by Misti Murphy
It’s not the first time we’ve had words in the six months since his show took over the airwaves. I don’t know why I don’t stop listening to his vile filth, or why he gets me so worked up that I added the station’s number to my speed dial after a particularly heinous week where I found myself calling in every night to abuse this disgusting excuse for a man.
Crossing the kitchen, I flip open my laptop and a minute later his voice comes through the speakers.
“This is Doctor Love. How can I do you tonight?”
Ugh, he’s so crass. And yet, the moment his voice hits my ears I get a little tingle in my thighs. Whatever, like I’d ever be turned on by such an asshole. That’s why I haven’t dated in more than two years. Assholes, assholes, everywhere. I don’t think enough emphasis can be put on the sorry state of men these days. That’s why I have ideals. And why I would never date a so-called bad boy. This idiot shock jock would certainly qualify in the ‘don’t date’ category. Well he would, if I had time to be interested in the opposite sex.
My job as director for Match Kiss Love, my reality romance television show, leaves little time to meet people. Moving to a semi-small community to follow the pet project I’d spent the last couple years championing didn’t help either. Chances I’m going to meet Mister Perfect here are zero to none, which is why I don’t even bother. It’s probably also why I have the radio show’s number on speed dial.
No, no, that’s because this guy is a jackass. It’s not because I’m bored, or alone, or whatever. I could meet a nice guy if I wanted to. It’s just I don’t want to have to deal with all the pricks first. “I can’t believe you had the nerve to say what you did to that poor woman. You have no—”
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite stalker. Can’t get enough of me can you, baby doll?” He chuckles. It’s deep and rough. A delicious sound that probably is part of the reason he got the role as the Love Doctor in the first place.
It has no effect on me whatsoever. None, nada, nil. It doesn’t tickle my insides, or make my stomach clench. Nope, not at all. “I’m not stalking you. I’m calling to set the record straight for that woman you ripped to shreds. Men aren’t all dogs. Maybe her boyfriend is a jerk, but she deserves better. A nice guy. They do exist.”
“Sure.” He clicks his tongue. “I’ll give you that. Nice guys do exist. It’s women who don’t understand men that turns nice guys into assholes.”
“That’s not true.” I open the fridge. Wine, wine, half a dozen light beers. And a container of half-eaten pad thai. That’ll do for dinner. Gathering up the thai and a Miller Lite, I knock the door closed with my elbow. “If a guy is acting like an asshole, he’s an asshole. All I’m saying is there are guys out there who aren’t like that at all.”
“Okay, baby doll. Let me have it then. What’s your version of the perfect guy?”
He wants to know my opinion? I toss the container into the microwave to heat and crack open my beer. He’s actually asking me to tell him what I think makes up the ideal man? Dropping onto a stool at the island to wait for my dinner, I catch my reflection in the glass darkened by the late hour. “He’s sweet and kind. He has his shit together. He treats me with respect, and understands that not everything is about sex. He’d never lie to me. Never hurt me. And he’d never cheat on me.”
“He doesn’t exist.” I can practically hear his smirk on the other end of the line. “All guys think with their cock, sweetheart. It’s a biological fact.”
Ever heard a smirk? It’s possibly worse than seeing it face to face. I know his face must be split into the widest grin possible, and my fingers itch with the need to slap him, but I settle for the fashion magazine beside me instead. “Of course he exists.”
“So you know this pansy? You’re dating him?”
“Well…” Argh. I use that same magazine I just finished abusing to cover my face. My mother’s third husband comes to mind. He was a pretty decent guy. Well, he was the only one who had time for me when I was growing up. But he’d left my mother for his yoga instructor, so he probably isn’t the example I want to hype now.
“Whoa ho. This is your imaginary boyfriend, because you’re too pathetic to find yourself a real one.”
“I am not,” I snap. How dare he tell me I’m pathetic because I’m waiting for the perfect guy. “I just haven’t met him yet.”
“Because he doesn’t exist.” Directing his attention to his listeners he says, “No fantasy prince exists for you, ladies. We’re all the same. Cavemen who want a woman with a nice pair of tits we can use as a pillow, and a mouth big enough to suck us off.”
“You are so crass,” I bark down the phone, glaring at it. “You’re so full of yourself.”
“Honey,” he drawls, “why don’t you open your mouth a little wider and...”
I punch the end button, disconnecting the call, but that doesn’t stop his laughter or the sound effects he makes. Like he’s jacking off in my mouth.
I huff as I try to delete that disturbing image from my head. Me on my knees, my mouth wide open, and my tongue out to catch his cum. Unplugging my earbuds, I head to my bedroom and plug my cell into the charger. I hate that he gets into my head like that. I mean, I don’t even know who he is, what he looks like. No one does. The satellite radio station he works for keeps the identity of the Love Doctor close to their chests. He could be the most vile, no wait, even if he was as sexy as he sounds, he’s still the vilest man I’ve ever come across. And who does that? Who pretends to spoof in a woman’s mouth on radio? Disgusting.
“Now to the music. This one’s for you, baby doll.”
“Highway to Hell” by AC/DC blares through the speakers. Is he inferring that talking to me is like taking the highway to hell?
Well, speaking to him is no picnic for me either. That’s the last time I am going to listen to his show. It’s the last time I’m going to call in.
I’m running late. Of course, I am. It took me an hour longer than it should have to finalize the vetting on the new contestants for Match Kiss Love. Picking three guys and three girls out of a list of hundreds isn’t exactly easy.
There’s certain criteria, of course, that they need to fit. Single, for a start, and looking to find romance. But there’s also the demographic needs of our audience, and the participants must be compatible with all three contestants of the opposite sex. Then there’s fitness and mental requirements. And that’s before they choose who they want to match up with on the first episode of the show, which will happen in just over a week when we start taping for the next season. It’ll be a busy couple of months with the contestants taking part in challenges and dates that will help them get to know each other. But only the couple who can really work well together to win most of the challenges will walk away with the cash prize, and hopefully they might even find love.
Which reminds me, I have to actually meet my date. Standing outside the swanky restaurant, I take a deep breath and tuck my cell into my purse before using my compact to do a quick check of my hair and make up. Everything’s still in order, even after pulling a twelve-hour day at the local studio. If only matching up our contenders in a way that will improve viewer ratings was as easy. Or dating. I haven’t made an effort in so long, it feels monumental to be bothering about my appearance because somewhere inside is a man waiting to meet me.
Whose idea was this anyway? Oh right, it was mine. After that last phone call with the Love Doctor I decided I was going to prove him wrong. I smooth a hand down the front of my little black dress and push open the door of La Dolce. Laurel, my favorite intern, said my date for this evening had checked out when she’d done his background check. “He’s going to tick your boxes, and tick your box if you know what I mean.”
Laurel might have missed the bus when it comes to double-entendres. I send her a quick text to call me in fifteen minutes in case I need an escape before I scan the room for a man sitting on his own. I catch his eye and he stands and waves me over. Sam Roberts, twenty-eight, works in accoun
ting, owns his own home, no other debt, no criminal convictions. Pity he’s shorter than I am. Still, it’s been two years since my last date, so I can’t write him off for his height, can I?
“You must be Penny.” He reaches out to shake my hand then drops to his seat.
“And you must be Sam.” I pull out my own chair and sit down. How hard is it for a man to pull out a chair? To show a little chivalry?
Sam’s talking, about what I have no idea. But his voice isn’t the one I hear.
“Listen sweetheart, I’m sorry to tell you, but chivalry is dead.” Doctor Love’s smug voice filters through the other conversations around us. “Women ruined it for themselves when they tried to emasculate the male of the species.”
Oh my God, is that asshole from the radio here? In the restaurant, right now? While I’m on my first date in forever? I scan the crowded room, flitting over the other patrons, but not one stands out as a possible loudmouthed shock jock. Of course he wouldn’t, would he? It’s not like I have any idea what he looks like. My gaze settles on a group of people replaying a sound bite and laughing over how awful it is. No, he’s not actually here. It’s only his voice.
“Penny?”
Sam’s gawking at me over his menu. Brow wrinkled, he stares as though he’s waiting for me to say something. I lean forward, placing my hands together in the middle of the table. That radio jerk is not going to ruin my date. “Sorry. What were you saying?”
“Do you always wear heels? You’re taller than the women I usually date.”
I’d probably mark it up to nerves, the type of nerves everyone gets on a first date, if he’d look me in the face. Instead his gaze is locked on my chest, and his jaw is working like maybe he has something to say about the small amount of cleavage I have. It makes me want to cover my boobs with my hands, so he won’t be able to stare at them. Instead I pick up my wine, which he must have ordered before I arrived. It’s red and one sip is enough to remind me why I’m a white wine drinker. Something he’d know if he’d bothered to ask my preference before he ordered. Hell, what if I didn’t even like wine at all? “Excuse me?”
“You’re nice enough looking, but not really my type.” With a shrug, he slouches back in his chair, as though he’s already decided our date isn’t worth the effort.
This right here is why I’d rather be single than wade through the dating pool. There’s no polite chatter, no compliments unless the jerks want to get into my panties. Which clearly this guy has no interest in. It would be nice if just once I could meet a nice man on the first try. “Well, you’re a little short.”
His eyes widen. “I’ve never had any complaints. I can’t help that you’re as tall as a man.”
Well that’s that. Date over. Laurel didn’t even get a chance to make her pre-planned call. I drain the glass and set it on the table before pushing back my chair. “I’d say it was nice to meet you, Sam, but honestly it was pretty lousy.”
He shrugs and picks up the menu, dismissing me.
I don’t know what else to say. I have no idea how to react to his behavior. Spinning around, I plan to make a graceful exit. The kind of exit that women who know they’re worth more than the pathetic attention of a jerk command.
“Oof.” I smack into someone as they walk past the table.
Big hands cover my elbows to steady me. The soft, but determinedly masculine voice attached to the man who probably kept me upright asks, “All right there?”
A wide torso, strong and muscular under a white business shirt and slim black tie take up my view. I have to look up to see the man’s face. Unusual for me. “Yes.”
He drops his hands, but I don’t. Mine are still on his biceps where they landed when I put them out to catch myself. His chest rises and falls against my breasts, and he smiles. Crap, I’m a touch too close, and I push back so I can stare at him. Green eyes full of humor brighten with his crooked grin. “Good. Should I let you get back to your date?”
“Date?” I glance at Sam, who’s developed a sudden interest in something other than his menu. “No, I was leaving.”
“Sit down, Penny,” Sam says, indicating my vacant chair. “You’re being a little dramatic.”
Is he trying to save face in front of this stranger? Or is it like what that shock jock says, men want women more when they’re desirable to others? I bite my lip, and look at the guy who hasn’t moved despite the fact that I’m still touching him. I don’t even know him, and still my hands refuse to relinquish their claim on him.
His cheeks lift, and a dimple appears that makes my belly quiver. God, he’s striking, with a good three days’ growth on his jaw, and exhaustion etched in little creases around his eyes, and in the violet-blue shadows underneath them. “What’s your name, gorgeous?”
He is really tall. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with his height. I’m eye level with his shoulder. That’s never happened to me before. The best I’ve managed is a couple of guys I work with who are eye to eye with me. Oh right, he asked me something. “It’s Penny Morgan.”
“Finn.” He takes a step back and adjusts his tie, and his gaze drops to my cleavage, but there’s not an ounce of criticism in it. If anything, my nipples are hot and tight, puckering under his blatant appreciation. Shooting out a hand, he takes mine. “Finn Casey.”
“Thank you for catching me.”
“No problem at all.” He pulls out the chair at the table for me, but the last thing I’m going to do is sit down and pretend I can stand my date now.
“Actually, I’m leaving.”
“No, stay,” he says. “This guy’s on his way out, aren’t you, friend?”
The way he says it leaves no misinterpretation of what he thinks of the guy. His rough grumble isn’t friendly at all.
“I’m not,” Sam says, clenching his jaw and glaring at Finn as he sits as tall as he can in his seat. “I booked this table, and I’m having dinner here. Penny can join me if she wants. We’ll split the bill.”
As if he could intimidate this six-and-a-half-foot wall of muscle. I cover my mouth to hide the slight smile I can’t quite supress. The guy is a giant. I’m almost petite and feminine standing beside him.
Finn stalks around the table, his large hand closing hard on Sam’s shoulder. “Have dinner here tomorrow. Tonight, you’ve upset this beautiful woman, and she deserves better than that, so you’re going to get up and leave, and she’s going to have a nice dinner with some enjoyable conversation.”
He bends closer, and I don’t hear what else he says, but Sam shoots up out of his chair, his face flaming. “I’m sorry for anything I said or did that may have left you uncomfortable. I hope you enjoy the rest of your night.”
I watch Sam hurry out of the restaurant. He doesn’t even glance back to shoot us a dirty look. This certainly isn’t how I expected this evening to go.
“What did you say to him?” I ask, both curious and impressed by his ability to make another man get out of his way so easily.
“It’s probably best if I say something like a gentleman never tells, but the whole gentleman part probably doesn’t fit with what I told your former date.” He smirks and rubs his thumb over his lip as he ambles back to stand behind my chair where he waits for me to sit down. “Shall we, Penny?”
Shall we? Should I have dinner with this gorgeous guy, who seems to be the epitome of my dream man? “Maybe I should go. Aren’t you having dinner with someone else? I mean that’s what you were doing before I smacked into you, wasn’t it?”
“Work meeting.” His voice, it’s a beautiful thing. Rough and rumbling. A vibration that sweeps under my skin. “Which is finished. I was on my way out and now I’m hungry and thinking I’d like a little pleasant dinner conversation.”
“Okay. That sounds good.” Better than going home to my empty apartment and the frozen healthy dinner I’d have to dig out of my freezer. Sitting down, I arrange the skirt of my dress while Finn takes Sam’s vacated seat.
He picks up the menu for no more t
han a minute before clapping it shut and setting it between us. “What do you think, Penny? Lobster? Or steak?”
CHAPTER TWO
FINN
I’m sitting across from a woman, eating dinner, like I do this shit all the time. Honest truth is, I can’t remember the last time I was out for the hell of it. Or with a woman who is supposed to be on a date, and is the kind to pre-plan an escape call. Considering her date, it was probably a smart move. Beside those few minutes where her attention was diverted to her friend while she explained she’d already been rescued from the particularly heinous date, she’s been great company. Damn, this chick is hot, too. And she’s tall for a girl.
I can’t decide whether I like that about her or not. Most of the women I meet come up to my belly button, which actually makes them the perfect height, when you think about it. I mean, her face is already in my crotch. All she has to do is open her mouth.
I don’t mean to think about her in that position, but my brain’s wired that way. It’s a male thing. We meet a woman we’re attracted to, who is sexy as fuck, and of course we’re going to run the gauntlet of sexual positions we’d like to see her in.
I shift in my seat. I’m not green, and I’m not going to get wood over some stranger while she cuts into her steak and tells me about her job, but that doesn’t mean I’m not uncomfortably turned on by her.
She’s passionate about her career, from the way she goes on and on about it. But hell, I asked, and her voice is sweet. Like the girl who calls into the radio show I host. The one where my alter ego says things most men think, but would never have the balls to say out loud. Stalker Girl, that’s what I call her whenever she phones in, which is at least once a week these days. I’d gotten that same funny little prickle up the back of my neck when Penny had first spoken as I do from my mysterious caller. Which is probably why I decided one night out with a beautiful woman isn’t the end of the world.