernation. A brand-new color, one that I never thought I could rock.
“The hair change is bold, and you pulled it off,” Hayden adds then adopts an over-the-top jealous voice. “And now you’re one of those blue-eyed brunettes, which makes you even more rare.”
“Oh please,” I say, but inside I’m loving the compliments. Correction: I’m loving the love from my inner circle.
A hand curls on my shoulder.
“You are McKenna Bell.” It’s Julia. She’s one year younger than I am, and has always been my biggest champion. “You are going to do this. Watch out, men of San Francisco—we have a hot, big-hearted, funny-as-fuck, smart-as-a-whip, and completely awesome woman on the market.”
Later that night, I post the video on the Fashion Hound Instagram account.
When I wake up, it’s gone viral.
Color me surprised.
5
McKenna
The closed sign saddens me. I sigh heavily, shoulders slumping, when I reach Gadgets, Gizmos, and Geeks the next day a few minutes before five. I was really hoping to get this hard drive fixed, and the store is supposed to be open till six.
“Crud muffins,” I mutter, resigning myself to return tomorrow.
I decide to console myself with some shopping, starting with the electronics store next door, to find a new video game perhaps.
I push open the doors and head to the shelves, taking my time perusing various offerings like Yooka-Laylee, which is next to Super Mario Odyssey.
I pick up Yooka-Laylee, considering it.
“Have you played the newest Super Mario Odyssey?”
Before I can even turn around to see where the voice comes from, I laugh.
“Have I played the newest Super Mario Odyssey?” I repeat. “Am I breathing? Am I a sentient human being? I played it, collected a hundred twenty-four moons, and saved Princess Peach from Bowser many times over, thank you very much.”
I turn to my questioner and Holy Mary Mother of Hotness.
I drop the Yooka-Laylee box, and my jaw may fall to the floor too. I contemplate reaching down to pick it up, but that’d make it completely obvious I was checking him out. Perhaps I’ll stick to only partly obvious.
My questioner is tall, trim, with wavy light-brown hair and these crazy green eyes that remind me of how Hawaii feels. Well-worn blue jeans hug his legs, and a casual gray Nor Cal T-shirt has the good fortune to cuddle his stomach and chest. The shirt shows off the right amount of tanned, toned arms.
Have I stepped into an alternate universe where hot men gr
ow on streets and in stores, perhaps rappelling down from the planet of Incomparable Babes?
He hands me the box I dropped. “Here you go,” he says, and I wish his fingers had just brushed mine. I’d take the barest trace of accidental contact from this specimen.
“Thanks.”
He smiles back immediately and then makes a little bow. “Saving Princess Peach many times. Wow.”
“What about you? Have you mastered it?”
He waves a hand in the air.
“Oh, c’mon,” I persist. “I told you.”
“Does anyone really master Super Mario Odyssey?”
“That’s a rhetorical question.”
“But a good one, right?”
“Are you hiding a Super Mario Odyssey secret?”
He inches closer, scans the store, and whispers, “Beat the jump rope challenge.”
My eyes go wide. “Get out of here.”
He just shrugs casually.
I shake my head. “No, that’s not how it works,” I say playfully, enjoying the exchange with the perfectly handsome stranger behind the warm green eyes, and figuring it’ll help me on my dating quest. Talking to a hottie has to be a positive. “You can’t just drop a little nugget like that and not give me the goods. Tell me how you did it. Because I can barely get five jumps in.”
I listen intently as Hot Guy begins detailing his tactics, talking with his hands, moving his body back and forth, up and down a bit to simulate the way Mario has to keep up with an unpredictable rope. This guy has the kind of arms that women driving cars slow down for, the kind of physique that turns a gal into a gawker. The way his T-shirt falls just so tells me all I need to know about the abs that lie flat beneath.
I remind myself to pay attention, because it’s rude to simply stare at his washboard belly instead of his face, especially when his face is so very lovely too. I’m an equal-opportunity gawker. I nod as he shares his gaming secrets, and hope I’m not visibly salivating.
The Dating Proposal Page 3