“They do. It’s weird, since the show has nothing to do with that. But a ton of my viewers keep writing in, asking me for dating advice.”
She quirks up her lips. “It’s because you’re personable and smart and good-looking. They want you to share all that wisdom so they can follow in your footsteps.”
I arch a brow, latching on to one awesome adjective. “You think I’m good-looking?”
She laughs and scans the coffee shop, affecting a female newscaster voice. “Bob, did you know ten out of ten patrons at the SassyAss coffee shop think Chris McCormick is good-looking?” She drops down to a male voice. “Well, Susan, I’m not surprised. All the ladies have been checking him out.”
A smile sneaks across my face. “Thank you. You’re quite entertaining.”
“Tell me stuff.” She leans in eagerly. “What do they ask you?”
“How do I ask out this woman or that woman? What do I say in this situation? What would I do if this or that happened? How do I know if this girl really likes me?”
She’s Susan again. “As I always say, Bob, you can tell if a girl likes you if she invites you home. If she touches your arm. If she laughs extra hard at your jokes, especially if you’re not funny at all. But if she does none of that, don’t assume she isn’t into you. Try, I don’t know, being direct and asking her. Women like that, and there’s no reason for you to have to wonder.”
She says it like she’s delivering advice to a guy.
On TV.
On my show.
And that’s when it hits me.
I’ve found my gold, and I wasn’t even panning for it. All I have to do is convince Bruce.
THE DATING PROPOSAL will be a live release in Kindle Unlimited on May 6!
And One More Epilogue
The Kick-ass Women of Lucky Falls Group Chat (plus Ella)
Arden: It’s official!
Perri: It’s official, as in you actually went into the hospital and became a mother, and we’re just learning now? I’m on my way. Lights and sirens!
Arden: Please. In that case, I would’ve called Gabe, and then called you, and then yelled at you, as well as at Gabe, J. K. Rowling, Stephen King, Shakespeare, God, and everyone else during labor.
Vanessa: Good to know you include us worthy of shouting at, along with literary giants, while pushing a watermelon or two out of you. So . . . what’s official, then? You’re finally going to take a few weeks off and rest before you give birth, like you really should be doing, you naughty, naughty girl who keeps on working well past when she’s supposed to?
Arden: No. I’ve officially become a house. It happened today. I tried to bend over and practically fell to the floor. That means I’m a house.
Perri: I was thinking an apartment building. But all kidding aside, you really need to be careful, sweetie. We can’t have you toppling over.
Ella: Yes, because if you toppled over, I’m pretty sure we’d have to come roll you out of your home, right?
Vanessa: Oh, you are getting sassy, Ella.
Ella: Wasn’t that the requirement when you invited me into your group chat? Be as sassy as I can possibly be?
Vanessa: I have taught you so well. I’m so proud of you for trying to keep up.
Ella: I do more than keep up.
Arden: Hello, tangent AF. Doesn’t anyone feel sorry for me? I’m colonial-home-size, you’re going to be rolling me across the floor like a beached whale, and we’re discussing Ella’s banter skills. Is there no sympathy for my condition?
Perri: I’m sympathetic and yet practical. Do you have any idea how hard beached whales are to move? We need a plan. We might have to call the fire department.
Arden: Well, it’s one member of the fire department’s fault that I’m this size!
Ella: *clears throat* Excuse me, but I think you might have been involved in that decision too.
Arden: And I regret nothing, but I’m becoming the Queen Mary. This has to be Gabe’s fault for giving me twins.
Perri: Uh, to point out the obvious, your genes dictate twins, not his. Also, you have twins on your side of the family.
Arden: I know that, but it feels like he’s responsible for my gigantism! CAN SOMEONE JUST BE SYMPATHETIC, PLEASE?????
Vanessa: I’m trying, but I’m too excited every time I think about the fact that you’re going to pop out two babies. In fact, I’m going shopping right now for more baby gifts for you.
Perri: Pink baby gifts!!! I’ll join you!
Ella: Pink matching sets of stuff for a matching set of lovebugs. Identical twin girls are the coolest.
Arden: No one cares about the ballooning I’ve suffered. All you’re thinking about is buying stuff.
Perri: It’s simply because I can’t think of anything better than us getting to raise and indoctrinate two little identical Ardens.
Vanessa: It is indoctrination, right? That’s what we’ll be doing. And we are kind of going to be raising them. Sisterhood and all.
Perri: We’ll let the guys be involved a little bit, but we’ll teach the munchkins all of the important things ourselves.
Arden: Like how to be awesome?
Vanessa: Like how to be a good friend?
Perri: Like how to look out for your girlfriends?
Ella: Like how to respect your elders, learn from them, and then adopt their best traits?
Vanessa: *pats head of little sister* I’m so proud of you for being an excellent acolyte. Speaking of excellence, how is that man who was almost mine? *snort, snort*
Arden: As if. We all know Shaw was destined for Vanessa. Even if Perri had blinders on for, like, ever about that pairing.
Perri: Enough about my brother, aka Vanessa’s HUSBAND. I want to hear about Ella . . . our protege. Tell us about Mr. Sullivan.
Ella: *grins wickedly * *enjoys my man* *makes plans to surprise him in new lingerie later*
Arden: Yay! I’m glad it’s going so well.
Ella: Me too. I have Jamie’s stepmom to thank. That schemer. :)
Perri: Hello? My scheming husband played a big role.
Vanessa: I will never forget how Derek earned his wings as my cupid.
Ella: And I am eminently grateful to him as well. Especially since I think Jamie’s going to propose this weekend.
Vanessa: *squeals!*
Arden: *squeals again!*
Perri: *squeals louder!*
Vanessa: Why do you think it’s going to be this weekend?
Ella: Things he’s asked me, plans he’s making for us to go away, a certain delighted secrecy in his eyes.
Vanessa: So you’re not going to be surprised?
Ella: Oh, I’m going to act surprised. But it won’t be an act when I’m over the moon and say yes. I want this more than I wanted a love like those in the love stories. Because that’s what I think this will be.
* * *
That weekend
Vanessa: OMG! He asked and she said yes! Show us the ring.
Ella: *flashes stunning picture of gorgeous diamond ring!*
Arden: It’s so beautiful. I’m crying at the sparkles.
Perri: It shines. Look how it shines like the sun! But confession: Arden is crying because she can’t fit out the door. I’m over here trying to shove her out on account of contractions and Gabe being on shift, but we just want to say we love your ring and we’re so happy for you, Ella.
Ella: Go, go, go! We want babies!!
* * *
Shaw: Up for a beer after work? It’s on me. Since I owe you beers for the rest of my life.
Derek: You won’t get any argument from me on that, but go ahead and tell me why you’re going to be the purveyor of all my beers.
Gabe: I’d also like to be included in that beer-for-life gift.
Shaw: Seems Jamie proposed to my wife’s little sister.
Derek: Dude, you have me to thank for so many things.
Shaw: That’s why I’m thanking you. Because it just keeps getting better and better. You setting up Jamie and Ell
a gave me what I needed.
Gabe: Hey, Shaw, do you think Derek can try to get a job as a matchmaker? Maybe he could go connect with Miriam and the other ladies. I hear they’ve been quite busy. Hunter just moved in with Madeline.
Shaw: Aww, Derek would look so cute with a diaper and bow and arrow, don’t you think?
Derek: You guys can mock me all you want, but I just scored beer for life.
Gabe: And I will gladly snag one of your brews. Holy shit. I got to jump. Arden went into labor.
* * *
Twenty-four hours later
Gabe: And I am now the father of two beautiful twin girls, and I couldn’t be happier. My babies are perfect, and I love them madly. Look at these angels.
Derek: They’re beautiful, man. I’m so damn happy for you guys. Perri is honking the horn right now and demanding I get my butt over to the hospital.
Shaw: Heading over there in a few with Vanessa. Can’t wait to meet ’em.
Gabe: Just look for the happiest guy here.
Shaw: I think it’s safe to say we all are. The happiest guys.
THE END
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Prologue
Dude-bros will tell you the pinnacle of male sexual prowess is to make a woman meow.
I will tell you, that’s a dumbass metaphor.
Literal, figurative, it’s complete bullshit.
Cats meow when they’re hurt, hungry, or just plain chatty. A feline might be stressed, pissed, or simply want you to open the goddamn bedroom door at night.
So, the cat’s meow is a myth. I should know.
But the purr? The magical, mysterious, wondrous purr? The aural indication of pussycat pleasure? That’s the mission impossible a man ought to be making come to life. Cats purr for a couple reasons, but the most common one is to show they’re satisfied.
Yes, satisfied.
That’s a man’s job, and that’s why I don’t play small stakes kitty-cat games. No cat’s meows, no pajamas either. My one goal when I get a woman between the sheets is to make her so immensely pleased that she purrs.
I’m not an over-and-out type of guy. There’s no one-and-done for me. I’m a believer in delivering satisfaction in every way, in and out of the bedroom.
That’s exactly what I want to do with a certain someone.
Trouble is, that someone is most definitely off-limits, so it’s time to put a leash on this dog.
But then I learn something wildly unexpected about her, and there’s no way I can turn away from that kind of challenge.
Chapter One
She’s gorgeous. An absolute stunner, with captivating green eyes, high cheekbones, and strong legs. Her silky black hair is long and luxurious. She stretches, showing off her nubile body.
I can’t keep my eyes off her.
Or my hands, for that matter.
I run a palm down her back, and she arches against me.
“Doesn’t she seem rather . . . lethargic?” her mistress asks, concern etched in her eyes. I peer closely at the little lady in question.
Those whiskers. That tail. “Sabrina’s mood seems fine. Her heart rate is perfect. Her fur looks great. I see one very healthy pussycat. Why do you think she’s lethargic, Lydia?” I ask as the silky black feline swishes her tail back and forth, rubbing against my hand on the exam table.
Lydia fiddles with a necklace that dangles between her breasts. “She’s not playing with her toys much.”
“Does she normally like to play with toys?”
Lydia drags a hand down her chest. “Oh, she enjoys toys so very much.”
Dammit. I walked right into that one.
But I’m practiced in the art of deadpan deflection. “Well, that would indicate she doesn’t need my services. She seems full of energy here. Is there something else going on at home with her that I should be concerned about?”
Lydia doesn’t look at the kitty. She flicks her chestnut hair off her shoulder, her eyes pinned on me, ignoring the vet tech in the room completely. “She seems to need a little more attention. I feel like that’s what she’s telling me.”
I maintain my completely-unaware-of-her-double-meaning routine. “But you give her lots of attention?”
“I do, but it’s solo, Doctor Goodman. I think she wants it from others, if you know what I mean.”
Yep, I don’t need to be Inspector Poirot to crack the mystery of that case. I figured it out the instant Lydia prowled into the exam room with a cat who is as fit as an Olympic athlete.
I slide around her efforts with a standard vet answer: “Cats are fickle. Some want attention. Some are fine without it.” Sabrina rubs her head against my hand, cranking up the volume as she marks me. But hey, she’s allowed to. Also, cats like me. Dogs like me. I am an absolute animal magnet, and the feeling’s quite mutual.
“See? She likes you. She might want affection from you . . .” Lydia’s eyes take a long, lingering stroll up and down my body.
Time for the full-scale oblivion shield. There’s a fine line between playing dumb and looking stupid, and as a veterinarian, I can’t afford to look bad in front of clients. But as a man, I definitely need to pull off the clueless-to-her-advances act with a particular kind of balance and finesse.
I ask Jonathan, the tech, to hand me a thermometer.
“Of course, Doctor Goodman,” he says, hamming it up as if it’s his utter delight to deliver the device.
Meeting Lydia’s gaze, I brandish the thermometer with a grin. “Sabrina might not be so keen on me after this.”
This is the moment when Lydia will back down, I’m sure. They nearly all do when the mercury comes out.
Instead, Lydia emits a sort of coo, like a songbird. “Oh, I bet she’d love that. I’m up for . . . I mean, she’s up for anything.”
Jonathan snickers, and I sigh. I focus solely on the cat, rather than on this cat-and-mouse game of cat-and-woman sublimation. Fortunately, Sabrina’s just fine, and I tell Lydia so when I’m through with the exam. I snap off my gloves, wash my hands, and tell her to keep an eye on her feline. “If anything changes, let us know.”
She smiles seductively at me. “Oh, I will. My pussycat’s health is quite important to me.”
Stay stoic, Malone. You can do it. You’ve done it before. “Yes, I can see that.”
She waggles her fingers. “And if anything changes for you, Doctor Goodman, let me know too.”
Blank face. I give her the 100 percent tabula rasa. “Thanks for coming in today.”
“I’m glad I did.” She rakes her gaze over me. “You’re a regular Doctor Doolittle.”
I’ve only been called that, oh, twelve times a day. But it’s a compliment of the highest order, so I treat it as such. “Thank you.”
She takes a step closer, her stare dropping down, down, down. “Or should I call you Doctor Doolarge?”
I stifle a strangled chuckle—I don’t want to give her any encouragement, especially since I do like her cat, as in the actual feline. “Let’s stick to Doctor Goodman.”
After I say goodbye to Lydia, Jonathan clears his throat, adopting a high-pitched feminine voice. “Tell me, Doctor Doolarge, is it hard being so good-looking?”
I laugh. “It’s the family curse.”
“And such a cross to bear. However do you manage?”
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