Decidedly With Love

by Stina Lindenblatt

  Or at least if I didn’t start dating again, preferably with a guy who was interested in a long-term relationship.

  A guy who was interested in falling in love.

  A guy who was talented between the sheets. All right—that would be an additional perk.

  I could only come up with two reasonable explanations for my body’s reaction to Travis: First, it was experiencing rejection-induced amnesia when it came to what happened back in high school. Second, it had voted that I should agree to be his fake girlfriend—that way he and I could have sex.

  But if he was just looking for a fake girlfriend, I doubted this included benefits from the Department of Orgasms.

  Yes—I did believe that Travis was synonymous with orgasms. The short dark hair. The mesmerizing hazel eyes, which were more playful than serious. The mouthwatering muscles. He was sex on a stick and then some.

  A voice in the back of my head reminded me that good looks didn’t necessarily mean good in bed—as experience had taught me.

  “He’s no one,” I told Kate, answering her question.

  “Well, no one is very good-looking.”

  I smirked. “Aren’t you engaged?”

  “I’m engaged, not dead. And I’m just thinking about you. When was the last time you went on a date, Emma?”

  “You know, Hannah never gives me a hard time about my current lack of dating life.”

  Kate rolled her eyes. “That’s because hers is as pathetic as yours. But she doesn’t write a column on sex and romance. How can you write about something you know nothing about?”

  “Easy,” I said, grabbing my cup that the coffee dude had just set on the counter. “I live vicariously through you.” I winked at her and headed back to my store.

  Did I agree with Kate? A little.

  All right—more than a little. But you had to admit, dating was tough. It didn’t matter how great the guy might seem when you first met him, the interest in him quickly waned as soon as you got to know him. Or maybe that was just me. And since I had a three-date policy (three dates with a guy before I had sex with him), it didn’t usually bode well for me when it came to making my girlie parts happy.

  Hence the reason Alejandro and I were intimately acquainted.

  Lisa was busy helping a woman in the Home Style department when I entered. I walked over to check on the couple searching through our selection of books on sexual positions. Always a popular favorite.

  And yes, I might have studied a few of them at one time or another.

  Purely for research, of course.

  “Which book do you recommend?” the woman in her thirties asked—as if I had personally tested each one.

  I wish.

  I pulled a book from the shelf. “This is our most popular one.” I took that to mean it was an excellent book.

  After they thanked me and paid for it, I headed to my office. Lisa had things under control, which meant I could catch up on some paperwork. That unfortunately never seemed to end.

  I’d been placing an order when my office door opened.

  Thinking it was Lisa wanting me to cover for her during her break, I started to stand, my attention still on the computer screen. “Should I order more pink vibrators or try the purple ones this time?”

  Only then did I glance up.

  Have you ever met that one person who, no matter what you say or do, makes you feel like you’re the dog shit he stepped in?

  Meet the owner of the building: Donald Shrivener.

  Or Old Shriveled Ass as Hannah and I called him—just not to his face. Hannah was positive the last time he’d had sex was sometime during World War II. I had to agree with her there.

  Every time he came into the store, his gaze narrowed as if I was selling dark magic. I kept expecting him to show up one day with a priest and have the store exorcised.

  Fortunately, he didn’t come here very often since the rent was automatically withdrawn from my bank account. Which was why I was confused by his presence in the store.

  “Is there something you need?” I asked in the voice usually saved for my customers.

  He grinned—his teeth stained and crooked. Unlike most people when they smiled, it didn’t make him seem friendly. Creepy was more like it.

  “I came to remind you that your lease expires in two months,” he said.

  “I know—and I told you I’ll be renewing it for another year.”

  Wow. I didn’t think his grin could grow any creepier. I was wrong. “I came to tell you the building is going to be converted into a condo complex, and your store will no longer be considered appropriate for the retail space. Consider this your notice.”

  “But you can’t do that.”

  “Sure, I can. You’re perfectly welcome to stay…if you change the nature of your business. A sex shop is considered highly unsuitable.” His voice was I-know-you-have-sex-slaves-here smug. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Barely. “Maybe you could open a bakery instead. I hear your cookies are popular.”

  So were my scented candles and bath products and everything else. I itched to point that out but didn’t. It wouldn’t have changed his mind if I had.

  “So the construction for the condos starts as soon as my lease expires? And why is this the first I’m hearing about the plans to turn the building into condos?”

  “Because details haven’t been finalized yet,” he said, looking down his long skinny nose at me. “But since your lease is about to expire, no point delaying the inevitable.”

  I guess not.

  With the smug look still on his face, he walked out of my office. Well, more like skipped from my office like a giddy schoolgirl.

  Shit.

  I slumped back in my chair and dropped my face into my hands. What the hell was I going to do? This store was like my second home. Heck, with the amount of time I spent here lately, it was more like my first home.

  But this wasn’t the end of the world, right? I had survived tougher. Being a foster kid had taught me to be resilient.

  I just needed to find a new location.

  No need to pull out the pity party decorations.

  I am woman. Hear me roar!

  Would that have been more convincing if I hadn’t been clutching the desk?

  “Are you okay?” a woman’s voice asked from the doorway. I looked up to find Fanny standing there, her two sidekicks behind her.

  All three of them appeared concerned like I would expect grandmothers to look when their grandchild had fallen off her bike and scraped her knees.

  You know the look? The one where cookies are involved.

  Or at least that was the look that had starred in my childhood fantasies—when I used to dream about fairytale princes and having a grandmother who loved me as much as I loved her.

  Did my own grandmothers love me? I wouldn’t know. I had never met either of them. My father’s identity was a mystery to me. He had never wanted me, plain and simple.

  And my mom’s parents? From what I understood, they’d kicked her out of the house when she got pregnant with me. Nice, huh?

  Yes, even before I was born, my family had rejected me. And when I ended up abandoned and alone, no one came rushing forward to claim me. For me, life hadn’t been a Hallmark movie.

  So as you could imagine, having Travis’s grandmother and her friends look at me with concern caused a warmth to fill me.

  Yeah, ignore the tears. How about we just blame them on PMS—even if it isn’t technically that time of the month?

  I sniffed. “I’m fine, thanks.”

  It might have been more believable if another tear hadn’t slid down my face. I needed to get these three out of my office before their concern did me in. Full-out sobbing would be really embarrassing.

  But of course, instead of leaving my office, they entered it.

  “Is there anything we can help you with?” Fanny asked.

  I laughed. All right, it wasn’t a ha-ha type laugh. More like an I’m-in-serious-trouble-but-thank-you-f
or-asking laugh. At least it didn’t sound like someone was dying—so bonus points for me.

  “Unless you know of a great place where I can relocate the store,” I said, my smile weak, “then probably not.” I totally blamed their grandmotherly pheromones for my blurting that out. Clearly they were a dangerous thing.

  Forget interrogating the bad guys—send in these three women and the men would be confessing their crimes in no time.

  “I think I can help you there,” Fanny said with a grin.

  7

  Dear Dr. Lovejoy,

  I know they say leopards don’t change their spots, but is it possible for a guy to change? Can someone who was a jerk before suddenly become Prince Charming?

  Sincerely,

  Hoping for a Miracle

  * * *

  Dear Hoping for a Miracle,

  There’s a reason that wise saying exists. Heed its warning. No one can change for the better that quickly. If someone does change, it’s probably because deep down, he already was an amazing person. You just failed to see it because you didn’t know him as well as you thought.

  As for the Prince Charming part…you do realize he is nothing more than a cartoon man, right? You can do a lot better than that!

  8

  Emma

  Why was I sitting in the front seat of Travis’s SUV while Fanny sat in the back?

  Good question.

  I wasn’t exactly sure how it happened, either. One minute I was waiting outside my apartment for Fanny to arrive. The next she was ushering me into the front seat of the SUV, and officially introducing me to her grandson.

  And judging from the surprised expression on Travis’s face when he saw me, he had been just as clueless about me joining them as I had been.

  “This is the place,” Fanny said as I was considering if I should ask Travis what he did for a living. Or maybe it was better if I didn’t ask. Maybe he had some super boring job that he hated.

  That was the case for the last guy I’d dated. He spent the entire evening explaining in great detail why his job sucked.

  Even the waiter had felt bad for me. He’d kept flashing me pitying looks.

  Fanny pointed to the brick low-rise building with stores on the lower level. It was a quaint building in a quaint part of San Francisco.

  Travis parked the vehicle, then he and I followed Fanny to the front entrance. He and I hadn’t said much to each other the entire trip there. Fanny had been doing all the talking while I was doing my best not to notice how great Travis smelled. I had no idea what soap or aftershave he used, but the woodsy scent definitely worked for him.

  “Did you give any more thought to being my fake girlfriend?” he casually asked, voice low.

  “It’s still no,” I said, my voice equally low. “And in case you’re wondering, it will be no tomorrow, too.”

  “You have a boyfriend?”

  “No. But that’s because I haven’t found the right man yet.” Not even close.

  “So you’re available?”

  “Available to date or available to be your fake girlfriend?”

  “Both.”

  Why did I have a sudden craving to kiss the cocky smirk off his face?

  That was new. Or was it?

  I mentally went through the Rolodex of past dates and tried to remember if any had possessed sexy smirks. I came up blank.

  Maybe I could add that to the list of requirements for the next guy I went out with.

  It couldn’t hurt.

  “I’m available to date,” I said as Fanny waved at us then opened the store door. “I’m not available to be your fake girlfriend.” Or even his real girlfriend if he had asked.

  And not just because of what happened in high school. His no commitment policy also ruled him out as a potential date.

  Inside the empty store, I began imagining how it would look set up like my current location. The space was smaller than Aphrodite’s. And where would I put the sex toys so kids didn’t accidentally find them?

  “Hi, I’m Janet Featherbridge,” the woman said. She must be the realtor Fanny had mentioned.

  “It’s a nice place,” I said, shaking her hand.

  “And a great location. The clientele who come to this shopping area are in the upper-income bracket. What kind of retail store are you looking at setting up?”

  “It’s called Aphrodite’s Boutique. It caters to the inner romantic in all of us.”

  Behind me, Travis snickered—too soft for Janet and Fanny to hear.

  But what did you expect from a guy who no doubt believed jerking off in the shower was the same thing as romance?

  An unwanted image popped in my head of Travis standing in the shower, his muscular body glistening with water. His erection proud and ready to pound into me.

  I seriously didn’t just moan, did I?

  I shook the image from my head and moved away from Travis and his delusion-inducing masculine scent.

  But what did I expect? I was no different than someone who had been wandering aimlessly in a desert for several days and had just spotted a lush oasis. It wasn’t Travis I was responding to. It was just a symptom of the dry spell known as my sex life.

  “I’m familiar with the store,” Janet said. “I haven’t visited it, but I see the ads for it whenever I check out Dr. Lovejoy’s weekly column. Do you read it?”

  I could feel Travis’s gaze directed at me, which was enough to cause my face to heat up. Why did I react that way? I have no idea. I doubt he remembered my last name from the short time we were in the same high school together. He certainly hadn’t stuck around long enough as my project partner to learn it.

  Which was a good thing—even if it hadn’t felt that way at the time. It meant he had no idea I was Dr. Lovejoy.

  Not that I expected him to bombard me with dating and sex questions even if he did piece things together.

  “I’ve read it from time to time,” I said, not willing to admit that I was the one who wrote the column. And since Fanny had set up this meeting, Janet had no idea my last name was the same as the person who wrote it. “How much is the lease for a year?”

  “Rent is eighty-seven dollars per square foot a year, and at seventeen hundred square feet”—she glanced at the page in her hand—“that would be just under one hundred and forty-eight thousand dollars per year.”

  Ouch. Double what I was currently paying but for a lot less space.

  “That’s higher than I’ve budgeted for. And I’ll really need another eight hundred square feet.” Or else I would have to get rid of the fountain.

  She considered it for a moment. “All right, I have some other properties that might be more suited to what you’re looking for.”

  She gave Travis the address for the next location and got into her BMW.

  Travis, Fanny, and I returned to the SUV and followed her.

  “Do your parents live in San Francisco?” Fanny asked me.

  How was I supposed to answer without explaining my sob story? Sure, if I wished for people to feel sorry for me, then it was an awesome tale to tell.

  But I was familiar with Travis’s opinion when it came to foster kids who had been tossed away by their parents. I had experienced that pain in high school when he bailed on being my history project partner. According to his ex-girlfriend, he hadn’t wanted to work with me because I was a foster kid. No point going there again.

  Besides, that was over ten years ago. People changed. So far he seemed nice. He didn’t have to help me look for a new location. I mean, sure, Fanny had set this up, but he could have said no and driven away.

  “They’re dead,” I said. Simple enough explanation. For all I knew, my parents could have been dead.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Fanny said. “Well, it looks like you and Travis have that in common.”

  We do?

  Travis didn’t say anything, his attention on the road.

  “I’m sorry,” I told him and meant it because I was positive his parents had loved him.
He’d lost that and I’d never had it to begin with. It was hard to mourn something you’d never had.

  It just made you long to experience it that much more.

  “So why are you moving your business?” Travis asked.

  I guess Fanny never told him. Bonus—because it also meant he didn’t know about those pseudo-PMS tears.

  “My lease is expiring in two months, and the owner isn’t renewing it because he’s turning the building into a condo complex. He feels the store will no longer be suitable for the location once the condo is finished.”

  Did I go to the local bar after work the day Old Shriveled Ass told me the news and throw darts at his imaginary picture? I might have. I might have also scored a couple of bull’s-eyes.

  “That’s news to me about the renovations,” Travis said.

  “Me too. I can’t figure out why the owner wants to change it. The current design fits the area perfectly and it already has apartments.” But I guess since the owner was a man, he was going with the belief that bigger was always better.

  Janet turned down a street and a bad feeling rolled through me.

  “Well, um, this is an interesting neighborhood,” Fanny said as we took in the low-income area.

  Both Travis and I kept quiet as we drove past a cop car, the officer assisting a man into the back seat. Oh, boy.

  We still didn’t say anything as we parked on the side street near the building we were going to check out. But really, what was there to say?

  Other than I’d be having a menage-á-trois with Cupid himself and his best buddy before I moved my store here.

  “Stay right here,” Travis said before climbing out of the SUV. He shut the door, and with his key fob, locked the vehicle.

  He walked to Janet’s car as I undid my seat belt and reached for the passenger door.

  “You should probably stay put, dear,” Fanny said.

  “It’s going to be a little hard to check out the store if I’m still in the vehicle.”