Ally: Stop. They were all over each other.
Miller: This is getting good. But define “all over.”
Ally: Please. You know what I mean.
Miller: Yeah, but spell it out because it’s more entertaining that way.
Ally: You want me to entertain you now with stories?
Miller: Don’t I always want you to entertain me with stories?
Ally: You want me to entertain you with stories of what my brother was doing in the elevator?
Miller: When you put it like that, it’s a little weird. And yet I still kind of want to hear it. But the question is, does this bother you?
Ally: Do you think it would bother me?
Miller: I don’t know, aren’t you pissed?
Miller: You want me to talk to him? Do you want me to come talk you down?
Miller: So you don’t toss a trash can? Or go full Godzilla. Stomping like crazy through the city. I can see it now. You’d be all over the news.
Ally: Wow. Quite a scenario you paint.
Miller: Woman turns Godzilla when she sees her brother kissing her best friend.
Ally: You’re insane. How does your mind even go there?
Miller: My mind’s very active. I can picture all sorts of things.
Ally: Let me put it this way. They’re not going to play Candy Land tonight.
Miller: I’ve heard about different versions of Candy Land.
Ally: And he goes to dirty joke land again.
Miller: No joking. So many versions now. I don’t think Candy Land is the same as it used to be when we were kids.
Ally: I don’t want to hear about how you played Candy Land.
Miller: Did I say I played it that way?
Ally: You’re infuriating to talk to.
Miller: But you love talking to me.
Ally: Of course I do. So let me tell you what happened.
Miller: Wait. Just answer. Are you mad at them?
Ally: Are you seriously asking me?
Miller: Yes, of course, I’m asking you.
Miller: Are you mad at them?
Ally: No. I’m happy for them.
* * *
Miller: Note to self—remember that. She’s happy for two friends who became lovers.
Miller: New note to self—but don’t fool yourself into thinking it could work for the two of you.
Miller: New new note to self—no matter how much you want to change her mind.
11
Macy
A month later
I catch a glimpse of a lacy white teddy in the lingerie shop. “Now that is what I want to wear for our one-month anniversary.”
Olivia laughs. “Are you celebrating one month?”
I give her a duh look. “Of course. This is me. I love all kinds of celebrations. And Kirby does now too.”
“Or does he just like you in white lace?”
I wink. “He loves me in white lace. And he also loves me.”
“I knew he did. I knew he would. You were determined, and you went for it.”
I bring the white teddy to the register. “And I’m going to keep going for it.”
Epilogue
Kirby
Four years later
I sweep into the house, carrying a bouquet of roses, a box of candy, and a velvet box with a necklace. I find my wife in the kitchen, pouring champagne for me and seltzer water for her.
I kiss her cheek, her hair, and her lovely lips. “Hey, beautiful.”
“Hey, you.”
I run a hand over her swollen belly. “How do you feel?”
“Ready. Also, I got you a gift.”
She hands me a box from a lingerie store. It’s a red teddy. “I’ll wear it again soon.”
“Wear it when you’re ready. Don’t rush. I’ll always be here.”
“But lingerie was how I seduced you.”
“Sweetheart, I think you’re remembering it wrong. If memory serves, I did kiss you senseless in an elevator the night before Valentine’s Day.”
Her eyes widen with surprise. “Huh. That’s true. But I was so ready to seduce you with my red lingerie and everything. It felt like I went for it.”
“You did. You kept talking to me. You got me to open up, and once I did, I made a move. We both made the right moves.”
“We both went for it,” she agrees.
I kiss her again, softly, gently, since sometimes she likes it that way. “And now that we’ve seduced each other, I should let you know you’re stuck with me,” I say, curling my palm over her stomach.
She runs a hand down my inked arm. My tattoos now include her name, just as Pete from the lobby predicted.
We might be a little dirty, a little naughty. We do like to experiment. We try different positions, different places, and sometimes I tie her up. I spank her and pull her hair. Sometimes she begs me for it.
She likes to beg for it.
And hell, do I love it when she does.
But then again, I love everything with my wife, and all our luck changed thanks to red lingerie, her, and a heart-shaped latte.
Or really, when I got my head out of my ass.
That helped too.
Let that be a lesson to other men. Be open to falling in love, because you might get so much more.
Love, friendship, and the woman you want to roll around with in the sheets.
“I’m definitely keeping you,” she says, then her eyes widen and she clutches her belly. “It’s time.”
* * *
“Push! Push! You can do it.”
And she does. My wife pushes out a beautiful baby girl and I fall in love with Macy all over again.
Our daughter is born on Valentine’s Day.
It’s fitting. Since that was the beginning of not just our love affair, but how I fell for the woman who fucked all the Vrooge out of me.
Another Epilogue
Ally
Well, it sure seems like everything worked out for Macy and Kirby. Love, friendship, and lots of nookie, or so I presume.
They’re ridiculously happy and loving life together. They’re still the best of friends and I’m friends with both of them too. But just because it worked for them doesn’t mean it’ll work for me with Miller.
Just because something works for someone else doesn’t mean it’ll work for you. So I remain cautious with Miller. I remain on this side of the fence.
Until my brother tells me that he’s moving out of town with his wife and his daughter, and that’s the beginning of everything starting to change with Miller and me.
THE END
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Too Good To Be True
ABOUT
To say I’m wary of love would be an epic understatement. Keep that four-letter word far away from me.
But then a matchmaker friend insists she can pair me with the perfect man for me.
Even when sparks fly and chemistry crackles from the first date, I refuse to believe this kind of insta-connection can be the real thing.
Even though for the first time it feels like it could be.
Or is it just too good to be true?
1
Olivia
Do I want to try it?
My brother asked me that very question when he invited me to check out a prototype for his new home automation system.
This is no Alexa. This is no Google Home. His home automation system supposedly answers your most annoying emails, makes you an omelet, and even folds your laundry.
Well, in my dream life it does.
Geek that I am, naturally I said “hell to the yes” when he invited me to take a test run. So here I am, race-walking across the blond hardwood floor of the lobby of his swank Gramercy Park building and pushing the button to his penthouse apartment.
When I reach the top floor, I practically vault down the hall to his place.
C
an you say eager?
I bang on his door. He takes more than ten seconds to answer, so I decide to act thoroughly annoyed when he finally does.
“Come on, come on, come on.” I’m bouncing on my toes, making grabby hands.
He rolls his eyes from behind his black glasses. “Overeager much?”
He holds the door open for me. I sweep in, my eyes like lasers scanning for the little white device. “You can’t dangle something as cool as the ultimate home automation in front of me and expect me not to jump all over it and want to play with it. I only strapped a jetpack on and flew down to touch it.”
He laughs, escorting me to the living room. He knows that, just like him, I love all sorts of electronics, gadgets, gizmos, and toys, and have ever since we were kids, fighting over all sorts of various game consoles. Since I’m the oldest, with two twin brothers, I usually beat them.
And I beat them up.
Someone had to put the little evil geniuses in their place. Lately, it’s hard to put Dylan in his place since he’s been traveling for business. But when he returns, I fully intend to kick his butt in our softball league.
“True, true,” Flynn says thoughtfully. “What was I thinking? You and Dylan are both geeks like me.”
I hold up a fist for knocking. “Dude, we are so nerdy. Also, FYI: nerds rule.”
He scoffs authoritatively. “You know it. Nerd or bust.”
I spy the device on the coffee table. My eyes widen and I hold out my hands, like I’m caught in a tractor beam. “Take me to your leader.”
“Kate is all yours,” he says, using the name of the automation device.
I park myself in the leather couch and fire off questions.
“Kate, tell me a dog joke.”
“Kate, make me a sandwich.”
“Kate, what’s the weather like in Bora Bora?”
She answers each one with panache.
What’s more amazing than a talking dog? A spelling bee.
Okay, you’re a sandwich.
And . . .
Perfect, you should go there.
I glance at Flynn, who’s rightfully proud of his new tech. “Kate knows the answers to everything. I’m booking a flight now.”
Flynn nods his agreement. “Bora Bora is always a good idea. If anyone thinks otherwise, you should excise him or her from your life.”
I tap my temple. “The Bora Bora litmus test. I’m filing that away.” I return my focus to the white disc. “Kate, make me a playlist of top pop songs.”
As she preps some Ariana Grande and Katy Perry, Flynn groans and drops his head into his hand.
“No, please, no pop songs.”
“I like pop.”
“You need to try indie rock, I’ve told you.”
I roll my eyes and launch into my best rendition of his favorite tunes. “Oh, my life is so sad, I flew with an eagle, and now I have a noose around my toes.”
He cracks up and gives me the strangest look. “What on earth is that, Olivia?”
I answer like it’s obvious. “That’s what indie sounds like. A sad lament.”
“Oh, well then, let me tell you what pop sounds like.” Flynn adopts an intensely happy look, snapping his fingers, then sings a send-up of my music. “Oh, I want you. Yes I do. Yes, yes, yes, I do. Do do do do do do do do do.”
I laugh. “See, that’s so fun to listen to! You should totally write that song.”
“So we agree to disagree on music.”
“But not the Bora Bora litmus test.”
“Never the Bora Bora litmus test.”
I spend the next hour playing with the device, and pronounce it is the coolest one I’ve ever seen. “But we have one more test for Kate.”
“What is it?”
I hold my arms out wide, like I’m ready to make a pronouncement. “This will be the toughest test of all. Can she handle what I’m going to throw at her?”
Flynn gestures grandly. “Go for it.”
I clear my throat, adopting a most serious tone. “Kate, find me a hot, smart, and kind guy. Must love animals. Be willing to try quirky new dates in New York City. Ideally, likes odd and interesting art installations. And be able to sustain a conversation about something other than himself.”
Flynn’s eyes bulge. “She’s not a miracle worker,” he says protectively. He’s protective of the device.
Kate speaks back in her calming robotic voice, but I’ve rattled her. “I’m sorry, that does not compute. Can you please try again?”
I crack up.
“You can’t really expect her to do the impossible,” Flynn says.
“I know, tell me about it.”
He leans forward, hands on his knees. “So is dating getting you down?”
I sigh. “A little bit. It’s kind of awful out there. Have you tried it lately?”
He shudders. “No, I’m practically on a sabbatical since Annie.”
I shudder too, remembering Flynn’s ex. She turned out to be completely using him, trying to sink her claws into his fortune. Not for nothing, but it’s really hard for a tech multimillionaire to find somebody who likes him for him. My brother is rich as sin, and normally I don’t feel bad for him, but on this count—never knowing if someone loves you for you or your money—my heart is heavy.
It’s a poor little rich boy dilemma, as he calls it. Yet it’s wholly real.
“But what about you? What’s the latest from the minefield of dating?”
“Last night I went out with a handsome surgeon, who was all around pretty funny and smart. But it turns out he’s into jazz music,” I say, crinkling my nose. “He spent half the time telling me he loves to go to jazz clubs and to listen to jazz at home. I had to be honest—jazz is never going to be part of my life, so we’re clearly not compatible. We’d never see each other.”
Flynn gives me a look, takes a deep breath. “Olivia. But are you doing it again?”
“Doing what?” I ask, indignant. “Being direct and honest on dates about what works and doesn't work?”
“Are you sabotaging every date you go on?”
I sit up straight. “I do not do that.”
He points at me. “Yes, you do.”
“I don’t care for jazz.”
“I’m sure you could have found a work-around for his love of jazz. Instead, you sabotage. You’ve done that ever since Ron.”
I huff. “Do you blame me? Ron was the ultimate douchenozzle. And he hid it well.”
“‘Douchenozzle’ is a bit tame for that specimen. More like ‘king of all the assholes ever.’ It’s not often you find a man who’s not only a cheater but a serial cheater. He had affairs like it was an advent calendar.”
A twinge of embarrassment stings my chest. “And that makes me the stupidest woman ever for missing the signs?”
Flynn moves next to me, squeezing my shoulder. “No. You liked the guy, and he was the Artful Dodger. It was hard to spot his deception at first. But ever since then, when you’ve met a guy here or there who seems somewhat decent, you always find something wrong with him. A smart and funny surgeon? But he likes jazz, so that’s a deal-breaker? And then you tell him?”
“But I don’t like jazz one bit,” I say in a small voice.
“Look, I don’t like jazz either. But I don’t think it needs to be a line in the sand.” He arches a brow. “Be honest with me. Are you constantly looking for what’s wrong with a man so you won’t get hurt again?”
I sigh, wishing it wasn’t so obvious, but then Flynn knows me as well as anyone. “I was totally hoodwinked by Ron. I didn’t see it coming, and I should have. What if it happens again?” I ask, my deepest worry coloring my tone.
“Anything can happen, but now you try to find something wrong with someone before you even start. You’re never going to open yourself to what you want if you do that.”
I cross my arms, exhale heavily. “Fine, maybe I do that, but look, I haven’t met anybody that ticks all the boxes on my checklist. Or even three quarters.
Hell, I’d settle for half. I don’t even know if my dream guy exists.”
He stares out the window, like he’s considering a math problem. Since my brother solves math problems in his sleep, he snaps his fingers. “My buddy Patrick. His sister is a matchmaker.”
“A real matchmaker? Like Yente?” I sing a few lines from Fiddler on the Roof.
“Of course, you have to sing that every time you see her. It’s literally required. Why don’t you try Evie? Let her know what you’re looking for. Maybe she can find someone for you.”
I’ve tried online dating. I’ve been set up by friends. I’ve been open to meeting men at the gym, at bookstores, even at the farmers market. But I’ve had no luck finding a jazz hater, animal lover, quirky-art fan, who’s hot as hell and likes me.
“Admittedly, I’m kind of picky. Do you think I’m better off being single?”
“Olivia, you want to be happy. You want to find someone. Just call Evie. Her job is to find matches for picky people.”
Dating Mr. Right: Four Standalone Romantic Comedies Page 13
