27 Ways to Find a Boyfriend

by Tapscott, Shari L.

  “Yes, you mentioned that.”

  “And you’re meeting him Saturday evening for dinner at six o’clock.”

  What?

  “I have a date Saturday,” I tell him. “So that won’t work.”

  Lydia finally can’t resist joining in. “You do?”

  “With whom?” Dad asks slowly, and I’m sure he fully expects it to be Carter.

  I narrow my eyes at him. “His name is Gio, and he instructs the cooking class I’m taking at the community center on Fridays.”

  My stepmother smiles like she thinks that’s a great idea. “You’re taking a cooking class?”

  Dad’s frown grows. “I don’t know him.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t now, would you?” I say, striving for patience. “He doesn’t work in your shop or doctor your feet.”

  I know; I know. It’s snarky.

  Dad stares at me and then finally nods. “Fine. I’ll see if I can get Dr. Cameron to reschedule.”

  “Peachy.” I toss a twenty on the table. “I gotta run.”

  As always, Dad shoves my money right back at me. “Save it. Buy yourself coffee later.”

  There’s no use arguing. He’ll just add it into my paycheck if I try to leave it with him.

  “Bye,” I say, shoving the bill into my front pocket. I then hug them both and leave the restaurant. As soon as I’m in the sunshine, my tension fades and is replaced with giddy anticipation.

  Which is bad.

  This stupid residual crush is trying to come back full-swing, and I will do everything in my power to nip it in the bud. But there’s nothing I can do when I get home and find Carter’s truck parked in my drive like it belongs there.

  “How was lunch?” he asks as he hops out, wearing old jeans, a faded gray tee, and his favorite red baseball hat. He’s ready to get to work.

  “Oh, it was just awesome,” I answer, heading for the door. “Dad heard about the list, and now he’s decided he needs to play matchmaker. Apparently, I have a date with a podiatrist looming in the near future.”

  Carter grimaces. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “What the—” He cuts himself off when I shoot him a look, and then he rolls his eyes. “—heck is a podiatrist?”

  “A foot doctor.”

  His grimace grows. “You don’t want some guy who’s had his hands on nasty feet all day touching you, do you?”

  “No.”

  Unfortunately, that makes me think of a guy whose hands I’d rather have on me.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” Sighing, I open the door and gesture him inside. “You want something to drink?”

  Carter pauses. “What do you have?”

  “Water, milk, some of that nasty lemonade Franklin likes—he talked me into trying it, and it’s awful.”

  “Nah, I’m good,” he says, sounding almost disappointed.

  “I picked up some of the soda you like on the way home, too.” I step out of my heels and kick them to the side. “It’s in the car if you want to grab it, but it’s not cold.”

  Carter doesn’t say anything, and I turn to make sure he’s still there.

  And there he goes again, looking at me with that funny expression. It makes my stomach warm, and I don’t know how I feel about that.

  “You bought me soda?” he asks, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he’s thinking awfully hard about something.

  “Yeah…and cookie dough to pop in the oven while we’re working.” I raise my brows. “Is that a problem? Don’t tell me you’re giving up sugar, because I won’t believe it.”

  “Course not.” He turns for the door. “I’ll get the bags.”

  When Carter comes back in, he helps me stash stuff in the fridge. I turn, ready to grab the eggs off the kitchen counter, and end up smacking right into him.

  “Whoa,” he says, steadying me with a hand on the small of my back. He grins, and his eyes crinkle. “Easy there.”

  My hands are at my sides, but I have the strong desire to move them—set them on Carter’s shoulders, maybe run them down his chest. Is he as toned as he looks?

  “I’m good,” I tell him, slipping to the side.

  Before I’m free, he catches my arm. “Hey, thanks for the soda.”

  I glance down to where he’s touching me, and my pulse jumps. “No problem. Thanks for coming over to help me plant flowers.”

  He steps a smidgen closer. “Venus flytraps.”

  “Petunias,” I say, lowering my voice because he’s so close.

  Carter smells like shampoo and soap—the basic stuff. The kind a guy who couldn’t care less about appearances buys because he doesn’t have to try, and somehow that makes him all the more appealing. I doubt he even looks at the brand. He probably tosses whatever is on sale in his cart and keeps going.

  My eyes move to his brown ones, and there they stay. Carter really does have pretty eyes—up close, they’re kind of a fawn color with golden flecks and a chocolate ring around each iris.

  I realize I’m holding my breath, and I slowly exhale through my nose, trying to act nonchalant about the fact that we’re this close. But he smells so good, and all my once-upon-a-time hopes and dreams could come true if he just moved a hair closer.

  You know that feeling you get when a guy is about to kiss you? Somehow, you can sense his intentions, even if he isn’t leaning in. In that moment, your breath catches, and your stomach tightens, and every part of you tingles with anticipation.

  Well, that’s how I’m feeling this very moment…and then my doorbell rings.

  Oh no.

  No, no, no.

  “That’s probably Jessa,” I whisper.

  Carter doesn’t move, not even when the doorbell sounds again. “Why?”

  I blink several times, trying to clear my head of the Carter-induced fog and wrinkle my nose. “She sometimes stops by on the weekends.”

  He must be able to tell my tone is off because he stares me down, waiting for me to break.

  “Okay, fine,” I say in a rush, nudging him back. “She was coming to help me with the next item on the list, and I forgot to let her know we made plans.”

  Carter finally gives me room to breathe and crosses his arms. “What’s Number Three?”

  “Be adventurous—that’s a general one, and I’m already doing that. We’re on Number Four.”

  He frowns as he thinks about it. I can tell when it comes to him because he looks at me like I’m forgetting something important. “But, Addison, you don’t have a dog.”

  Wait. How does Carter know that’s the fourth item on the—

  The doorbell rings again, and then the door opens, and there’s an excited bark. “Hello?” Jessa calls. “Addison?”

  I bite my lip, fighting back an embarrassed grin. “I do today.”

  9

  Knowing my sister and her husband, they probably found the most obnoxious little yip dog for Addison to borrow—the type with bows in its hair. All the men Addison will attract are likely to wear loafers or sport man buns.

  I’m still shaking my head as we leave the kitchen, and then I stop dead in my tracks and swear under my breath.

  Jessa didn’t bring a dog. She brought a bear cub.

  “Isn’t he perfect?” Jessa asks, ignoring me as she points to a huge blue-gray fluffball of a puppy. Probably five months old, he’s all feet, legs, and ears. As soon as he spots us, he begins to quiver with unbridled glee.

  “Oh,” Addison coos, dropping to her knees in front of the dog. “He’s adorable.”

  Franklin stands in the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets, with his usual benign smile on his face. He’s about five-ten, slim, and wears thin, wire-rimmed glasses. If I were forced to describe him, I’d say he’s hipster meets nerd meets Clark Kent.

  “Hey, Franklin,” I say, scowling at the massive puppy.

  My brother-in-law nods a greeting, looking bemused by the situation we’ve found ourselves in.

  “I polled all the men at work,
” Jessa says to Addison. “And seven out of ten preferred big dogs, so we thought this guy would be the best to take to the dog park.”

  “Seven out of ten?” Addison laughs. “You’re really doing your homework.”

  Jessa gives her a smug shrug and then turns her eyes on me. “Hey, older brother.”

  “Monkey.”

  “Fancy meeting you here.”

  I widen my eyes, silently telling her to shut it.

  She tilts her head to the side, and a little bit of evil peeks out from her eyes. “What do you prefer, Carter? Do you like big dogs or little dogs?”

  I shake my head subtly, realizing what she’s up to. She knows I like big dogs. It’s not a secret.

  “I’m not really a dog person,” I say, just to get a rise out of her.

  Addison flips around, staring at me like I announced I drown kittens on the weekends. “What?”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Jessa laughs. “He’s full of it.”

  “Whose dog did you steal?” I ask, changing the subject.

  My sister rolls her eyes. “I didn’t steal him. A friend from work knows a lady who heads up a rescue group. This guy is currently in foster care. I signed a few papers, and voilà—puppy for the day.” She turns to Addison. “You have to take him back tomorrow, okay? I have his stuff in the car.”

  “He’s homeless?” Addison says as the dog crawls on her lap, licking her jaw as his tail smacks Jessa’s leg like a whip. “But he’s so sweet.”

  Jessa shrugs, looking less impressed with the dog than Addison. She’s not big into fur. Or drool. Or muddy paws. Growing up, she had a goldfish. Now she has a Franklin.

  “What’s his name?” Addison asks.

  My sister frowns. “I didn’t think to ask.”

  “Jessa!” Addison laughs. “How could you forget something like that?”

  “It’s probably on the paperwork in the car.”

  “What is he?” I ask.

  “A dog,” my sister so helpfully answers.

  “I got that part. What type?”

  Jessa gives me a look that says she not only doesn’t know, but she doesn’t care. The mutt of unknown origins suddenly takes off, running down the hall, tail wagging behind him.

  Addison turns to Jessa. “Is he housebroken?”

  “No clue.” Jessa pulls Franklin to the door. “Have fun.”

  Before Jessa and Franklin even make it through the door, Addison is chasing after the dog, calling, “No, no! Let’s go outside!”

  I turn to Jessa. “You know she’s going to get attached.”

  Jessa shrugs and gives me a sweet smile. “I figured, but it’s all for the cause, right?”

  Standing a little straighter, I eye her. She doesn’t flinch.

  “I’ll get his stuff,” I finally offer.

  Five minutes later, I’m lugging in a crap-load of puppy stuff, and Addison’s house is silent. I find her and the furry monster in the backyard, playing a version of fetch that seems like it’s a lot more fun for the dog than Addison.

  “You’re supposed to bring it back,” she informs the puppy sternly, hands on her hips.

  I have a feeling we’re not planting flower beds today.

  He runs around the yard, ears flopping, stick in his mouth, looking awfully proud of himself. When he sees me, he drops the stick and comes barreling toward me like I’m his new favorite person. Just before we collide, he comes to a stumbling stop.

  I scratch his head absently while going over the paperwork. “It says his name is Cocoa…Puff, and he’s supposedly a Newfoundland mix.”

  “Cocoa Puff?”

  “That’s what it says.”

  The poor dog isn’t even fixed yet, and he’s already lost his manhood. He needs a big name—like Grizzly or Brutus or Tank.

  Having heard his name, Cocoa Puff the Badly Named Dog lopes for Addison and falls at her feet, begging to have his furry belly scratched. Right now, he’s the size of a large Labrador. In a month or two, he’ll probably rival a German Shepherd.

  “He already knows his name,” Addison says, looking torn. It’s obvious she’d rather change it. “I guess we could just call him Cocoa.”

  “His owners relinquished him a month ago,” I continue, scanning the document. It looks like Jessa checked him out for a home trial. “He got bigger than they expected and didn’t do well by himself all day.”

  “Poor guy.” Addison laughs as the dog tries to crawl on her lap. It’s a classic case of insta-love—but better Cocoa than some random guy she finds with Jessa’s list.

  “By the time he’s done growing, he’s going to be the size of a small bear,” I feel the need to point out because I know exactly where this is going.

  “I think I’m going to adopt him,” Addison says, nodding to herself.

  Smiling despite myself, I shake my head. “That’s what I figured.”

  10

  Weird thing. Cocoa and I do end up going to the dog park…but Carter comes with us, which kind of defeats the purpose. Right now, the puppy is stretched out in the backseat of my car, happily chomping on a dental bone. I asked Carter if he’d drive so I could keep an eye on him.

  And by him, I mean the dog and not Carter—I’m definitely not stealing glances at the man in the driver’s seat, thinking how bizarrely cozy this feels.

  Okay, I am. What’s wrong with me?

  I think of our almost-kiss, and my whole body gets hot. And then I think of what my dad said about disrespecting him, and I go cold. It’s like I have the flu—the kind that only affects your heart.

  Side note: It amazes me how my thoughts rapidly get lamer as I continue the slow crawl to spinsterhood. And yes, I am aware I’m only twenty-four. It doesn’t feel imminent yet, but that’s how it tricks you into thinking you have plenty of time. Before you know it, you’re forty-three, have thirteen cats, and sit around all day watching soap opera reruns with curlers in your hair.

  Carter pulls into the parking area, a stretch of dirt that runs the chain link fence. The park is divided into two—one side for large dogs, and the other for small. There are several dogs on the small side, but the large dog area is empty.

  As soon as I open the back door, Cocoa tries to leap out. I’m barely able to hold him back, and he whimpers like a mad creature as he tries to get past me.

  “Stay. Down. Sit!” I say, shouting out random commands that he doesn’t bother to listen to. It’s obvious I’m going to have to work on his manners.

  “Watch out,” Carter says, laughing as he nudges me out of the way. He has Cocoa’s leash, and he clips it to his harness and lets the dog leap from the car.

  Cocoa strains against the lead, nose in the air, practically running circles.

  He’s insane.

  I already love him.

  We get him past the first gate where Carter can unleash him, and then we open the second gate, and he’s free. He takes off at hyperspeed, sniffing everything…and then heads right for the irrigation-fed pond in the middle of the park.

  “Oh no,” I whimper, imagining my poor backseat.

  Carter laughs as the dog plows into the water without the slightest hesitation. “What’d you expect? He’s a water dog.”

  “What?” I ask, glancing over just as Carter slides his sunglasses from the top of his head onto his face.

  “Newfoundlands love water,” he says, grinning at Cocoa as the silly mutt runs amuck. “We’ll have to get you a kiddie pool for your backyard if you’re serious about keeping him.”

  We’ll.

  I only nod, decided to ponder that one later. I watch Cocoa, grinning as he runs around the dog park.

  Suddenly, Cocoa looks up and swivels toward the entrance. Metal creaks as the first gate swings open. And just like that, the dog is barreling forward with all the manners of a wildebeest. Water flies off his coat; drool flings from his jowls. It’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen, and yet I can’t look away.

  A pretty Dalmatian prances just inside the e
ntry, wagging her tail when she sees my big oaf of a dog headed her way. Half terrified Cocoa’s going to take her out as soon as the owner opens the fence, I jog that way, hoping to get there in time to hold him back.

  I grab Cocoa’s collar just in time, and turn toward the Dalmatian’s owner, about to let him know they can come in without this ridiculous boy trying to knock them over. Instead, I find myself blinking at him and then looking away.

  He’s very handsome.

  Not handsome like Carter, who is basically the ideal I judge others by. This man is a bit more refined, a little shiny even. He’s in what appears to be designer jeans, and his haircut looks expensive. Our eyes meet, and I look away, feeling my cheeks grow red.

  What a sight I must be right now, covered in Newfie drool and pond water.

  “Sorry,” I murmur, yanking on Cocoa’s harness. “He’s a little exuberant.”

  “He’s just getting out some energy,” the guy says, and his voice is all friendly and warm. “That’s what these places are for, right?”

  “I guess.” I look up at him. “It’s our first time.”

  He has sandy blond hair, blue eyes, tanned skin, and an easy smile. “New pup? Or were you waiting for his last round of shots?”

  “He’s in foster care now. I think I’m going to adopt him though.”

  The Dalmatian whines from the other side of the fence, ready to come inside.

  “Oh right,” the man says with a laugh, and he swings the gate open. Cocoa and little miss cartoon dog sniff each other for several seconds before they take off running, looking like they’re having a good time.

  “I’m Heath,” the man says, extending his hand after he closes the gate behind him.

  I take it, cringing when I realize my hand is wet and slightly furry. “Addison.”

  Heath doesn’t seem to mind my dirty handshake. He turns his eyes behind me. Carter ambles up, the picture of ease.

  “Hey,” the new guy says, giving him a genuine smile.

  Carter nods back.

  Heath turns to the dogs and laughs when they go for a tumble. “Your girlfriend was just telling me she’s thinking about adopting the pup.”

  I might be a bit rusty at this whole thing, but it’s pretty obvious there’s a question in that statement.