Cinderella Screwed Me Over (Entangled Select)

by Cindi Madsen

  So while I had my doubts about this date, I knew it’d make Mom happy. If I could at least have a decent conversation with the guy, I’d consider it a win. After all, I’d sworn off relationships, not going out altogether, and if I didn’t start meeting new people, I’d have no one to hang out with when Stephanie was a busy wife with other obligations.

  My date, whose name was Nick, buzzed in to tell me he was here. I loved that feature about my building. It made random drop-bys from guys I never wanted to see again a thing of the past. The building also had a pool, large hot tub, and a fitness room. If you were willing to drop a few more zeros than I was (or had), the top half of the building had floor-to-ceiling glass views of downtown.

  Glass views or not, buying my one-bedroom condo four years ago was one of my proudest accomplishments. Since I’d worked on the building with Metamorphosis, I’d gotten a deal. I loved the hardwood floors, black granite countertops, cherry cabinets, and stainless-steel appliances. I’d done the living room in red and aquamarine and it’d turned out pretty good if I did say so myself.

  I grabbed my purse off the granite countertop, locked up, and took the elevator down to the lobby, where Nick was waiting for me.

  “Darby?” a guy said as I stepped off the elevator. He was in his midthirties, had a little extra love in the gut area, but not enough to be called fat, and was wearing a sweater vest. A bit on the preppy side for my tastes, but better looking than I’d imagined when Mom suggested I go out with her friend’s son.

  “That’s me,” I said. “You must be Nick.”

  He extended his hand. “Yep. Nice to meet you.”

  I took it and we shook—weak and a little clammy. He’s definitely no Jake.

  I quickly tried to shut that thought down. Not only was it an unfair comparison, but I shouldn’t be thinking about him right now. Not that flutter of attraction, or his nice jawline and firm handshake.

  A sinking sensation went through my gut. I’d already blown any chance of even being friends with the guy. I can’t believe I called him a liar. I always insisted guys were the jerks, but I’d win, hands down, when it came to the guy who actually did own Blue.

  I realized I was still holding Nick’s hand, even though we weren’t shaking anymore, and quickly dropped it.

  A short walk later, we reached his car. “So, it’s a little embarrassing to be set up by your mom,” Nick said as he fired up the engine. “But it is nice to meet someone. So far, I just work and go home.”

  “That’s about all I do,” I said. “My best friend is getting married, so she’s busy with all this wedding stuff and I’m left to hang out with myself.”

  He glanced at me, that nervous OMG-she-just-said-marriage look on his face. Guys freak out about that. Like if your friend is getting married you must be desperate to do it, too.

  “I’ve been kind of thrown into helping her plan, even though it’s not my thing,” I said, trying to smooth it over. “I’m not big on marriage in general.”

  Now he looked even more disturbed, the creases in his forehead deepening.

  Just stop talking, Darby. So much for thinking we could have a decent conversation. Maybe I really was destined to spend most of my nights alone.

  The next few minutes were filled with nothing but the jazz music coming from his stereo.

  Finally, we got to the restaurant. At least inside, the buzz of conversation and people eating made the silence between us less awkward. As we sat down and started talking, one thing was clear: we didn’t have a whole lot to talk about. Even though our moms weren’t here, it was like they were on the date with us.

  “I heard your mom makes the best cherry pie,” Nick said a few minutes after we got our food.

  I had to finish my bite of pasta before responding. “It is really good.” Then I felt like I should reciprocate. “And your mom is famous for her peach jam.”

  A nod from him. More eating. Another comment about what he’d heard about my mom.

  Toward the end of dinner, the conversation steered to his job. He loved talking about his job managing a store that sold golfing gear. To hear him tell it, he was the most important thing that had happened to the store. He prattled on about shipments, sales, and a slew of other things I couldn’t care less about, but tried to pay attention to anyway.

  “I have to admit,” I said when he finished a lengthy discussion on the types of drivers, “I’ve been golfing and it’s about the most boring thing I’ve ever done. Old men drive around in golf carts pretending they’re sporty and getting grouchy if there’s any noise. It’s like the nursing-home Olympics.”

  Nick’s mouth dropped open. “It takes great athletic ability to know how to aim and drive the ball that far.”

  “I get more exercise shopping at the mall,” I joked. “I don’t come home and tell everyone that I won at shopping.” Although those red shoes I got on sale the other day felt like a win.

  Nick frowned. “I think you’d change your mind if you got into it.”

  Obviously, he didn’t think my jokes were funny—it wasn’t the first time I’d said the wrong thing, and I doubted it’d be the last. At least I knew to not add any more to the golfing conversation. I needed someone I could at least joke with, though, or there was no point in putting effort into going out. Sorry, Mom, but looks like it’s not gonna be a love match.

  Nick tossed his napkin onto his plate and pulled one of those flossers out of his pocket—the plastic, Y-shaped thing you thread floss through. I watched in horror as he proceeded to take care of business.

  So I ask you, what’s worse? A little something between the teeth or flossing at the table? I’m casting my vote for the table. If you must use the floss that’s been in your pocket gathering lint, take it to the bathroom and go to town. Because digging meat out of your teeth is just something I don’t want to see.

  “Shall we go, then?” he asked a teeth cleaning later.

  I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

  The ride home was filled with talk of golf and instrumental music. Being around this guy made me feel tired and boring and blah. When we pulled up to my building, I fought the urge to run for it. “Thanks for dinner.”

  “So…” He leaned toward me.

  No way he expects a kiss.

  On the bright side, at least I know his teeth have been flossed recently.

  “I’ve got a huge presentation first thing tomorrow morning, so good night.” I grabbed the door handle and exited the car. I purposely didn’t use the “see you later” line, because I was hoping there wouldn’t be a later. I’d had more than enough.

  Chapter Three

  I’d lied to Nick last night. I didn’t have a presentation this morning. Actually, I was working from home because I had to meet Stephanie later to get my bridesmaid dress altered. Since it’d always been on the tighter side, I decided to go run off last night’s dinner.

  I gathered my hair into a messy bun, grabbed a bottle of water, turned on my iPod, and headed downstairs to work out.

  The exercise room was pretty empty, so I didn’t have to wait around for a treadmill. As I ran, I went over my projects in my head. I mentally rearranged the furniture in Mrs. Crabtree’s living room, mixed color schemes, and played with the few items she’d purchased at a gallery in California.

  Three miles later, I wiped my face with a towel and took a big swig from my water bottle. I stepped off the treadmill, thinking about all I had to do that day. And came face-to-face with Jake.

  “I thought that was you,” he said.

  I tugged the earphones out of my ears and blinked, hardly able to believe my eyes. He was wearing long mesh shorts and a T-shirt that stretched tight across his well-defined chest.

  Last night after my date, when I’d had trouble falling asleep, I’d thought of all the things I should say to him the next time we ran into each other. But they’d abandoned me somewhere around the time I’d checked out his pecs.

  “W-what are you doing here?” Smooth, D
arby. Real smooth.

  “Same thing as you,” he said. “Going for a run.”

  I really wished I wasn’t so sweaty. My face was probably all red, too. “But… You don’t live here? In this building?”

  One corner of Jake’s mouth twisted up. “It would be kind of strange for me to go running here if I didn’t live here.”

  Heat filled my cheeks and I took another swig from my water bottle. Time for the apology. Then maybe I could stop feeling so guilty and get this guy off my mind. “Look, I’m sorry about the misunderstanding at the restaurant. I just thought you were one of those guys who tells everyone he owns the restaurant or runs the company or whatever to seem impressive. I thought that since I knew everyone, you were lying to try to impress me.”

  There. I’d apologized. Now I could move past this guy and get back to my normal life.

  “I was trying to impress you, but not with my job.” He tucked his thumbs into the pockets of his shorts and shrugged. “I guess I need to work on my skills, because obviously my natural rugged charm wasn’t enough.” He flashed me a smile to punctuate his statement and I tried—and failed—not to let it melt me the tiniest bit.

  “Oh, you were plenty charming. Just not enough to make up for being a liar. Which for all I know, you’re not, so again, sorry.”

  “Do you always assume the worst in people?”

  I crossed my arms. “Yes. That way I’m never disappointed. It saves a lot of time and trouble.”

  His eyebrows shot up and his smile faded. It only lasted a moment; then the smile returned. “I guess there’s only one thing to do about that. Let’s go to dinner, and I’ll prove to you I’m not a liar.”

  Is he seriously asking me out right now, while I’m all sweaty and makeup-free? My gaze accidentally drifted to his toned chest and arms. My pulse quickened and the temperature in the room climbed even higher. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted.

  I swallowed, forcing from my mind thoughts of how good he’d look shirtless, and reminding myself of the rules that had kept me heartbreak-free for a year. Guys like Nick, they were safe. The guy standing in front of me was the total opposite. “Sorry, but you’ve got two strikes against you already. You work at my favorite restaurant, and you live in my building. That’s just asking for trouble.”

  Jake took a step closer. “Or maybe it’ll be convenient.”

  “A girl does like to be called convenient.” My voice shook a little, thanks to his proximity. He was tall, too—in my sneakers, I barely came to his shoulder, which meant he’d still have a few inches on me in my highest heels. Forcing as much indifference into my expression as I could manage, I glanced at my watch. “I’ve got to go get some work done.”

  Jake reached out and put his hand on my hip, just like he’d done the other night. My skin heated under his touch and my breath caught in my throat. Part of me was screaming, Just go for it, and the other part was yelling, Mayday, mayday, we’re going down!

  “Just so you know,” he said, leaning close enough his chest bumped my arm, “I’m an expert on baseball, and two strikes isn’t enough to get out. You need three.”

  I stared up into those startling blue eyes of his, and worked at keeping my voice steady. “I’m sure the third will come up soon.”

  The wattage on his smile kicked up a couple extra notches. “I’ll see you around, Darby.”

  …

  “I think you should go out with him,” Stephanie said after I’d relayed the story. The woman tailoring my dress tugged on the pale pink fabric and I almost fell over.

  “He lives in my building, Steph. I can’t go out with him.”

  “So? I say you go for it anyway.”

  I shook my head. “Not gonna happen. You remember what happened to Evan and me. That was awkward forever. I swore that I’d never date someone who lived in my same building ever again.”

  Stephanie pointed at my hem. “I think an inch higher,” she said and then looked back up at me. “All I’m saying is you seem to be getting all worked up over this guy. You admitted you think he’s smokin’ hot, and he asked you out again, even though you shot him down once and called him a liar. You’ve got to admire his determination.”

  “It’d be admirable if he didn’t live in my building and work at my favorite restaurant.” I groaned when I realized I’d have to avoid Blue. “Where am I going to eat now?”

  Stephanie’s cell rang and she held up a finger.

  As she talked on the phone, I thought about Jake again. The way he’d smiled at me, how he’d implied he still had another strike left, the way he said he’d see me around. Okay, he’d gotten to me. But all I had to do to snap back to reality was remember what happened with Evan. Back then I’d lived in an apartment complex. After things went sour with him, I had to find a new place to live.

  Nope. Stick to the rules. That’s history I don’t want to repeat.

  Little Mermaid Case Study: Evan/Prince Eric

  My Age: 24

  Stephanie and I had lived in a tiny, run-down apartment the entire time we were going through college, so after a few years in the work force, we decided it was time to get a place that didn’t smell like cat pee and curry. Drew and Devin, my twin stepbrothers, were helping Steph and me haul all of our furniture and boxes into our new place.

  After unloading the truck, Drew, Devin, and Stephanie went on a food run. I had the doors and window to our apartment open, airing it out. I turned on my iPod and started moving boxes around. I guess I got a little carried away with the singing. I was belting out the lyrics along with my music when I looked up and saw a guy standing outside my door. He had an athletic build, blond hair, and a big grin.

  Before I could figure out whether to wave or run and hide, Drew, Devin, and Stephanie showed up with the food, and he walked on past our open door.

  A week later, I ran into him at the mailboxes.

  “Hey, you’re the singing chick,” he said. “Nice voice, by the way.”

  I stood there staring, unable to say a word.

  “I’m Evan. I’m just a few doors down, so if you ever need anything…” His eyebrows drew together and he gave this adorable half-shrug thing. “Well, I probably won’t have it—our apartment’s pretty bare, actually. But try the next door over because that lady’s really nice.”

  I smiled, still working on forming words. Finally, I got a few out. “Thanks for the tip. I’m Darby, by the way.”

  He gave me The Nod. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

  After that, we bumped into each other on a regular basis: at the pool, the laundry room, while taking the stairs instead of the elevator. We’d have short conversations about our days; laugh about Gertrude, the old lady who walked her cat on a leash; or complain about the neighbor who cooked something that smelled awful and permeated our half of the building. Of all the people who lived in my complex—except Steph, of course, who was logging so many hours at her job I hardly saw her—I knew Evan the best. Things were easy between us. We clicked.

  One night, after an especially stressful day at work, I went down to soak in the hot tub. The jets shut off, and I sat there with my eyes closed, trying to gather the energy to get out and restart them. Before I’d psyched myself up to brave the cold air, the bubbles started again. I opened my eyes to see who I’d be sharing the hot tub with.

  Evan stepped into the bubbling water. “Hey, Darby. How’s it going?”

  “Oh, you know, stressful day, so I’m unwinding.”

  “I had the same idea after unloading trucks all day.” Evan smiled at me. “Not many people come out in this weather.”

  I glanced up at the sky and took a deep breath of the fresh air that contained the promise of rain. “I like being in the hot tub when it’s like this.”

  When I looked back down, Evan was right next to me. “I keep almost asking you out, then chickening out,” he said.

  I swallowed, staring at the way the steam rose off his body and swirled through the air around us. “You
shouldn’t. Chicken out, I mean.”

  He put his arms around me and we spent the rest of the night kissing in the hot tub. I know, every sleazy reality show contains a hot-tub make-out—or ten. Believe me, the next morning I was wondering if that was all it would ever be. Then I started stressing about how I was going to act when I saw him again.

  Pulling into our apartment complex after work the next day, I noticed his truck in the parking lot. I debated between the elevator and stairs for a few minutes, wondering which one might bring me face-to-face with Evan, and then trying to figure out if I wanted to be face-to-face with him. In the end, I took the stairs. I scurried past his door and locked myself in my apartment.

  I clicked on the television and flipped through the menu. Twenty minutes of channel surfing later, a knock sounded on my door. I peered through my peephole and saw Evan on the other side, holding a pizza box.

  I ran a hand through my hair before pulling open the door.

  “Hey, I was thinking we could eat some pizza and hang out,” Evan said.

  My heart skipped a couple beats. It wasn’t a one-night thing! I didn’t belong on an episode of The Bachelor, the discarded girl who didn’t get a rose—or a greasy slice of pepperoni, as it were. I stepped aside and motioned for him to come in. We ate pizza, then kissed some more.

  From then on, we hung out more often than not. We cooked dinner together, went to movies, and made frequent visits to the hot tub. Before long, the entire apartment complex knew we were together. It was pretty convenient, being able to get home from his place in under a minute.

  And then—you know how in The Little Mermaid the shell on Ursula’s (disguised as Vanessa’s) chest hypnotized Prince Eric? Other girls’ chests hypnotized Evan. I saw him ogling them all the time. I didn’t love it, but you know, I still took a moment to admire a cute guy when I encountered one. Much more subtly, but still. And it wasn’t like he forgot to check me out, either—he always told me I looked hot.

  A couple months in, Evan started pulling away, spending less time with me and saying he needed to get up early. Fine. I was busy, too.