Chronicles of a Serial Dater - Book 2: A New Adult Romantic Comedy

by Adele Huxley

  Clint casually strolled down the street, a hand tucked in one pocket. There are definitely a few other things I’d like to kiss while I’m at it, I thought, empowered by my secret hidden spot. I’d never seen a man so completely confident and comfortable in his own skin. The way he carried himself made me think he could handle any situation that was thrown at him. But his actions coupled with his manuscript told me he was nothing but an arrogant, cocky celebrity wannabe.

  And if you want to continue working for Lisa Greene, you better get used to dealing with that type. Pucker up, Talia. Let’s do this.

  I counted off a few extra minutes after he disappeared into the restaurant, steeling myself for the meeting ahead. My heart thumped wildly against my ribs as I walked across the road, feeling like I was about to meet my destiny. This dinner would determine the next step in my life and I couldn’t cope with the idea of yet another huge shift.

  I spotted him the instant I walked into the crowded room. He’d chosen a table in the center of the restaurant, between the window seats and a busy counter to the left. He was smiling and chatting with a waitress when my movement caught his attention. He waved me over without stopping his conversation.

  “I think I know exactly where you mean. I spent time in Puerto Vallarta.” He glanced up at me, gesturing to the seat across. With my pulse going a hundred miles an hour, I simply gripped the back of the chair and waited.

  The waitress looked at me as well, the odd social interaction stopping her obvious flirting. “So cool! We’ll have to compare notes some time. So, can I get you both something to drink?”

  “Water for me, please,” I said, a lump in my throat.

  Clint squinted at me and ordered the same. “And Carmen, we have some business to discuss first, so I’ll let you know when we’re ready to order.”

  With an even more quizzical expression, she looked at me once more before retreating into the kitchen.

  I closed my eyes and started the monologue I’d practiced the whole way there. “Mr. English, please let me apologize for my behavior this afternoon. It’s no excuse, but today has been one of those days and I didn’t handle myself how I should have.”

  He leaned back and tucked his hand under one arm, cradling his chin with the other. “And what way is that exactly?”

  “Professionally,” I replied curtly. My nails tightened against the back of the hard plastic chair as I struggled to finish my apology. “I’m also very sorry for my comments on your manuscript. They were…”

  “No,” he barked, leaning forward. “Don’t do that. Don’t apologize for things you aren’t actually sorry for.” I was taken aback by the genuine fire in his words. “Please, take a seat and we can talk about this.”

  The waitress set two glasses of ice water down on the table, her expression more confused than ever. I’d walked in there hoping to take control of the conversation, save my job, and get out before I made an ass out of myself. Yet again, Clint overpowered everything. I didn’t know if I should be turned on or annoyed or both.

  “Did you really believe my book was ego-centric?”

  “Well, Mr. English,” I started. I looked down and fidgeted with the fork and napkin to avoid looking into his eyes.

  “Talia, call me Clint. You said the book was ego-centric and self-absorbed, right? Do you still stand by that assessment?”

  “Well, it is an autobiography…” He exhaled sharply and crossed his arms onto the table, dissatisfied by my response. He could obviously tell when I was bullshitting him, so there was little point in lying. With gritted teeth, I decided I would rather stay true to my position and lose my job than kiss his ass. “There are better ways of going about writing it, though.”

  “Continue,” he said.

  “Create a narrative, something that threads all your stories together. Right now, the book is nothing more than a self-congratulatory collection of things you’ve done that you might tell your friends on a night out. Aside from the far-flung places and incredible acts, there’s nothing that makes me, as a reader, care.”

  I paused, unable to read his stony expression. I braced myself for another outburst. Inside, I was already updating my resume and wondering if Anette could get me a couple shifts at the bar. For a few agonizingly long moments I teetered on this edge before he broke.

  With a charming smile, he stuck his hand up in the air, gaze not leaving mine. “I think I might need some alcohol to soothe these burns.”

  “Mr. Eng… Clint,” I corrected as he gave me a look. “I didn’t mean to…”

  The waitress approached, all smiles with her order pad out. “What can I get for you, Clint?”

  “Do you like tequila?” he asked me with a mischievous grin.

  “Probably a little too much.”

  “Great, two margaritas,” he said, holding a finger up and speaking to me again. “Any food allergies or anything you don’t like?”

  “Uh, no, not really. I don’t eat veal or lamb,” I replied, mind spinning. I thought I was gonna be fired from this project and now I’m actually having dinner with him?

  “Great. Just bring a few of your favorite dishes and we’ll share,” he smiled at the waitress. He turned to me after she walked away, his fingers threaded and holding up his chin. “No veal or lamb?”

  I shrugged, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed about mentioning it. “I have a thing about eating baby animals.”

  His expression softened even further before he sat back. “So. You mentioned a thread. What kind of thread do you mean?”

  I fidgeted with my napkin under the table, rolling and unrolling the paper to keep from flying from the seat and out the door. This man was beyond intense and I knew the longer I spent with him, the more opportunity I had to make a complete fool of myself.

  “It’s the idea that each experience you share is in some way connected to a bigger issue. It’s best if you’re able to sum it up in one sentence, too.”

  He nodded, his gorgeous green eyes staying on me as the drinks were set in front of us. I immediately took a big gulp and nearly choked on a piece of ice.

  “Okay, like what?”

  “Um, for example, seeking the approval of your father.”

  Clint’s eyebrows knitted. “That’s what you got from my book?”

  “No! No, not at all. I was just using that as an example of a theme people use in biographies.” Open mouth, insert foot.

  “And what theme would you use for mine, then?”

  I thought for a moment and huffed, leaning my elbows on the table and looking at him flatly. “You realize this isn’t my job, right? I’m an assistant editor, not developmental or even a ghostwriter.”

  “You seem to know what you’re talking about. I couldn’t give a shit about titles or status or muck like that,” he replied. “Never have.”

  “There. That,” I said, pointing at him with my index finger. “There’s a thread. You grew up poor, right? Worked your way through the military, earned everything you have.” He gave me a look I couldn’t quite read, somewhere between embarrassment and intrigue. Ignoring the heat prickling my neck, I carried on. “It doesn’t have to be a rags-to-riches story, but something more along those lines. It makes you more sympathetic.” I could tell he still wasn’t getting it, so I pressed further. “Readers love being able to find a way to connect with the writer. You hold out your hand and we take it each time we turn the page, you know?”

  “I’m beginning to understand. And even if I’m not, I’m enjoying listening to you talk about it.”

  I bit my lip and looked away shyly, reminding myself to remain professional. I tapped a finger to my chin and muttered, “Other threads, other threads.”

  Our conversation loosened and flowed as the night wore on. After a while, I forgot my nerves and really got into the creative give and take we had. He was open to my suggestions and seemed grateful for my advice. I’d walked into the restaurant thinking I was about to be fired and ended up having a fantastic night.

>   We went through a lot of stories from his life, from when he was a child growing up to the rough training for the SAS. At some point, the conversation shifted and we stopped talking about just him. He began asking me questions about myself, finding the similarities in our lives or laughing at the differences. A few hours later, we were sitting at an empty table, bellies full and inhibitions lowered from good conversation. And tequila. Can’t forget about the tequila.

  “You talk about Zach quite a bit. Is he your significant other?” Clint asked, his gaze downcast on the table.

  “Significant other?” I laughed. “Man, how British are you? Like a boyfriend?” He cocked his head, a little smile on his face making my stomach flutter. “No. We’re just friends. I actually just got out of a long-term relationship.”

  “Ah,” he replied.

  “What’s that supposed to mean? Ah?” I jokingly pressed.

  “Nothing at all. It was simply a sound I made.”

  Running my finger along the salt rim of the empty glass, I pressed the question back to him. “And what about you? Any significant others floating around the world?”

  “Not for a very long time,” he said a bit sadly.

  Intrigued, I prodded further. “She couldn’t handle you traveling?” I asked.

  Clint’s gaze was downcast and unfocused. “No, she never minded when I was away. It was when I came back that seemed to bother her most…”

  “God, I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, it’s fine,” he dismissed with a flick of his hand. “I’m always attracted to women I can’t have, for one reason or another.” He laughed sardonically, sad eyes meeting mine. “Maybe that’s my thread.”

  His tone was jarring and I instantly realized we’d crossed a line. We’d gone from discussing his work in a professional way to sharing some truly intimate things. I sat up straight, realizing I’d spent hours acting like this. Like a tsunami, my anxiety crashed against me.

  Clint noticed the awkward lull in the conversation and cleared his throat. “I didn’t realize how late it’d gotten. I have an early flight tomorrow and…”

  I folded the napkin up and pulled out my purse to pay. “Right, yeah, of course.”

  He reached across the small table and touched my hand. “It’s fine, I’ve got this.” My heart thudded at the contact. His fingers were soft yet firm. “I’ll settle the bill and meet you out front?”

  As I waited for him outside, I lifted the long hair off my neck and closed my eyes. The breeze cooled the sweat on my skin and I tried to collect myself. It wasn’t a date. He’s just the most charming guy than you’ve ever met. Don’t go making an ass out of yourself because you’re misinterpreting things.

  Clint appeared at my side, his hand touching my elbow to alert me of his presence. “All set. Let me grab you a taxi,” he said as he thrust his hand into the air, getting the attention of one down the street.

  With a steely determination to end the night on a professional tone, I straightened my back. “I’m glad we were able to resolve these issues.”

  The corner of his mouth curled, a dimple appearing in the scruff of beard. “I had a good time tonight. I’m more excited about this book than I was when I first started writing it. I think we work well together, don’t you?” He unslung the tan suit jacket from his arm and slipped it on.

  My first response caught in my throat, quickly replaced with another serious comment. “I’ll take the weekend to list out all the things we talked about and we can address them early next week.”

  He gave me a knowing broad smile but didn’t comment on my sudden formality. He stooped and opened the door to the cab but blocked my way. “Have a good weekend, Talia.”

  Clint leaned forward and I panicked. He slipped a hand onto my hip and took a step forward. Oh shit, oh shit, he’s going in for a kiss! Of course, I’d completely forgotten it was customary for people from the UK and Europe to kiss each other on the cheek. Instead, I made an epic mistake and misinterpreted the gesture. Am I doing this? Is he really doing this?

  At the last second, I turned my head. The corners of our mouths met in a brushing half-kiss and it was only then I realized what he was trying to do. Clint pulled back and paused. I wanted to melt into the ground, be washed down into the sewers and float away from the most embarrassing moment of my life. But ever the charmer, he covered my little slip up by kissing my other cheek, politely pretending it was his fault.

  Only I knew. He knew. And I knew he knew. I felt like a 12-year-old trying to pass as 18 and failing miserably.

  “Have a good night,” he said again before letting me into the cab.

  I stepped inside and sat down, my face practically throbbing with embarrassment. I gave him a thin smile and shut the door, telling the driver to leave quickly. The cab slowly edged out into traffic. I felt and heard a little rapping on the top of the car, but figured it was probably Clint just tapping goodbye. A gap opened up and the car accelerated.

  We’d only traveled a few car lengths before people on the sidewalk started shouting and pointing at us. Before I could lower my window to hear what they were saying, there was another knock on my window. Horrified, I looked out to see Clint comfortably jogging alongside the car. He pointed to the corner of my door and then his jacket. It took far too long for me to put it together, but his coat was caught in the door!

  “Stop!” I screamed.

  The driver slammed on the brakes. I barely caught myself from flying head first into the seat. Clint didn’t get a warning and was still jogging along when the car abruptly stopped. With the grace of a dancer, he managed to roll along the side, slipping from the jacket and freeing himself.

  I opened the door and half climbed out when I realized a small crowd was applauding. Clint took a few bows before collecting his jacket from the ground.

  “Oh my God, oh my God! Are you okay?”

  “I think we can add stunt man to my resume, don’t you think?” he replied a little breathlessly.

  “Holy shit. I’m so glad you’re okay! You could’ve killed him!” I snapped at the driver.

  “What? You told me to go fast. I went fast,” the guy replied, totally unfazed by nearly killing someone.

  Clint leaned down into the open door and laughed. “And to think. I survived everything just to be killed by a pretty girl in a yellow cab.”

  The last thing I expected from him was a stealth compliment. I giggled nervously and reconfirmed he was actually okay.

  “I’m good. No worries. Have a good night.”

  He made a big show of taking a few steps back from the cab before I shut the door. He gave me a little wave and the driver sped off as if nothing happened.

  As the car whisked me uptown to my apartment, I ran through the night, carefully picking out places I’d let my guard slip and attraction come through. I couldn’t be the sort of person who allowed my personal feelings get in the way of my work. So what if he was literally the most gorgeous man I’d ever see in my life? And who cares if he was smart, funny, charming, and had an accent I could listen to for the rest of my life? I couldn’t allow myself to be so easily manipulated by my hormones and lack of sex, especially when it was my career at stake. Ugh, stupid hormones!

  Zach was coming down the front steps of our building just as I rounded the corner. He was dressed to go out, his messy hair styled, sloppy clothes swapped for a stylish button-up.

  “Hey!” I called out wearily.

  He turned and smiled when he recognized me. “Hey yourself. Long day?”

  “You have no idea,” I sighed, slumping against the stone steps.

  “Do you wanna go out? I can wait for you to get ready,” he said as he sat beside me.

  I briefly entertained the idea but the thought of even showering sounded like too much hassle. “No, it’s cool. Don’t you have a date tonight, anyway?”

  “No one special,” he shrugged. I was so tired, I didn’t really have anything to say. I just liked sitting with him for a minute, the stress of t
he day draining away simply by being near a friend. “You wanna go grab a slice? You probably haven’t eaten.”

  “I did, actually,” I sighed.

  “Iced coffee doesn’t count as a meal.” Zach scooted closer to make room for one of our neighbors as she jogged up the stairs, our knees brushing.

  I laughed, realizing I’d done that more than once. “I swear, it was real food that came out on a plate and required a knife and fork to eat. I didn’t even have to pay for it.”

  He stiffened slightly beside me. “Ah, another date?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know. It’s complicated,” I whined. The whole evening had been a bundle of confusion. I was ready to hate Clint, despite my obvious attraction to him. But I’d found him so annoyingly charming and disarming… and that kiss on my cheek had made me tingle in all the right places.

  “It’s fine,” Zach comforted, rubbing my back. “You’ll find a good guy soon.”

  I sat up and turned toward him. “But that’s just it. I don’t even know what I want. I don’t want random sex with a stranger but the idea of jumping into a relationship again is terrifying too. I know I’m oversharing here, but it’s been so long since I’ve been with someone, I’m afraid I’ll end up screwing a real loser just because I’m horny.”

  Zach’s brown eyes shifted in a way I couldn’t read. He gave my shoulder a little bump with his own and laughed. “I get it, I totally get it. You don’t want to stick your dick in crazy, figuratively speaking.”

  “Open my pussy to insanity?” I snorted.

  “At the very least, no guys who harbor secret feelings and deeply involved fantasies about you, right?”

  My voice wavered between shrill and whiny. “I don’t understand why this is such a hard thing to find. You’d think in a city filled with millions of people, I could find one person who wanted the same thing.”

  “Right. You just want to have fun with someone you get along with, but nothing serious or relationshippy.”