Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Hell, I even broke out my best Henley.
This navy blue one is my good luck shirt. From the planning to the aftershave to the special clothes, tonight with Rachel feels like a real date.
But it’s not.
And that’s the point.
The mission is to settle the bill with Date Night one first date at a time.
I shut the front door of my home, then steal a final glance at my reflection in the glass.
The perfect amount of scruff. Nothing in my teeth. My breath is minty fresh.
You’re not kissing her.
From mere feet away, a familiar voice interrupts my thoughts.
“And now, spotted in his natural habitat, we have a rare sighting of the North American variety of Clueless Male as he ventures into the wilds of modern dating. Watch as he preens. Observe as he partakes in the traditional mating ritual of checking out his ugly mug.”
With an aggrieved groan, I turn to Monroe, who’s on his terrace, his phone held up in my direction, the red light from his video on. Are you kidding me? “You recorded that?”
“You can thank me later for my contribution to your Date Night commitment.”
“Unlikely,” I say.
“You’ll come around,” he says then lowers the phone, switching it for a glass of what looks to be scotch. “I hoped to catch you on your way out to wish you luck and my efforts were rewarded with wildlife nature photography.” With a satisfied sigh, he knocks back some victory scotch, savoring the moment.
I can’t do anything but cede victory. “We will meet again on the battlefield, doc,” I say, then bound down the steps to my car. I parked it on the street after practice today. I could have parked it in my garage, but there was a spot exactly two inches longer than my car calling out to me. I had no choice but to show off my parallel parking prowess to anyone who happened to be walking past or driving by. I like to perform under pressure, and in one try, I got the car all the way in.
It’s almost a shame to give up the glory of this spot, but I hop in my wheels and head off, driving to Bling and Baubles. Rachel closed a few minutes ago and said to pick her up there.
I pull up, acing another parking job, thank you very much. I head to the shop. Rachel’s at the counter, her back to the door, spraying the display cases then wiping them down.
I rap on the door.
She spins around.
My breath catches.
She’s Date Rachel, and holy shit.
Her chestnut hair is swept up in a twist, a few strands framing her face. She’s wearing a bright pink top that clings to her skin and makes mine sizzle.
She sets down the cleaning supplies and comes to unlock the door. “Come in. I just had a new idea for the pre-date video. But you need to shoot it. I tried doing it myself, but I need to use my hands.”
I want to use my hands. On her.
“Sure,” I say roughly, trying to adjust to how unfairly sexy she looks tonight. What the hell did that boob sighting do to me? It unlocked some inner beast, and I need to wrestle the monster back into its cage.
Once she locks the door behind us, she guides me over to the main counter then points. “Stand here,” she says.
Simple directions. Good. That’s about all the beast in me can handle right now.
“And shoot it on your phone. Since you’ll be editing it for Date Night. Or giving it to someone to edit. Or however you do it,” she says, easy breezy. She’s clearly into the whole help-a-friend aspect of tonight. I should follow her lead.
“Right,” I say as I grab my phone from my back pocket and hit the camera icon.
But when I look up, a rumble nearly escapes my lips—a bestial rumble. She’s letting down her hair and shaking out her locks. Have I walked into a shampoo commercial?
If so, I have a new dream. To live inside a shampoo commercial.
“You’re wearing your hair down?” I ask, my voice a rough scrape.
“No,” she says with a bright smile. “I’m wearing it up.”
Up, down, it’s all good. I’ll just watch her do things to her hair all night long. That sounds like a great date to me.
“Just hit record,” she adds. “I’ll show you.”
I comply, positioning the phone to shoot. “Ready. Go.”
She flashes a smile at the camera. “Hey, there. So my date is picking me up from work, and you know what that means, ladies? It means you need to go from business to night like that,” she says, snapping her fingers. “So, the first thing I do to get ready is this—I sweep my hair into a simple updo.”
She grabs the hair clip, then twists her hair back up on her head, exposing her neck.