* * *
DrBananaPants: May the force be with you tonight.
* * *
LibraGrl: Nice Star Wars reference. See, you’re not as much of a stick in the mud as you pretend to be.
* * *
DrBananaPants: I’m not a stick in the mud.
* * *
LibraGrl: Are too Dee too. But seriously, we’ll have plenty of time to fight on the plane. See you Sunday.
Lying in bed texting Ben fills me with a delicious warmth. I bolt upright as soon as I think that. I chastise myself, “Serafina Lopez, you cannot develop feelings for the enemy. Can. Not. No.”
I hurry to get up and get ready for my date with Chaz. After showering and blowing my hair out, I take extra pains with my makeup. I even use the mascara that makes my eyes look huge. My orange dress pairs nicely with my tanned skin, and when I look in the mirror, I give myself a nod of approval. Eat your heart out, Eva Mendes.
I take a cab to Noodle, even though it’s a distance I would normally walk. After all that work, I don’t want to show up sweaty from my exertions. As good as I look, only Eva can pull off the sweaty and sexy look. The restaurant is packed, and I practically have to fight my way to the hostess stand. “Hi there. I’m meeting Chaz Parker,” I tell the hostess.
“You must be Sarah.” She’s a busty blonde in a killer halter dress that bears a remarkable resemblance to the one Marilyn Monroe was famous for wearing in that picture where her skirt is blowing up. “Please follow me. I’ll take you to Chaz’s table.”
We wind through a maze of tables and chairs and bodies before she stops in front of a half-moon-shaped booth. A truly gorgeous blond man stands up and asks, “Sarah?”
“Hi,” I practically yell to be heard over all the conversations going on around us.
Chef Hotty says, “Please, have a seat. Angelina here will grab us a bottle of Masciarelli Montepulciano d'Abruzzo. The twenty-sixteen,” he tells her.
Once I’m seated across from him, he slides over so we’re side-by-side. “It’s the only way we’re going to be able to hear each other,” he tells me.
“You’ve got a pretty hopping place here.”
“It’s been like this since we opened five years ago.” His smile is truly wondrous to behold with those pillowy soft-looking lips and dazzling white teeth. I might have hit the jackpot with this guy. Charley is a genius.
Angelina shows up again with the bottle of wine, but instead of opening it, she drops it in front of Chaz and says, “I’ll let you open it.” Then she leans in front of him and kisses him. It’s not a friendly little peck either. She practically gives the guy a tonsillectomy and he doesn’t push her away.
Whaaaa …?
When she walks away, Chaz opens the wine and pours it for us. I can’t just sit here and not say anything. I need to know what that crazy kiss was all about. I take a sip of my wine and blurt out, “Angelina seems nice.”
“She’s the best,” he gushes. “I adore her.”
“I got that impression.”
Chaz raises his glass and toasts, “To the most beautiful woman here.”
I take another sip in deference to my hotness. But even so, I feel super weird after what just went down with the hostess with the mostest. The waitress comes over, Chaz jumps up and says, “Sophia, I’m cooking tonight, so you don’t need to take our order.” Then, hand to God, he pulls her to his side and practically ravishes her right in front of me.
He knows I’m here, right?
I’m about to ask him what in the hell is going on when he says, “I’ll go make our appetizers and be right back.” Chaz adds a creepy wink for good measure. I sit back, trying to decide if I should make a run for it now, or get the free meal first. I’m pretty hungry, so I’m thinking free meal. Also, this wine is delicious so I’m going to revenge drink the whole bottle. When my date hasn’t come back in twenty minutes, I stand up and search out the ladies’ room.
That’s when I spot Chaz kissing yet another woman. This one appears to be a customer. My date doesn’t even see me, and that’s when I realize I’m kind of loaded. I don’t need to put up with this garbage in order to eat delicious Italian food. There is no way on God’s green earth I’m going to stay here and be subjected to the antics of this man-whore. I don’t even go back to the table; I just turn around and stagger out of Noodle, but not before saying, “I saw a rat near the ladies’ room,” to every table as I stride by.
Dear Lord, what exactly has happened to the dating world since I last participated in it?
Twenty-Two
Ben
“Mr. Spock hates it if you try to rub under his chin — his reaction is both immediate and severe, so I don’t recommend it,” I tell Alec, who has arrived in time for me to show him around before the car from Wake Up America! picks me up.
I needed someone to watch my beloved tabby, and since Alec has two female roommates that he’s become less than enamored with, he happily agreed to stay at my place. The whole roommate thing was an attempt to meet more women but, much to his chagrin, the only members of the opposite sex Cheryl and Laya have introduced him to are their mothers.
I’ve been going over the rules for not getting clawed by Mr. Spock for the last ten minutes. I’m starting to worry Alec might be having second thoughts about staying here, so I tell him, “Something must have happened to Mr. Spock in his previous life to make him so sensitive.”
Alec gives me a concerned look, then glances at Mr. Spock, who is perched on the back of the couch, eyeing him.
“Oh, also, he really doesn’t like it when people sit on the right side of the couch. That’s his spot, so don’t forget.”
“Got it. So, let me go over this again — no sudden movements, no shuffling my feet, no attempts at picking him up, no chin-scratching, no sitting on the left side of the couch—”
“Right side,” I correct him.
“Damn. Okay,” he answers. “He eats a can of Fancy Feast every morning and the dry food at night. And he likes his litter box cleaned every day or he’ll poop on the rug.”
“Exactly. You really can’t blame him about that. If someone wanted you to walk around on your old feces, you probably wouldn’t like it either.”
“Probably not, but I also don’t poop in a box so…”
Rolling my eyes, I say, “I get it. He’s got very specific needs, but that’s what comes with a rescue. The love he gives back is astronomical.”
“How will I know he loves me? I’m guessing maybe he won’t spit in my cereal?”
“Ha ha.” I check my watch and add, “Everything’s on the printout in case you forget. I also included the number for my hotel, so if you can’t reach me on my cell for some reason, leave a message there.”
“You know he’s a cat, right?”
Ignoring the dig, I pick up my suitcase and open the front door. “Goodbye, buddy. I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll … miss you too?” Alec says.
“I was talking to Mr. Spock.” I give my cat the live long and prosper signal and he meows back. It’s kind of our thing.
As soon as I reach the sidewalk, I find a spot in the shade to stay out of the already-blazing morning sun. July in Manhattan, with all the concrete soaking up the heat is … well, hot. My phone pings and I assume it’s Serafina running late. She probably read that Libras are always running late so she’ll use that as an excuse. Oh, it’s Gwen.
Gwen: Have fun in Florida! I’ll just be here wearing a clown nose while I scrape tiny teeth.
* * *
ObiWan: Ha! Thanks. I hope you have a great week with the kidlets.
* * *
Gwen: I will. Feel free to say no to what I’m about to ask, but I have to go to my sister’s over-the-top engagement party next Saturday. You wouldn’t want to be my plus-one, would you? Not in a ‘we’re getting serious’ way, but in a ‘I can’t stand the thought of showing up alone because my Aunt June is going to try to hook me up with her chiropractor again’ way.
* * *
ObiWan: Chiropractor? Yeesh. The pseudo-doctors of the world.
* * *
Gwen: Right?
I re-read her text, wondering if she really does mean it in as casual a way as I hope. She can’t think we’re a couple. Not after only one date and some flirty texts. But a family function … hmm.
Wait. Actually, maybe this is the crazy I’ve been assuming was coming. Best case scenario, she’s made an album of what our children would look like already and she brings it along. I’m so going.
ObiWan: I’ll be there in the name of true medical professionals.
The town car pulls up next to me and I see Serafina in the backseat in a pair of sunglasses. She gives me a small wave as the driver jumps out and takes my bags to the trunk. I jog around to the other side and get in next to Serafina, my heart pounding a little. I hope it’s because I’m going to astronomer mecca today, and not because I’m developing a crush on my travel companion.
“All set?” she asks me.
“Yup, you?”
“Hopefully. I didn’t start packing until this morning, so I only had a few minutes,” she says with a yawn.
I stare in disbelief. I’ve been packing for three days, complete with itemized lists of everything I’ll need for every possible scenario including beachwear and a tuxedo (just in case I’m asked to attend a formal function with the top brass — I’m dreaming a little here, but the Boy Scouts are right about being prepared). “I like to make sure I’ll be ready for all contingencies.”
“You Geminis are crazy-organized. I figure if I forget something, I can always buy it there. They do have stores in Cape Canaveral.” She leans her head back against the seat, looking sleepy. And really pretty. Very natural this morning without a lot of makeup and her hair back in a low ponytail. Not that it matters.
“How was your date?” I ask her, as the car makes a right onto some freeway that leads to an airport.
Serafina rolls her eyes. “Awful. I didn’t even make it to the appetizers.”
“Really?” I’m extremely pleased by this news, but only because it proves me right. “Something wrong with the app?”
“No, on paper, he was perfect for me. But there’s no way the app could know the guy was a predatory narcissist who hits on anything that moves, even when he’s on a date with another woman.”
“Huh, maybe you should make that one of your questions,” I say with a wry grin.
Chuckling, Serafina says, “Definitely.” Then, putting on a businessperson voice, she adds, “Are you a creepy sex maniac who kisses and gropes multiple women while on a date?”
I let out a laugh, before remembering I’m not supposed to like her. I clear my throat, then say, “So, when we get to Kennedy, I don’t know if it’s such a good idea that you mention what you do for a living.”
“Why not?”
“Because you probably won’t find a very warm welcome there.” Also, because I’m totally embarrassed to be arriving with a whackadoo, zodiac-loving … gorgeous, gorgeous woman. Stop it, brain! Just stop it already.
“I’m sure I’m the last person you want to go to Cape Canaveral with,” she says.
Is she reading my mind? God, I hope not. Then she’ll know how attractive I find her. And how much I hate myself for it. Good thing I don’t believe in mind readers either. “While the situation isn’t ideal, I’m sure it’ll work out.”
She nods, looking slightly hurt, which oddly enough feels like a punch to the bean bags. “I actually don’t even want to go,” she replies. “As much as this is amazing publicity, I’m still ironing out the wrinkles on my dating app. It’s a massive amount of work and the timing is way off because every day we stay in beta mode means I’m losing thousands of potential clients.”
“What’s wrong with the app?” Other than the obvious, of course, which is it’s all based on nonsense.
She starts to say something, and I can tell she is about to confide in me, but then a look of realization that I’m the enemy crosses her face. “Just getting the algorithms exactly right. I don’t want to launch unless I know it’s one hundred percent ready.”
“Smart,” I tell her, wondering what’s really going on. If I were her friend, I’d tell her the app set me up with someone who’s pretty much perfect for me. But I’m not her friend. I’m the guy trying to save people from being bilked by her.
“It’ll be nice to be in Florida again, though. Sun, fun, and sand in your drawers,” she says with a smile.
“I’ll do my best to skip the sand part. Do you miss it?”
“I miss my family,” Serafina tells me, a wistful look on her face. “My parents, grandparents, and sisters all live in Miami, but I love New York. It’s totally me — so much energy and movement.”
I nod, thinking of how much I don’t like it in the city. You can’t see the stars. Not in a meaningful way. “I don’t think New York is for me, long term. My dream is to join a team at the Cape someday.”
“Really?”
“I’m meant to be in wide open spaces, where I can see the night sky at its finest.”
“Sounds lonely.” I can’t tell if she’s pitying me or not.
“Being alone doesn’t necessarily mean being lonely,” I tell her. “Extroverts tend to believe we introverts have something wrong with us because we don’t want to be the life of the party, or even attend the party. But the truth is, being alone gives me the space to theorize and imagine, which is my favorite way to spend time.”
“I guess I never thought of it that way. I love being with people so much, I can’t imagine so much solitude.”
“A person can be happy on their own.”
Serafina gives me a thoughtful look. “You don’t want to end up with someone? Like in a romantic way?”
Warmth floods my face, and for some reason, I tell her, “I think I’d enjoy being married, but to someone who has her own life and doesn’t mind it if I pack up my telescope and take off upstate for a night of stargazing once in a while.”
“What if she wanted to go with you?” she asks.
I pause for a moment, imagining Serafina lying with me on a blanket and sipping hot toddies while we watched the Perseids meteor shower. The pleasantness of the image takes me by surprise. “I guess that wouldn’t be so bad. Unless she was a real chatterbug, of course.”
Serafina lets out a laugh. “A chatterbug?”
“Yeah, you know, someone who talks too much,” I tell her, feeling slightly irritated that she’s laughing at me.
“I know what it means. It’s just that … you have a distinct way of describing things.”
“You mean the nerd way?”
Shaking her head, she says, “A unique and refreshing way.”
Oh, well … that wasn’t the worst thing anyone’s ever said to me. Maybe this trip won’t be a total disaster after all…
Twenty-Three
Serafina
As a rule, I don’t sleep well anywhere but in my own bed. The problem is, I barely slept at all last night because my thoughts have been spinning all weekend trying to figure out how to block creepers from using my app for their sleazy intentions. I’m not a prude. In fact, I hope people have all the fun when they meet their match, I just don’t want anyone who isn’t looking for a man-whore to wind up on a date with Howard or Chaz.
As Ben and I walk toward our row, he asks, “Do you want the window or aisle?”
Waltraut told us that she would spring for first class being that we’re essentially hosts of the show. Had we only been guests, I’m assuming we would have had to fly economy — which is all I ever flew before my current app started doing so well.
“Window please,” I tell him. “I’m going to lean my head against the wall and try to get a power nap in.”
“Good for you,” he says. “I’ve never been able to sleep on a plane.”
I don’t bother telling him that my chances of actual unconsciousness — short of someone hitting me over the head with a fryin
g pan first — are pretty slim. I just throw my carry-on overhead and grab a blanket. Then I scoot into my seat.
Miracle of miracles, I’m sound asleep before the plane even takes off. I’m so comfortable and cozy that I totally forget where I am. In my sleepy haze, the only thing I’m aware of is that I’m in somebody’s arms and, whoever he is, he smells positively edible! I love realistic dreams like these. Too bad they’re so few and far between.
I float along blissfully in the ether until a truly naughty dream captures my attention. I’m about to let my fingers investigate the man holding me, when I’m rudely jostled awake. I hear someone loudly exclaim, “Whoa!” before the body beneath me goes all rigid.
My eyes open slowly, and I realize I’m not alone in bed having an awesome dream. Reality hits me like a train. I’m on a flight to Orlando. Being that I fell asleep sitting next to Ben, the chances are pretty high that he’s the one I’m lying on. Gah! How do I ease away from him and still keep my dignity?
Before I can pretend I’m still sleeping and adjust myself away from him, he says, “I know you’re awake.”
Drat! I sit up slowly and blink my eyes repeatedly. “Ben? Where are we?” Playing dumb is my only option if I want to maintain decorum. I was basically groping the man.
“We’re on a plane on our way to Florida. Our density altitude just shifted.”
Blink, blink, blink. God, he’s cute with that wavy dark hair and mossy green eyes. When I don’t respond, he says, “We hit an air pocket.”
“I know what density altitude is,” I tell him (which isn’t entirely true, but a girl’s got to save face, especially when she’s feeling extra stupid).
Text Wars: May the Text be With You ... (An Accidentally in Love Story Book 3) Page 12