The Dating Intervention: Book 1 in the Intervention Series

by Hilary Dartt

  “Labor Day,” she repeated in a wooden-sounding voice, calculating the time that had passed since then.

  “Five months. A man can’t go that long on a regular basis.”

  “I could do better,” she lied, grimacing even as she said it.

  “No, you couldn’t. And neither could I. I think we both know we’re more like brother and sister than we are like lovers.”

  She never considered that Xander felt the same way she did. She always figured he just wasn’t that sexual, and that was only when she thought about it. Mark had sated her needs at least once every week. Maybe that was why she hadn’t even considered Xander’s needs.

  “Could we still hang out? As friends?”

  “No. We can’t. I’m seeing someone else.”

  “Why didn’t you say so?”

  “You know I really like you. But I think it’s time you started being honest with yourself.”

  What was this, The Delaney Life Review?

  “Honest with myself?”

  “Yeah. You don’t want to be with me any more than you want to go to the dentist every six months. And I know I’m not the only thing in your life you feel that way about. Honesty, Delaney. It’s the new black.”

  ***

  Time marches on, Delaney thought. Dejected or not, it was Carpool Tuesday. She’d just picked Summer’s kids up from school.

  It seemed only natural that after being dumped (not just by one guy, but by three in the span of a few hours), Delaney hit every red light during this trip. Here she was, for the first time in months with absolutely no romantic prospects, and the Universe was playing cruel jokes on her.

  Her mantra, “It’s a new beginning,” wasn’t helping at all.

  Now she sat at the intersection of Highway 23 and Pinecone Street, waiting. Again.

  The loud squeal of tires pierced Delaney’s thoughts, and instinct had her looking in the rearview mirror. A huge black pickup truck came barreling toward the back of the van. She knew right away that the driver wouldn’t be able to stop in time, and she squeezed the steering wheel, bracing herself for impact, mentally flicking through images of ice patches she’d seen all over town since leaving the school parking lot.

  Nope. There is definitely no way he can stop in time. Oh, shit. He’s really going to hit us.

  She had nowhere to go. Neither did the truck. Squeezing her eyes shut didn’t help, but at the last second she lifted her foot off the brake pedal. The truck slammed into the back of the van, and the impact sent the van lurching into the intersection. Delaney glanced to her left at oncoming traffic, and then gunned it, accelerating forward to avoid being T-boned.

  “Well, that’s a first for Carpool Tuesday,” she muttered, concentrating on breathing deeply to slow her heart rate.

  “Aunt D?” Summer’s daughter, Sarah, squeaked from the back seat.

  “Are you guys okay?” Delaney said.

  “What just happened? Did someone hit us?”

  “Sarah, we’re fine, honey.”

  “Does our car still work?”

  “Yes, Luke. The car still works.”

  Delaney looked for a place to pull over. The only option was a driveway about twenty-five yards up the road.

  “You don’t look fine, Aunt D.”

  “I’m fine. I was just surprised, that’s all. Are you guys fine?”

  “Mom’s gonna kill you,” Nate said.

  “Well, you know I’m not your real aunt, right? So she can’t actually kill me. It’s against the rules to kill your best friends.”

  Delaney pulled the van into the driveway of Porky’s Barbecue, parked, and turned off the engine. As she dug around in the glove compartment for the insurance card, her hands shook so badly it was a minute before she was able to get through the Legos and Lincoln Logs to the small slip of paper.

  “Wow! That was awesome! Did someone just, like, hit us?”

  “Yeah, someone rear-ended us. Stay in the car. It’s freezing and I don’t want you getting run over. I’m going to check the back, make sure there aren’t any dents or anything.”

  “Luke, that is so not awesome,” Sarah said as Delaney opened the door.

  She stuck her head back in. “Quit bickering, you two. Luke, it’s definitely not awesome. Your mom’s going to be upset if something happened to the van.”

  “What about us? What if something happened to us?” Nate said.

  “Oh, Nate. You’re fine. It was nothing more than a bump.” She infused her voice with a forced cheer she hoped would cover the shakiness of her nerves recovering. “Like bumper cars.”

  She shut the door. Out in the crisp, fresh air, she took another deep breath, willing her hands to stop shaking. It really had been a little bump, she thought as she walked around the back of the van. In fact, the bumper looked perfect, as if nothing had happened.

  But still.

  Delaney stood, hands on hips, watching the line of traffic move forward once the light at Pinecone Street turned green. The black pickup truck wasn’t slowing down to turn in behind her as she’d assumed it would. In fact, it was speeding up. It whizzed by and the driver didn’t even spare her a glance. Disgusted, she shook her head and climbed back in the van.

  The kids pelted her with questions: “Is there a dent?” “Do we get a new car?” and “Is our car broken?” But she tuned them out, quickly dialing Summer.

  “Hey, Summer,” Delaney said when she answered. “We’re okay, but some jerk rear-ended us at Twenty-Three and Pinecone. Some asshole in a pickup truck. And he just drove off.”

  “Shit,” Summer said. “Watch your language. Are the kids okay? Are you?”

  “Yeah. We’re all fine. The van is fine. Now I see why Derek insisted on you buying this monstrosity. Not even a scratch. Anyway, we were stopped at the red light and he was trying to stop when he hit us. It’s icy, you know? Not a huge impact.”

  “Thank goodness. Asshole. Did you call the police?”

  “No. Should I?”

  “Of course! Delaney, that’s a hit and run! It’s illegal. Call them, and call me back. Do you want me to come over there?”

  “I have your car.”

  “Right. Okay, call the police and call me back,” Summer repeated.

  “Okay. Oh…”

  “What? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Someone just pulled up. It’s a guy. He’s getting out. And oh – he is very good-looking. Very. Call you back.”

  Dirty, scuffed brown cowboy boots, dusty ripped jeans, and a light blue t-shirt. So not my type, but so yummy.

  “Hey,” the man said.

  Delaney couldn’t stop herself from taking inventory: eyes the color of cobalt made contact with hers, and light stubble accentuated the planes of his face. He looked Greek, she thought, like Adonis. Longish, curly hair, full lips. He’d parked in the row behind Summer’s van, and now bent down to inspect the bumper. Could this be the first man to fill an empty slot on her dating roster?

  “I saw what happened.” He straightened up. “Are you okay?”

  “Oh yeah,” she drawled. “I mean, it’s fine. We’re fine. I checked the car, it’s fine.”

  You’re fine.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  He squinted, leaned forward to look into her eyes. She nodded maniacally, all the while wondering what he’d look like as a bare-chested marble statue.

  “It’s a big van. Full-size. And size does matter.”Oh, my God. Shut up, Delaney. Shut up. Snap out of it. This isn’t like you. You’re acting like a twelve-year-old girl. You’re acting like the twelve-year-old you.

  The man chuckled.

  “Have you called the police?”

  “Nope. Nope, I need to do that. Thanks for reminding me.”

  “Uh, I think I’ll wait with you. I got the guy’s license plate number.”

  He handed her a green sticky note, and she noticed his tidy writing and his sexy worker’s hands and muscled forearms. Unconsciously, she wiped her mouth and dragged her e
yes back to the sticky note. The letters and numbers lined up perfectly. Delaney turned her back to him while she dialed the police, gave the report to a dispatcher.

  When she turned around, she saw that he had turned away to make his own phone call, and she studied the fit of his jeans. Snug over a tight rear end and a strong-looking set of legs. When he shrugged, she watched the muscles in his back ripple. She didn’t notice he’d hung up until he was walking toward her.

  “Uh, I should check on the kids,” she said as her face grew hot.

  He followed her. For once, the kids sat quietly in their seats. Three pairs of bright blue eyes framed by thick black lashes blinked back at her.

  “Are these all your kids?” the stranger asked.

  She twittered, high and nervous.

  “No! I mean, they’re great kids but no! I don’t have any kids. Not married. See?”

  She held out her left hand, wiggled her fingers. Thought, Oh, my God. What am I doing?

  “These are my friend’s kids. Summer. It’s Carpool Tuesday. They get out of school a couple hours early, and her baby’s still napping. So I pick them up for her. Sarah, Luke, Nate. Say hi, guys.”

  “Hi,” they chorused.

  “What’s your name?” Nate wanted to know.

  “Jake,” the stranger answered. He smiled for the first time since he’d pulled up, and Delaney almost swooned. She’d always wondered what swooning really was, and how it happened. Now she knew.

  His teeth were square and white and slightly crooked. Lines deepened around his eyes and she thought she detected a dimple on his left cheek.

  “Delaney,” she said, sticking her arm straight out to shake hands. “Delaney Collins.”

  “Jake Rhoades,” he said.

  She held onto this hand for a little too long. Long enough to notice it felt as good as it looked: calloused and sturdy. Fortunately, a police cruiser pulled into the parking lot before she had a chance to rip his shirt off. She and Jake Rhoades filled out accident reports. The police officer, a stocky fellow who’d probably been on the force as long as Delaney had been alive, checked the van for damage.

  “Good job getting the plate number,” he said to Jake. “I’ll run this guy and see if we can’t find his address. Sure you’re okay, ma’am? Ma’am?”

  It took a ton of effort, but Delaney tore herself from her fantasy world, in which she had to brush Jake’s manly hands off her bare skin and pull away from him and his warm, full lips so she could answer. She wiped her own mouth (again) with the back of her hand.

  “Oh. Uh, yes. We’re fine. Really. Thank you.”

  After the police officer had driven away, Jake motioned to Porky’s.

  “I’m gonna grab a sandwich. Want to join me?”

  Hell, yes!

  “No, thanks. I can’t. I have to get the kids home. I’m sure Summer’s worried about them.”

  But how could she get him to give her his number? She couldn’t just give him hers. It was against her rules to make the first move. But he was so dreamy. And he obviously had a good heart. And those hands! She was tempted to break her own rules, just this once.

  “Okay, then. Just for future reference, Porky makes a mean house sauce. Try it on a pulled pork sandwich sometime.”

  “Thanks for the tip. And thanks again for stopping. Really. That was really nice of you.”

  “Anytime,” he said.

  If he’d been wearing a cowboy hat, he’d have tipped it as he strolled across the parking lot to the front door of Porky’s. Heart aflutter, Delaney climbed into the van. She put the air conditioner on full-blast and drove back to Summer’s, sweating, even though the mercury barely reached thirty degrees outside.

  ***

  Hanging out with the kids provided a temporary distraction, but Delaney plunged back into dejection as soon as she left Summer’s house.

  She went home, poured a healthy glass of pinot noir and immersed herself in a hot, steamy bath. Sulking, she analyzed the situation, being as honest with herself as she could.

  Xander would be proud. She snorted at that thought and sunk down into the water.

  Losing Mark really hurt. She hated herself for feeling a sense of loss over him. She dashed another tear away from the corner of her eye. Losing Zachary was more of a hit to her ego. She hated herself for knowing she wouldn’t actually miss him. Same with Xander. She could take him or leave him.

  A sob escaped her mouth, echoed in the bathroom.

  For the briefest of moments, she wondered if the break-ups had something to do with her.

  Nothing like a little wine to get your mind off that track.

  After a couple of healthy gulps and a refill (so what if she brought the bottle into the bathroom?), she forced herself to stop looking back. The timing was a coincidence, nothing more.

  It’s time to look forward, Collins.

  She allowed herself this one evening to sulk.

  Maybe her dating system wasn’t as genius as she thought. Because despite having set everything up to prevent heartbreak, she was heartbroken.

  And then there was Jake Rhoades the Dreamy.

  Why hadn’t she just given him her number? Now she’d probably never get the chance to find out if he tasted as delectable as he looked.

  For the first time, she experienced something completely unfamiliar: regret.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Almost two full days had passed since the break-up fiasco and now Delaney blinked, bringing herself back to the present. It was Thursday and she was still at Rowdy’s, having just received a lecture about how she was a dating failure.

  For the first time, the dim interior of the bar felt claustrophobic. Summer must have noticed Delaney replaying Tuesday’s film reel in her mind. She moved her wine glass off to one side and put her elbows on the table. Then she started to speak, a little too loudly for Delaney’s comfort.

  “Delaney,” she began. “Let’s be honest.” (There’s that word again.) “Your dating life has been fun. Right?”

  Josie nodded vigorously.

  “Yeess,” Delaney said. “But where is this going?”

  “It’s time for a change, my sister,” Summer said. “Your decisions aren’t really serving you any more, are they?”

  “What do you mean?” She felt herself getting irritated, but took a deep breath to stifle it. The girls meant well. They were her best friends.

  “Well, it’s what we were saying before,” Summer said. “Who has three semi-serious relationships, all at the same time, without any of the guys knowing there’s someone else? I mean, after age twenty?”

  Immediately, Delaney went on the defensive. “Just because not many people do it doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with it. Not many people become brain surgeons.”

  “Okay, let’s move on,” Summer said, narrowing her eyes. “I’m not even going to consider that as a point in this discussion. I mean, have you even thought about your future?”

  “Of course I have. I’m not six years old.”

  “Don’t be so defensive,” Josie said. “What Summer means is, have you thought about, you know, whether you ever want to settle down, with one guy. Or do you want this ‘fail-proof’ system to carry on in perpetuity?”

  I tried to settle down and we all saw how well that worked out. And since when is my future any of their business?

  Delaney’s ego was definitely stinging, so she turned to humor: “Yeah, of course I have. I’m going to be that crazy cat lady. For perpetuity. Yeah, I might have a booty call every now and then, but…”

  Summer shook her head. “So,” she said. “Back to the experiment.”

  Then, as if she were admiring a brightly lit marquee, Summer put her hands up, palms out and with a sweeping gesture announced, “We call it The Dating Intervention.”

  Delaney opened her mouth to answer, but Josie cut her off. “Just hear us out. Look, we’ve already done some research.”

  She climbed down off her bar stool, remaining completely steady in he
r super-high heels, then rummaged around in her bag. She pulled out her tablet and turned it so all three of them could see the screen.

  “Welcome to FindLove.com,” Josie said. “I’ve already done a quick search for local men in our age range looking for casual dates. The results aren’t bad, really.”

  She opened a window and tapped on a photo to enlarge it. “Guapo, no?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say handsome,” Delaney said.

  Online dating? What’s wrong with meeting guys at bars? Aren’t guys with online profiles usually creepy?

  But her friends forged ahead. They leaned over the tablet, lips pursed in concentration.

  “Oh, definitely not him,” Summer said. “Too much hair gel, for sure.”

  “What’s wrong with hair gel?” Delaney asked.

  “See? This is exactly what we’re worried about, Dee. Too much hair gel on a guy over thirty means he’s a prima donna. It means he doesn’t like his mother. It means he drives a nice car but wears holey underwear. It means he doesn’t want children.”

  “You get all this from hair gel?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Ooh, look at this guy,” Josie said. “Very good-looking.”

  “Get the details,” Summer said.

  Josie tapped the tablet’s screen.

  “Damn. He’s a consultant. Code for unemployed.”

  “Seriously, you guys? Code for unemployed? How do you even know?”

  “Again. Another example of why we’re doing this for you,” Summer said. “You’ve demonstrated previously–and you’re demonstrating now–that you don’t have an instinct for this stuff. Next.”

  Apparently, Delaney had a lot to learn. During the ten minutes Summer and Josie spent scrolling through photos and profiles, Delaney realized that according to their standards for men, she was off. Not just slightly off, but way off.

  Suddenly, Summer sat up straight, held up a finger and produced a pen from her purse, after setting a toy car, a length of rope and a dusty rock on the table. “We need a formal agreement, I think.”

  Delaney Collins hereby agrees to relinquish control of her dating life to Summer Gray and Josefina Garcia, she wrote on a bar napkin. She drew a line underneath, then handed Delaney the pen and pointed to the line.