She nudges me. “Also, seriously. How did you miss the signs? The dude bought Hidden Figures and The Nightingale and asked your opinion on them, and you didn’t realize he was asking you out?”
I offer up a lame, “He might have been buying them for a girlfriend.”
“And tonight you learned he was buying them as conversational lubricant to talk to you.”
We reach our favorite bar and head inside, where I order a white wine and she asks for a beer.
She taps the bar. “I think it’s time to find out if you have a little Ana in you.”
“Whoa. I am not submissive.”
“Hello! I meant the sexy elevator kiss. It’s time to find out if you’d like being kissed hard in an elevator.”
My body tingles with the memory of that scene. The way he grabbed her wrists. Pinned them above her head. He took her kiss. “Yes, please. I’ll have one hot, sexy elevator kiss to go. Trouble is, how do I get it? You’re bold enough to ask out guys you like. How do you do it?”
“I’m naturally a big mouth. But bear in mind, there’s a flip side. A lot of guys think because I have a badge and a uniform, that means I want to lock them up and throw away the key, or be smacked with a billy club.”
“But don’t you just love all that?”
“I like other things, and I often ask for it. My point is this.” She tips her beer bottle in my direction. “The next time a hottie in your bookstore asks you out, say yes. It’s that simple.”
But is it? Is it truly that simple? I wish I could feel as comfortable with other guys as I do with Gabe. Maybe then I’d have a clue what they want.
8
Arden
Bullseye.
Look at that. I can rock a dartboard like nobody’s business. It’s so much easier than saying yes to a date with a guy and having my sexual prowess, or lack thereof, labeled as vanilla once again.
“And on that note, looks like I’m in line to take home the winner’s trophy tonight,” I say to Gabe.
He arches a brow. “Oh, do we have trophies? Where are they? I didn’t see any when I walked in.” He scans the tables and the bar in the game room at the Pin-Up Lanes.
“I ordered some. They’re on the way over.” I strut past him, feeling confident about my chances to win at darts tonight. I tap my index finger to my tongue and touch the air, making a sizzling sound. I don’t freeze up at darts. Nice girls can play darts, evidently.
He chuckles, shaking his head. “East, you’ve got another think coming.”
I straighten my spine as he raises his arm. “Wait. You said ‘think.’”
“I did. Now, I know this is your trick to try to knock me off my game, so move along, honey. Move along.” He tries to shoo me away from him.
“No one says that. It’s like intents and purposes. Almost everyone thinks the phrase is ‘intensive purposes’ when it’s intents and purposes.”
“Or stock and trade when it’s stock-in-trade. Don’t be so surprised that I understand etymology. I’ve got beauty and brains.” He taps his skull, flashing me an over-the-top smile.
“I just hardly ever hear anyone say You’ve got another think coming.”
“I can say another thing coming if you want,” he says in a sexy drawl.
One I like more than I should.
I laugh to dispel the effects I’m feeling from the elixir of pleasure that is his hot, husky voice. “You know how I feel about words. I like when they’re used correctly.”
“I do indeed know that about you.” The fact is, Gabe knows a lot about me. It’s funny, or maybe not so funny, how someone seeing you at your worst can forge an instant friendship and a tight-knit bond. That’s exactly what happened with us.
“Hey, did your mom like the Sandra Brown?”
“Loved it. She also said she felt like a little scofflaw, reading it early.”
I place my index finger on my lips. “Shh. Don’t tell the book’s publisher, or I will be in some kind of hot water.”
“Oh, so I have leverage over you now. What are you going to do to ensure I protect your secrets?”
“Bribe you by keeping Mama Harrison in top secret, embargoed copies of popular books that I only give early to her?”
He furrows his brow like he’s considering this, then extends his free hand. “Deal.” Then he shoos me off. “Now stop trying to distract me. You’re terrible at it anyway. You’re also not the only one with impeccable aim.” He raises his arm above his head and narrows his eyes. He cocks his arm, his eyes lasering on the target. For a moment, I let myself enjoy the view.
I mean, I am great friends with a hottie.
Gabe is crazily handsome in a how-is-it-possible-to-be-that-good-looking way. His blue eyes are the kind to get lost in and his arms are ideal to wrap around and comfort you.
I don’t know the nitty-gritty of his dating life, but he’s rarely without female companionship. A few weeks ago, he took out the woman who cut his hair. I bet she was bold enough not to botch a date request. And I bet I could ask him for tips on what men really want. Perhaps we could sit down, I could take some notes, and I’d be good to go. Ready for the next Mr. Businessman situation before it goes belly-up.
His dart makes a beeline for the target but misses. I thrust my arms in the air in victory. “I’ve still got it.”
He offers a hand for high-fiving, and I smack back. “Pizza is on me,” Gabe says.
“Is it a pizza night?”
“Of course.”
“Oh, right. You’re having a long-standing love affair with pizza.”
He laughs. “See, Arden? You know me so well.”
And I do. I know what Gabe wants. He’s easy to understand. If only I could apply these friendship skills to the dating game. If I could take the ease I have with him and transfer it to dating, I’d feel . . . empowered.
I let that word roll around in my head, and it hits me. Empowered is exactly what I want to feel.
As we head to the bar in the bowling alley to order a cheese pie, my friend Vanessa stops by our table, her dark-brown locks curled up at the ends, ’50s-style, just like her bowling alley. The entire place is a throwback to the Happy Days life, complete with vintage posters and a retro theme. Makes sense, since she’s always been the queen of vintage. Tonight, she wears a red-and-white gingham skirt and a white cap-sleeved retro blouse.
“Are you playing waitress this evening?” I tease, since I know she’s the chief cook and bottle—and bowling ball—washer when she needs to be.
“I do it all. But mostly I want to remind you two to come to the fundraiser this weekend.”
Gabe laughs. “As if I’d miss it. I’ll be here with the guys.” He points to me. “And you and I have some games to play, so you better save some lane time for me.”
“Count on it.”
See? Saying yes to Gabe is easy because he’s a friend. Friends are easy to understand.
And because we’re friends, I’m starting to formulate a plan. It’s the seed of an idea now, but I’ll spend time with it, tweak it, refine it.
After we eat our pizza, he asks if I’m up for a game of bowling.
I say yes. It’s good practice, after all, and I need time to devise my plan.
I need to practice saying yes when I want to, and I intend to do precisely that.
9
Gabe
I’ve been called many things.
Pain in the ass, by my sister.
Top prospect, by the major leagues.
Playboy, charmer, and ladies’ man, and any and every combination of those.
I’m not saying any of those terms are wrong.
But I do have to wonder what the hell is wrong with being a ladies’ man?
Women are basically the best thing ever. They’re beautiful, lovely, witty, clever, and a whole hell of a lot of fun to spend time with.
Women are my favorite gender.
My best friend in high school was Lacey Cunningham, a soccer star. In college I was tight with Vivian Wells, who was a goddess at grammar. And now, here I am with Arden. She is fit as a fox in that plaid skirt and matching red tank top, and I want to ask why the hell she likes to bowl in a skirt, but I also don’t want her to ever consider bowling in anything but a skirt.
“So how was the hair stylist?” she asks, inquiring about a date from a few weeks, maybe a month ago.
“It was fine.”
“Fine?”
“Yes. Fine.” I grab a green ball.
“Fine is not an answer,” she says, egging me on. “Are you seeing her again?”
“She was a lovely lady, but there was no, how shall we say, spark.”
She pouts playfully. “Poor Gabe. No spark must have made you so lonely.”
“Oh, I didn’t say I was lonely.”
She swats me. “You’re such a pig.”
I oink.
“But why would you sleep with her if there was no spark?”
“Oh, there was a physical spark. She’s a fiery one.”
“So she was naughty?” Arden asks carefully, as if she’s measuring her words.
“Maybe a little, but there’s nothing wrong with that.”
Arden nods, humming. “Nope. Nothing wrong with that at all. How was she naughty though?”
The question comes out like she’s asking it in class, and her tone makes me laugh. “Are you taking notes?”
“Yes. I’m working on a report for the town bulletin.” Her tone is 100 percent deadpan.
“I don’t want to kiss and tell, and definitely not for the same bulletin where Pedro Hardaway advertises his plumbing services and Sally Caruso offers dog sitting by the hour. So stop using your superior powers of persuasion to try to get me to give up all sorts of details, and get focused on your game, woman. I want to beat you.” I head to the lane and take my first shot, sending the ball straight to the finish line.
“Did she have a riding crop and ask you to hit her with it?” Arden asks as the ball slams into eight pins.