by Lily Kate
“He’s attractive; I’m not arguing with you, but—”
“Blue eyes? With that hair? Come on, you guys would have adorable babies. Their eyes would be the color of... I dunno, the sky or dolphins or sapphires. Whatever they say in your books.”
“First of all, my books are anyone’s books—you can call them romance. Second of all, he’s just not my type.”
“What is your type?”
I can’t help Jack Darcy’s face popping into my head. Where this new teacher errs on the prettier side of manliness, Jack is all severe lines and dark, hooded eyes. He’s more rugged in appearance, big and bold and steady.
It’s no wonder most women are intimidated by Jack: he’s an ice cube. A gorgeous, handsome icicle. It just so happens I like popsicles.
“Admit it,” Aimee says softly. “Cooper’s not Jack enough for you. I’m worried, Allie. As long as you hold a torch for your Mr. Darcy, you will never be able to enjoy someone else. It’s been years since your last boyfriend.”
“I’m not holding a torch for him; he’s my best friend.”
“Right. So, either make a move on him, or move on from him.”
“Nice wordplay. Have you been thinking of that all day?”
“All week, actually. I should be an English teacher.”
“Speaking of advice, I need to get going. I’m meeting Jack for our Romance Academy session.”
“What’s today’s lesson?”
“Rule Number Two: Back to the basics.”
“What does that even mean?”
“I’m taking him to the capital of romance.”
“Las Vegas?” Aimee squints at me. “Can I come with?”
I sigh and roll my eyes to the ceiling. “That’s not romantic. This is about romance, not lust or sex. We’re finding Jack a girlfriend. A woman he might want to marry. But you can come with us if you’d like. We’re headed to—”
We’re interrupted by a knock on the door. Sometime in the last few minutes, while Aimee had been filling my head with advice, we let our gazes out the window lapse. We stare at one another in terror.
There are only a few people here; the school is still mostly empty at this point since it’s a few weeks until classes start. Aimee and I only came early so we could share a bottle of wine while we decorated our classrooms.
“Hide the wine!” Aimee says. Then quieter. “Hide the bottle, Jenkins!”
I shove the cork in it, then roll the bottle dangerously under my desk just as the door opens, praying it doesn’t spring a leak.
“Holy shit,” Aimee moans. “It’s him.”
“No more wine for you,” I mumble to her as I straighten, focused on keeping my voice low and out of earshot from the man framed in the doorway. “Hi, there, can I help you?”
“I’m Matt Cooper,” he says in a low, gravelly voice, a smile hinting on his lips as he surveys us. “I’m the new math teacher, and I just wanted to swing by and introduce myself. It looks like we’re the only ones around here today.”
Aimee and I gawk at him. The awkward silence stretches longer and longer until Mr. Cooper’s face clouds with confusion.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he says eventually, waving a hand to the new pizazz on the bulletin board. “I should be going. Your decorations look nice.”
“No!” Aimee blurts, even more awkwardly. “Don’t leave.”
She shoots a wild glance in my direction, but I just shrug. I’m not sure where she’s going with this, and I am perfectly fine leaving her out to dry.
“I’m mean...” she clears her throat. “Er...I mean, I just wanted to say hi.”
“That’s why I stopped by,” he says, a smile creasing around his eyes. “Anyway, most people call me Cooper, but you can use whatever you want.”
“Hello,” Aimee titters. Then in a whisper, she speaks into my ear. “I don’t know what the hell is happening to me.”
“I’m Allie,” I say, rolling my eyes as Aimee gives me a nudge forward. “Miss Jenkins during school hours. I teach Kindergarten.”
Cooper’s hand slides around mine as he gives a solid shake. “Pleasure.”
“Um...” My cheeks heat at the word, and suddenly I’m the awkward one. “Sure. Loads of pleasure. I mean, pleasuring to meet you...er, Aimee?”
“We’re very busy, sorry.” Aimee picks up the stapler and goes to work smashing it randomly against the bulletin board. “Catch ya later?”
Cooper nods, backs away carefully, and closes the door behind him.
Once his footsteps disappear, I let myself crumple into a child-sized chair while Aimee collapses on the desk.
“What the hell was that?” she asks, shoving a hand on her hip and looking mystified. “Did we really drink that much wine?”
“Shit! The wine. Did you see where the bottle rolled?”
“Why’d you roll the bottle?”
“I panicked. Multiple times. Then, he said pleasure, and I lost my cool. Who says pleasure all eerie like that?”
“Oh my gosh, we’re such idiots.” Aimee sprawls on the desk while I pull my backpack toward me and fluff it like a pillow on the table. “He’s going to think we’re freaks, now and forever.”
“First impressions aren’t everything,” I argue. “If you’re interested in him, maybe you should take the lesson plan I’ve prepared for Jack and apply Romance Academy to Matt Cooper.”
“Like you’re qualified to teach anti-awkward lessons, Miss Pleasure?”
The door, at that very word, cracks open. Mr. Cooper has returned, apparently to ask for directions to the restroom.
“That way.” Aimee points, her cheeks the color of rhubarb. “Just keep walking and you’ll find it.”
“Oh, no.” I let my hands rest over my face as Aimee turns to stare at me. “Do you think he heard the pleasure part?”
“Absolutely.” Aimee nods her head. “And then I gave him directions to the parking lot. Why can’t we think around him? The bathrooms are the other way.”
“I need to get out of here.” I stand, retrieve all of my things, and hoist my backpack to my shoulders. “I’m already late to meet Jack.”
“What’s lesson number two again?”
“Back to the basics.”
She grabs a pencil and scribbles it down onto a pad of paper. “Great. I’m coming with you. I need to see Miss Pleasure in action.”
Chapter 3
ALLIE
“Miss Pleasure?” Jack raises his eyebrows at me as Aimee completes a hugely embarrassing retelling of the incident with Mr. Cooper at school. “Are we talking about the same Allie Jenkins?”
I’m not sure what’s worse: the fact that Aimee shared the awkward encounter with Jack just before our first anti-awkward lesson, or the fact that I’ve brought two non-readers into a bookstore. Aimee and Jack are whispering like rebellious children in a library instead of browsing the titles that are required reading for my second lesson of Romance Academy.
“Focus on the assignment,” I hiss, perusing the shelves myself. “Think classics. Look, Jack, tell me you’ve read this.”
He frowns down at a used copy of Pride and Prejudice.
“Come on,” I prompt him. “It has your name in it.”
“You’re acting like I don’t know two plus two,” Jack says. “I read things, Allie. I just haven’t read much outside of the medical field for years.”
“It has your name in here like a hundred times. What about high school? Didn’t they force you to read it?”
“I was already on the medical track, so I didn’t bother with English when possible.”
“Is he one of those people who’s really smart but has no common sense?” Aimee grabs my arm and pulls me between shelves. “You know, the type where he knew he wanted to do medicine, so he just failed all his other classes?”
“Not really.” I size up Jack.
He’s got a concerned look on his face as he surveys a book with the word vampire in the title. I snatch it from his hands, replacing it once again with the Pri
de and Prejudice copy he left behind on a shelf.
I turn back to Aimee. “He’s the smartest person I know. It’s not fair.”
“Plus, he has money?!” Aimee whispers. “And looks? He definitely has all the looks. He got hit with the good-looks stick on his way down to earth, I think. God gave him—”
“I get it. He’s got the looks, the brains, and the cash,” I say, sounding annoyed. Partly because it’s true. Jack’s eyes are a dark, brooding sort of gray, and his face—especially while reading—is calculating and concerned. “He’s also got the house—er, the condo.”
“Let me get this straight.” Aimee ticks off her fingers as she counts. “He’s smart, good-looking—scratch that—great looking, he’s got money coming out of his ears and a condo with a view that’d melt my panties off.”
“Pretty much.”
“So, what’s the catch?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know...” She nods in his direction. “What’s wrong with Prince Charming?”
“Not a thing.”
“Hold on a minute.” Aimee grabs my arm again and drags me into the erotica section of the bookstore. “He won’t follow us in here.”
We’re surrounded by cover images of naked man chests and feathers. Lots of feathers. I could build a pillow out of all the feathers on book covers along this aisle.
Aimee stops in front of a particularly explicit image with lots of nakedness and handcuffs on it. “If there’s nothing wrong with him, why aren’t you dating him?”
“Not interested. We’re just friends.”
“Then go out with Cooper.”
“Also not interested. Co-workers.”
“Pick one! Because I want the other one.”
“Have both! Take your pick because I’m not going after either of them.”
Aimee cracks her knuckles, eyeing Jack. “There must be something wrong with him.”
“I’m sure there is; let me know when you find it.”
“He should have women lining up across the country, begging for a proposal.”
“Well...” I hedge. “I guess he is sort of awkward.”
“Yes, but wasn’t he seeing someone?”
“The girl at the restaurant?” I shake my head. “Things didn’t work out.”
“Why not?”
I launch into the whole sad story. “When they finally met in person, he told her she looked twenty years younger in her photo online than she did in person.”
Aimee giggles, then covers her mouth with a hand. “That’s horrible! Probably worked out for the best, though. Better to find out sooner rather than later.”
I nod. “He was just being honest, so maybe that’s his problem—too blunt.”
“I can handle blunt if I get the rest of his package.”
I roll my eyes. “Then go for it. But right now, we’ve got some work cut out for us.” I clap my hands. “Chop, chop. That’s why we’re here.”
Aimee frowned. “Remind me why we’re here?”
“To get through a date without a food fight!”
“Oh, right.” Aimee nods, scanning the shelves. “Fair enough. So, which book should I read?”
“Anything. Pick quite literally anything from the store, and you’ll be good. Just read something.”
I’d taken Aimee and Jack to the single place on earth that promised romance. In fact, they absolutely guaranteed it. A bookstore in the thick of Culver City decorated in pinks and florals, a cozy little love nook in the midst of a bustling metropolis.
Romance is in the air here, literally. Books fly above the patrons, dangling from dainty strings, leaving bits of love to linger after the words are read and the pages are closed. I stroll past the sailing books, hoping for some of that love to waft right onto me.
It’s not that I feel lonely or believe that I need someone to make me complete. I have excellent friends, a loving family, some great students, and my dream job. I have it all.
But that doesn’t stop me from wanting that toe-curling, spine-tingling, heart-all-afluttering sense of wild and uncontrollable love. The stuff made from bits of starlight, the stuff written in books and sung in songs. The stuff that would make me ache with its fullness—scorching sex and tender kisses. All of it.
But until that day comes for me, I will continue my residency here, single-handedly keeping the bookstore in business. And, if I have anything to say about it, I’ll bring Jack and Aimee along for the ride.
“What about this?” Jack holds up a book with a doctor on the front. Except this doctor is missing a shirt, and there is a second man passionately embracing him from behind. “Have you read it? I figure it’s within the medical field.”
“Whatever piques your curiosity, Jack,” I tell him, though I’m fairly certain the only medical terminology in this particular book involves inserting tab A into slot B. “It’s good to branch out.”
He adds it to his stack, which is now only two books tall.
“Why do you keep setting this down?” I pick up Pride and Prejudice for the third time and shove it into his hands. “Read it. Learn from the greats.”
“The greats?”
“Mr. Darcy. Beauty and the Beast. The Titanic. Romeo and Juliet, minus the dying bit. You’ve got to feel the romance.”
“I feel plenty of romance,” he growls. “The problem is that it doesn’t come out the way I intend.”
“Forget about your last date!”
“It’s not just my last date, Allie. It’s every damn girl I’ve ever talked to my entire life!” Jack’s hand rakes through his hair and leaves it standing on end. “Just give up on me already, okay?”
“No.” I measure my words carefully. There’s more anger, more frustration behind Jack’s outburst than I expected, and it makes me tuck away my sarcastic response. “I’ll never give up on you for one big reason.”
“What reason?”
“Because you talk to me just fine.” I meet his gaze, studying those gray eyes. “I promise you we’ll find someone who gets you just like I do.”
“And if we don’t?”
I reach for his hand and lock my fingers around it. “I promised. I always keep my promises to you.”
“Or else?”
“Or else what?” I ask, giving an exaggerated sigh.
“Then if you fail to keep your promise, you’ll just have to marry me.”
“What?!”
He breaks into a smile. “Since you can stand me, and I can stand you, it could be worse.”
“Oh, what a wonderful reason to get married,” I tell him, trying to keep my heart from thumping against my chest. Talk about a false alarm that gave me heartburn. “Getting married to one another because we could do worse.”
“It’s as good a reason as any.”
For the last time, I press a growing stack of books against his chest. “I know you’re some big shot surgeon. I know you take pride in squishing your feelings until they don’t exist.”
“I don’t squish my feelings.”
“Fine, you shove them into a closet, whatever—”
“I have to be unemotional in my work.”
“Yeah, yeah, and maybe that’s why you can’t quite seem to grasp this thing the rest of the world calls love.” I press the books harder against his rock-solid abdomen. “Read these. Tell me you don’t feel all fluttery inside and want the same thing for yourself when you’re finished. Once you’ve digested the books, then, you’ll be ready for the next lesson at Romance Academy.”
Chapter 4
JACK
I hate it when she’s right.
Last night, I started reading the book Allie forced on me. The one with the old school cover and high school English class written all over it. Pride & Prejudice.
The thing is, I’m normally a slow reader. I’m used to reading medical manuscripts with terminology peppered throughout that requires I keep a dictionary by my side and a bookmark in the bibliography. I double and triple check any sources that I
don’t automatically trust. It takes me hours to get through a chapter.
Not this time.
This time, I’m flying. I breezed through the first chapter, and then, to my surprise...I wanted to know what happened next.
Again, here surfaces the issue with me being a slow reader. I’m impatient, and I didn’t want to wait to find out what happens, so I needed to compromise. Enter stage right: my local Red Box.
I’d rented the film with the best of intentions. I’d just find out the ending tonight, and later, I’d go back and catch up in the book. I’d popped a bag of popcorn and uncorked a bottle of wine, and now suddenly the wine’s almost gone and there’s nothing but kernels left in the bowl.
My eyes scroll through the final credits, and my mind begins to ponder how I can possibly convince Allie Jenkins that I’ve read her beloved book when, really, I spent my Saturday night alone watching the film.
It’s exactly a week after my last failed date, and although my heart may not be all aflutter after the movie, maybe it did one little flutter.
Or a thump. You know, something manlier than a flutter.
Or maybe it’s heartburn.
We’ll never actually know because I don’t plan to admit this flutter business to anyone. As a doctor, I should be able to figure out whether I have heartburn, yet for some reason, I can’t put my finger on what’s happening to me.
I’m sitting on my couch, staring at the screen as the movie automatically restarts. I should get off my ass and find something to eat, but I’m still trying to figure out that feeling in my gut. Maybe I should call a friend. Maybe I should check myself into the ER. Maybe I should—
A knock on the door startles me from my emergency self-diagnosis.
“Open up!” Allie calls. “Move it, or your egg rolls will be on the floor, Darcy!”
I scramble toward the door, but she beats me to it. She shoves her key in the lock and twists, stumbling head first through the entry and just barely dropping the Styrofoam containers and plastic bags onto the coffee table.
I’m caught, mid-stride, en route to the television. Before she can whirl around, I shut off the incriminating evidence on the screen. If Allie sees that I’ve been watching the movie, she’ll never believe I’ve read the book. Probably because she knows me and my impatience—and she’d be right again.
