by Scott, Lisa
Toby poured himself more wine. When he’d first inherited the surprise windfall from his mother, he’d been very careful not to hook up with bimbo spend-a-holics who partied too much, spent too much, and cared too little. So he’d sought out professional businesswomen, who hopefully valued a sizeable savings account the way he did. He’d continued working as a financial planner, and he was his own best client.
But Lorna wasn’t interested in his money; she wanted to be sure she didn’t find someone after hers. The most important quality a man could have was not needing her. “Lorna, we haven’t done anything spontaneous and fun in—ever.”
She didn’t look up from her phone. “I can’t afford to be spontaneous and fun.”
“Yes, you can. And so can I. We could take ten fabulous trips and it wouldn’t ding our bottom line.”
She pouted. “You don’t understand me at all or what’s important to me.”
Toby leaned forward and lowered his voice. “And you don’t understand what’s important to me.”
She looked up at him, her green eyes that once enchanted him now hard and cold. “Money. Success. Security.”
“They’re on the list. But things like fun, travel, just enjoying myself? Those are currently trending much higher in my world.”
“Toby…”
He finished the last of his drink, while Lorna kept her eyes glued to her phone. “Maybe we should take a break, Lorna. See if our priorities match up after a little time apart.” He stood up.
She rolled her eyes, looking up at him for a moment. “Fine. I’ll go to Miami with you. I can do my research online.” Her gaze returned to her screen.
“You would, wouldn’t you?”
This time she didn’t even look at him.
“We definitely need a break. I’ll talk to you in a few weeks.”
“Who will I take to the Daffodil ball?” Finally, she sounded concerned.
“Your realtor?”
She thought about it for a moment and shrugged. “That might work.”
“Goodbye, Lorna.”
She waved at him while tapping away on her phone. “We’ll talk in a few weeks.”
No we won’t.
He left the restaurant and climbed into his waiting car outside. “Just take me home, George,” he told the driver.
“And Miss Smith?”
“We won’t be seeing her again.”
“I see.” George started the engine and headed for home.
Damn, Toby needed to get out to the kind of bars he went to before the millions in his mother’s surprise inheritance landed in his lap. He needed to find a woman who didn’t follow the Federal Reserve chairman on Twitter—who didn’t discuss the Dodd-Frank act endlessly. One who did shots. Body shots. Who could leave her cell home for the night without breaking out in hives.
He knew exactly who could help—his little brother Eric. Once he got home, he called him up and gave him the rundown.
Eric laughed over the phone. “Dude, finally. You can meet me out tonight. Do not wear a suit. Any chance you’re sporting a goatee these days?”
Toby flopped onto his couch. “No.”
“Start letting your beard grow out.”
“That’s itchy.”
“At least a soul patch.”
Toby rubbed his temples. “What the hell is that?”
“It’s hot. A little patch of beard, right under your lower lip.”
“That’s what those stupid things are called? I’ll grow a handlebar mustache before I grow one of those.”
“Chicks dig facial hair.”
“Not the chicks I want to date,” Toby said.
“Bro, you are so over thirty.”
Toby rolled his eyes. “Bro, you are so not far behind. Twenty-six is closer to thirty than twenty.”
“Bro, maybe you shouldn’t come out tonight. You’re going to bum me out.”
“Drinks are on me.”
“So, I’ll see you later then.” Eric was going through his inheritance much more quickly than Toby.
“See you there. I’ll be the one without facial hair, wearing a suit,” Toby said, as Eric hung up.
***
The cold night air chilled Diana’s bare legs as she stood outside the bar, while couples walked by talking and laughing. “You have to do this. This is your job now. The book is your job. It’s your future,” Diana said to herself. She walked into the bar, aware of several heads turning as she scanned the crowd for her brother, Matt. She spotted him at the end of the bar talking to a redhead. He certainly didn’t have problems attracting women. Attracting the right women was another story. Maybe I should write the book about him, she thought.
Matt looked her way and waved her over. She squared her shoulders and walked toward him, still a little unsteady on heels three inches higher than she was used to.
Matt looked her up and down. “I always knew I had a much cooler twin sister out there.”
Diana sat down next to him. “Keep trying, your jokes could be funny some day.”
Matt ignored her and jerked his thumb toward the woman next to him. “Diana, this is Stacy.”
“Tracy,” the woman said.
Diana smiled. Run you poor girl, run! “Nice to meet you.”
“So, I’ll give you a call this week,” Matt said, turning his back to the woman.
“Okay. Great!” Tracy blinked at him, then left.
“You leverage your good looks to the detriment of your inner qualities,” Diana said, with a sigh.
Matt set down his drink. “What? What did you say? That was an insult, wasn’t it? I told you, no psycho-babble talk around me.”
She ignored him. “I’m working on a relationship book and I wanted to ask you a few questions.”
He grinned and crossed his muscular arms. “You’re coming to the master. Very smart.”
“All of your relationships have been spectacular disasters.”
“Spectacular?” He made a mock-bow. “Why, thank you.”
Diana rolled her eyes. “When you start dating a girl, do you know it isn’t going to work out, or do you always think that there could be a chance she’s the one?”
He arched an eyebrow. “I know she’s the one for the night. That’s a good start.”
“Matt…”
“What? I don’t think that far ahead.”
“Of course not. How do you meet them? Always at a bar?”
“Usually. How else would I be meeting them?”
Diana shrugged. “Setups. Online dating.”
He laughed. “Do I look like I need to do online dating?”
“It has nothing to do with what you look like. It’s a way to meet someone compatible.”
“I’ll know if she’s compatible once I kiss her.”
“I think I’ll change the title of my book to the Neanderthal’s Guide to Dating.”
“I want half the profits.”
“I don’t think it will sell very well.” She hopped off her stool. “Well, I’ll leave you to Tracy.”
“I think her name’s Macy. And I already got her number. I’m going to hit another bar and get a few more. Maybe some girl will be lucky enough to come home with me tonight.”
“You’re pathetic. Mom must’ve been having an affair when she got pregnant with you because you’ve got some bum DNA mixed up in there.” Diana went to the restroom to touch up her makeup. Or rub it off, is more like it, she thought, looking at herself in the mirror. Since she usually just dabbed on a bit of lip-gloss and mascara, the full foundation, blush eyeshadow and liner she was wearing was a little overwhelming. She blinked at herself. She certainly looked different, but she had to admit, she did look good.
She walked back into the bar and her sights immediately zoomed in on a tall, hot, dark-haired guy in a suit, leaning against the bar laughing. She smoothed down her skirt, dismayed that her fingers felt flesh so high up on her thigh, and headed for the guy.
His gaze followed her. “Hello. Can I get you a drin
k?”
She tucked her hair behind her ear and swallowed, searching for the right thing to say. “If you’re lucky.” Good lord, maybe she did share DNA with Matt.
The guy smirked. “I’m Toby.” He looked familiar.
“Dina,” she said, quickly creating an alter ego on the fly.
Another tall, buff guy squeezed between them. “And I’m Eric, Toby’s younger, hotter brother.”
Diana shook Toby’s hand and then Eric’s. She met Toby’s gorgeous blue eyes, and checked out his smart-fitting suit, his lean build, and his expensive shoes. Shit! He’s a carbon copy of all the men she’d ever dated. No wonder he looked familiar. She’d probably bumped into him at a charity event before.
She forced herself to look away from Toby and smile at Eric. He was good-looking too, in his tight t-shirt, scruffy hair, and dark jeans. He had a little patch of hair under his bottom lip. Steeling her nerves, she reached out and ran a finger over it. “Looks like you missed a spot.”
Eric gave Toby a look. “Nope, I left that there on purpose. Just a little something to enhance the kissing experience. And other things.”
Diana’s hand flew to her mouth. What did a flirty girl say at a moment like this? She forced a giggle. God, a giggle—from her mouth. “I like my men scruffy.” Which wasn’t true. Toby’s clean-shaven face was very appealing, but going after him would be following a road to nowhere. She needed a guy like Eric for the book.
Toby closed his eyes and nodded. “I’ll leave you two alone.”
Her instincts had Diana longing to follow Toby to a table, but her instincts had never been right before, so she turned back to Eric and asked, “Wanna buy me a drink?”
***
And he did. Three of them, after consuming twice as many himself. Toby had long since left the bar, and she thought about calling a cab for Eric so he’d get home safely. He was a nice enough guy, keeping his hands to himself and mumbling bad lines, mostly involving her eyes and breasts. Luckily, a cute blonde showed up and hurried over. “I hope he’s not bothering you,” the woman said.
“Oh, no. He’s fine. We’ve just been chatting.” Although he did spend much of the night with his arm looped around her shoulders telling her how pretty she was. Luckily, he hadn’t tried anything else. “Are you his girlfriend?” Diana took a step away from Eric.
“No. I’m Emily. Just a friend who puts up with way too much of this shit. But if I don’t, who will?”
Diana was going to explain the concept of enabling and co-dependency, but she just smiled and said, “That’s so nice of you. He’s a great guy, except for…”
“This. I know.” The woman pried Eric away from the bar and helped him shuffle to the door.
Eric turned around and blew Diana a kiss. “Wanna go out sometime?”
She knew she should. He certainly was a candidate for Mr. Wrong, but she was fairly certain she could cross Eric off the list. He’d already given her enough for a chapter tonight. “Sorry, I’m leaving the country for a while.”
“Damn. Call me when you get back.”
Emily rolled her eyes. “Maybe she’ll be kind enough to save you a barf bag from the plane, you dork.”
“Would you do that?” Eric asked.
“Sure,” Diana said, wondering how the evening would’ve ended had she walked over to Toby.
No doubt, it wouldn’t have yielded as much good material for the book.
***
Toby had long since left the bar, but he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he did send off an uptight vibe. Dina’s interest in him had melted the minute she saw Eric. Dina seemed like the type he was looking for. Party girl, but something more, too. He hadn’t had trouble meeting new women after he left The Brownstone Bar. He’d met plenty of fun girls who had zero interest in talking bond rates or what the latest unemployment rates meant for the market. But once they started chatting about reality shows, he was out. It was one of his rules. And all of the women he’d met tonight had mentioned the Kardashians. He just couldn’t do it. He drained his beer and went home; surprised he’d had zero success his first night out.
***
Diana got home, scrubbed off her makeup, and changed into pajamas. Then she spent an hour taking notes on her evening. It would make for an interesting chapter, her first foray out as a flirty girl. It was strange, actually focusing on her dating life instead of her career. She laughed to herself. She was focusing on her career by doing this.
Before turning in for the night, she checked her email and then spotted a popup ad for an online dating service. ‘Meet your future mate,’ the ad promised. Why not? she thought. This could fill a few chapters if it’s bad enough.
She answered the lengthy questionnaire exploring her taste in men. She answered most of the questions the opposite of how she truly felt, left out the employment history and boosted her bust size a bit. She admitted to loving seafood and despising rock bands featuring high-tenored men, like Rush and Supertramp. She liked her men deep-voiced, this was true. Then she filled in her name: her new alter ego, Dina. Dina, who liked bad boys, scruffy guys, and men looking for fun instead of commitment. When it came time to upload a picture, she panicked. What if someone recognized her? She went to a stock photo site and bought a photo of a cute brunette who looked a bit like her and uploaded that instead.
The next morning, she had six contact requests from men who the computer algorithm had deemed a good match. She looked through guys eager to meet Dina, and settled on two—a handsome blond who probably was also using a stock photo because the lighting was perfect, and a guy who called himself Witty Will and displayed a cartoon of Woody the Woodpecker as an avatar. There had to be a dirty implication flying right over her head, but maybe he was a good choice. She’d never done funny before. This would be good for a chapter or two.
She clicked on Will’s avatar and read his message. “Hey you sexy thing. How about we get together for some laughs and who knows what else?”
Diana fluttered her fingers. Was she really going to do this? Yes, she was. She had to. “I’m at a disadvantage,” she typed back. “I don’t have your picture to see if you’re my type.”
She poured herself some cereal and was surprised by Will’s quick response. He must be online, she thought.
“You won’t be disappointed. I didn’t post my picture because I don’t want a woman who’s just after my looks.”
She rolled her eyes. He might be worth three chapters. She quickly emailed him back. “Then how will I know it’s you when we meet?”
It wasn’t long until his promising response landed in her email box. “I’ll have a nice big package waiting for you. Oh, and a gift on the table with a red bow.”
She gasped, sitting all by herself at the kitchen table. All signs pointed to her being a persnickety old lady some day with a few well-chosen low-heeled shoes. Did she really want to go out with this guy? “Big package. Funny stuff,” she typed back, happy that indecision couldn’t be detected through keystrokes.
“No one’s laughed at it yet.”
“Good to know,” she typed.
They made plans to meet for drinks at The Brownstone Bar on Friday night at eight o’clock. Before contacting the blond hottie, she decided to see how her first blind date went before setting up another.
Then she panicked. What kind of guys responded to singles’ ads in the middle of the night? She imagined guys in dirty boxers with the glow of a boxy old TV illuminating the room. Undoubtedly, these guys wouldn’t be her type and that was the point, right? The badder the better. She took a deep breath. It’s for the book. It’s for the book.
The phone rang and she answered without looking—a big mistake.
“Hi, darling. It’s mother.”
Diana pressed her lips together to keep a sigh from escaping.
“Are you there?”
Diana forced a smile, like her mother could see her. “Yes, how are you, Mother?”
“I’m wondering how the books are coming
?”
“Oh, it’s…good. I’m making progress.”
“Diana, are you sure leaving the therapy practice was a good idea? Are these books enough to pay your bills?”
Diana could feel her blood pressure rising. “For a while, yes.”
“And after that?”
Diana’s throat tightened. “I’ve taken care of myself all these years, Mother, I think I’ll be fine.”
“Because you can’t count on a man to do that for you.”
“I don’t have a man to count on, so don’t worry!”
“I just want the best for you,” her mother said. How many times had she said that to her over the years?
Diana rubbed her temples. “I know. I know. I’m working on the book, and I have a blind date tonight.”
“Really? That doesn’t sound like you.”
“Don’t worry. It’s not for me; it’s for the book. Gotta go, Mom.”
***
On Friday, Diana wasn’t loving any of her new clothes, so she went on another shopping trip and while she was out, she decided to schedule a waxing appointment, too. It had been a while, and maybe if she were lucky, she could turn her first ever blind date into her first one-night-stand and have plenty to write about.
She got home and tried on the new frilly bra she’d bought and modeled it in front of the mirror. “Cute,” she said. Then she narrowed her eyes. “No, it’s sexy.” Feeling emboldened, she grabbed her phone and snapped a few pictures of her new purchase. She looked at them on the screen. Damn, her chest looked small. She tried a few different angles, and finally was satisfied with a picture of her leaning forward slightly, with the camera tilted just so. Another first, she thought. She’d never taken a racy picture of herself for a guy. She’d never even sexted. “That’s going to change tonight and it’s going in the book.”
She composed an email to Will with the picture of her in her bra, and a flirty message: “I’ve got my own package for you to unwrap.” She saved it in her draft file to send later, once she was certain Witty Will didn’t have a rap sheet or halitosis.
After downing a glass of wine to get over her audacity, she slipped into a tight black dress, and flat ironed her hair, then went through her new makeup routine. She was looking good and feeling nervous and called a cab to drive her to the bar. She didn’t think she could handle the walk. After a very aggressive waxing session, she already had her first tip for the book: don’t fix your bikini line the day of the date. She mentally composed that chapter in her head on the ride over, then tried not to hobble into the bar as her sensitive skin protested. She’d ditched the undies because of the pain; the slightest touch hurt. A one-night stand was feeling unlikely if not impossible tonight.