12 Steps to Mr. Right

by Cindi Madsen

  Don’t start down that road. What do you tell all your clients? Be involved in the date you’re on. No letting past failures sabotage current possibilities.

  That was twice my attention had drifted, too, dang it. I asked Andrew if he was from Atlanta, paying close attention when he talked about the tiny Georgia town he came from. Then he set his empty glass on the bar, rested his elbow on the polished wood, and placed his chin on his fist. “Tell me more about your line of work. Do you, uh, match people and then make sure their dates go well?”

  “I don’t do the matching—some dating coaches do, but my job is more about getting involved in my clients’ lives. I help them figure out what they want and give them the skills they’ll need to have successful dates. I also teach seminars.”

  He did the bobblehead nod again. If I were reading him right, he seemed more intimidated than judgmental or leery. “How does one…get into that line of work?”

  “Funny enough, it all started at a bar…”

  “Ah, where the best decisions are made,” he said, a teasing note to his voice, and I laughed. Making a clever joke officially moved him to the possibility side of the fence, and I went from mostly sure about moving on to excited about the prospect. Guess I’d have to give Ivy and Aunt Velma a few points for giving me a much-needed nudge.

  “Yes, well, I worked there—not sure if that makes a difference or not.”

  “Totally,” he said with a smile. Unlike the other smiles, this one was an all-out, worthy of a toothpaste commercial smile.

  He’s getting more comfortable talking to me. Yay. “Right around the time I started working at the bar, which was in an upscale restaurant downtown, I was very interested in gaining the ability to read people better.” Since I followed my own advice of avoiding all mentions of exes while talking to a guy of interest, I left out that it was more like obsessed than interested, and it was so I could prevent being cheated on or being bewildered when a night of passion turned into nothing more than a one-night stand.

  My gaze accidentally drifted to Linc. He was in the same spot I’d left him, and for a brief moment, our eyes met. I quickly looked away and reached for my glass before remembering it was empty.

  I scooted to the edge of my stool and hooked my heels on the rung of Andrew’s to keep my attention from straying again. “Anyway, I noticed all the different couples who came in. Struggling through an awkward date, or obviously already in a comfortable relationship, and I even saw signs that indicated the guy or the girl were only looking for a temporary thing.

  “Working around alcohol also leads to loosened tongues, and a lot of people would tell me their relationship woes as I served them drinks. I tried my best to help women who were nervous, needed a confidence boost, or going through a rocky relationship or bad breakup. I also started a blog that detailed some of my personal dating experiences and what I observed at the bar every week, and after a while, I actually had a following.”

  I’d gone more in depth than I’d meant to and focused on Andrew’s expression to gauge if I was boring him. Too much about work could have the same effect as talking about past relationships, but to my surprise, he seemed genuinely interested.

  “And then you decided to start doing it professionally?” Andrew asked.

  “Eventually. One of my regulars told me I should charge for my advice, and at first I laughed, but the more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea.”

  Thanks to the high-drama, TMI element, I left out the part about how I’d also caught my uncle—Aunt Velma’s second husband who had always rubbed me the wrong way—on a date with a much younger woman. The jackass tried to bribe me to keep it a secret, since it wasn’t his first indiscretion. As much as I bemoaned pushy Velma, seeing one of the strongest women I knew get completely crushed made me vow to find a way to prevent heartbreak instead of constantly trying to clean up after it.

  “So I switched my major and continued serving up drinks and advice while I worked my way through college.” The more I learned, both in my classes and from observing people, the better I got at spotting red flags—after a while, I couldn’t believe I’d ever missed them.

  I kept posting my observations and dating theories on my blog and it gained more and more traction. Women left feedback saying I’d helped them sort the good guys from the players, or that they’d realized they were in dead-end relationships and now saw they deserved better. Helping and empowering women was the best feeling ever, and those experiences solidified my career path.

  “After I earned my degree, I got board certified, and the rest, as they say, is history.” I’d talked way too much about myself, so I tapped Andrew’s knee. “Tell me more about your job. What exactly do you do, and what made you go into that line of work?”

  He claimed it was boring, and admittedly as he talked about liking numbers and life as a loan officer, it wasn’t the most riveting subject. But I nodded and listened, reminding myself of all his positive attributes, including the fact that he’d been rather cool about my job.

  Ivy brought me a glass of water and fiddled with her earring, which was our way of silently asking if the other person needed bailing out from their current situation.

  When I didn’t reach for my earring, she turned to Andrew and asked if he wanted another drink. I took a swig of water, and as I lowered the glass, I caught sight of Lincoln. A pretty brunette was leaning against him, seductive grin on her red lips, and even though I was totally over our past, a twinge went through my chest.

  What was it about him? I’d learned so much, and yet I still found myself fighting that darn thread of attraction and wondering if he’d changed over the years. Which was extra stupid considering I was talking to a perfectly nice guy who didn’t have a single red flag so far.

  Stop looking for happiness in the same place you lost it. I had that quote in swirly print on a colorful PowerPoint slide, and I used it in my workshop. Women had a tendency to think they could change a man. They often put up with a guy who treated them poorly or went back to him when moving on proved challenging.

  I refused to be one of them.

  “So, Andrew,” I said, peering into his warm brown eyes. “Are you going to ask me out already?”

  His eyebrows twitched up in surprise, but then a smile curved his lips. “Yeah. Back when we were talking music, I kept wanting to ask you to this show next weekend, but I’ve got to warn you, it’s jazz.” He rubbed the back of his neck, and something that wasn’t quite a flutter but close to one went through my gut—I could work with that. “Would you want to go?”

  “Definitely.” I handed him a card, and his friend showed up within a couple of seconds, as if he’d been watching and waiting.

  “Finally,” Robbie said. “I thought you were going to chicken out, and then I’d have to hear about how you should’ve asked her out all over again.”

  Andrew’s skin reddened, and he shot his buddy a glare. Mr. I-don’t-need-help sure could use some, but I could forgive Andrew for one tactless friend, especially if he’d talked about me.

  Robbie tossed some bills onto the bar. “Let’s blow this joint.”

  Andrew opened up his wallet, added a few more bills to the pile, and then tucked my card inside one of the well-worn black leather pockets. “I’ll give you a call to work out details.”

  “Can’t wait,” I said, and when Andrew glanced back at me one last time before pushing out the door, I gave him a little wave.

  Ivy came over and leaned across the bar, ignoring the guy a few stools down who snapped his fingers at her. “Aw, my girl’s got her mojo back.” She poked my cheek. “I’m so proud.”

  I swiped at her hand. “Okay, that’s enough.”

  Despite telling myself not to, I glanced back at Linc to see how things had progressed with the Bold and the Busty. To my surprise, he was alone. Our eyes met for what seemed like the hundredth time tonight, and then he got up and approached us.

  “Good night?” he asked me as he leaned a hip agai
nst the bar.

  “Not bad. I’ve got a date next weekend, and it’s apparently going to include jazz music, so we’ll see how it goes.”

  “Spoiler alert, you’ll end up wishing it was Katy Perry or whatever pop singer you’re into now.”

  Still Katy Perry, but I refused to admit it. I covered a yawn with my hand—the day was catching up with me, from the crazy morning to the workshop, and I suddenly wanted to crawl into bed and fall asleep to a nice, cheesy romance movie. Figured I deserved it, too—I had accomplished my goal, after all.

  “I’m going to head home.” I patted the bar in front of my best friend. “Ivy, we seriously need to find a time to catch up and have a real conversation this week. I’m feeling deprived.”

  “Me, too. I’ll text you my schedule tomorrow, because I can’t even remember it right now.”

  “Perfect.” I slid off the stool. Linc straightened and took a step closer to me. I gave him a dubious look.

  “Pretty sure we live in the same neighborhood, so I figured we’d split a cab,” Linc said. “Stop looking so happy about it.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but then he grabbed my elbow and started toward the door. And damn if there wasn’t something hot about him manhandling me like that, even though I absolutely didn’t want that in a guy.

  Nope, not at all.

  …

  In the second what-the-hell move of the night, Linc climbed out of the cab when it pulled up in front of my building.

  “What are you—?”

  “I’m only a few streets from here,” he said. “I wanted a chance to talk to you, and I can just walk home after.”

  Feeling the need for an extra barrier, I crossed my arms. Inviting him up would be insane, so I didn’t do that, even though the temperature had dropped and the rumbling sky announced an imminent rainstorm.

  “You’re different.” He looked me up and down as if he hardly recognized me. “You were working it tonight.”

  “I was not ‘working it.’” At his smug, oh really expression, I added, “Well, if anyone would know about working it, it’d be you.”

  He smiled, showing off a flash of his pearly whites. “I’ve never seen you like that before. Then there’s the way you approached the couple right when I got there—you said you warned her away because it was your job?”

  I simply stared, my lips clamping against an explanation. He’ll find out about my job eventually, so why am I evading? And why is it harder to tell him than it was for me to tell a guy I’m actually planning on dating?

  Not wanting to examine the whys too closely, I told myself I didn’t want to get into it because it was late. I should be kicking off my shoes right now. Making my way to bed.

  A blip of being on my way to bed with shirtless Linc flickered through my mind, and I took a step backward for good measure. Sleeping with him was never happening again, so my brain needed to stop with its remember-how-great-it-was assault.

  Focus on the sucky after, not the amazing before and during. Those weeks after were dark, a blur of days where I couldn’t focus on my classes and my heart ached all the damn time, and I couldn’t even call the guy who usually cheered me up, because he was the one who’d caused all the pain.

  “Look,” Linc said as he rubbed his hand along his jaw, “the past few years, my life… Baseball became who I was, and then it was gone, and suddenly I didn’t even recognize myself. I realized I didn’t have any close friends I could count on, and my family lived far away, and I knew I needed a shake-up, so I decided to return to the last place I remember being really happy.”

  The raw way the words came out left no question he meant it, and that it wasn’t the easiest thing for him to face, much less say.

  “Savannah, I want to start over with you.”

  My name coming from his lips made an undeniable flutter go through my gut—it was just because he had a nice deep voice, though. And tonight had been a great night, so I was still riding a nice high.

  “Actually, that’s a lie. Seeing you again has brought back a ton of memories, and I want to pick up where we used to be, back when we were friends. Before I got busy with baseball and everything got so complicated.” He took a step forward, and I stiffened. “I know you’ve got your job and probably new friends and a completely different life, but maybe we can hang out and get there again?”

  Get where again? To when we’d laugh and hang out and I could hardly think about anything but him and when I’d see him next? If he hadn’t gotten so busy during baseball season, I would’ve kept on waiting for him to finally see me as more. Instead, Ivy dragged me to a party, and I met a guy who eventually became my boyfriend. It had helped me stop obsessing over Linc, which also helped me not feel so stung whenever I saw him on campus talking to a girl he clearly had more than friendly feelings for.

  Since my program hadn’t been in place yet, of course I’d chosen wrong. I went for the cocky, attractive guy, stupidly thrilled when he saw me as sexy instead of friend material. The problem came when he saw a lot of girls that way and ended up cheating on me.

  If I hadn’t found out, that guy would’ve been the one I was kissing and having sex with during spring break, and the line that made it hard to see Linc as just a friend wouldn’t have been crossed.

  But again, both of those hard learning experiences made me who I am today, so I didn’t completely regret it.

  “Linc…” I really meant to say it wasn’t the best idea, or I didn’t have time, or be vague so I could wiggle out of it later. But the streetlight illuminated the hope on his features, and my heart tugged.

  If there was a prize for most red flags personally designed to screw me over, Lincoln Wells would win it. But he wasn’t asking me to date him. He needed a friend. This time I realized friends was all I could be, and that would be my saving grace. Even if I never stopped remembering that awful morning after and how damaged it’d left me—in fact, the memory would keep me in line. “With you living so close and working at the bar with Ivy, I don’t think I could escape you, even if I said no.”

  The tension leaked out of his posture. “My evil plan is working, then.”

  I smiled and he grinned and it was disgustingly perfect, and I admonished myself for noticing.

  He reached out, repeating the shoulder squeeze from this morning before I could dodge it. “Your poker face still needs a little work, but I’ll take your almost yes and run with it anyway.”

  His fingertips brushed my arm as he lowered his hand, and then he strode down the sidewalk, leaving me to go inside and give in to the memory of the night he told me I had the worst poker face ever.

  “I can see all of your emotions on your face,” he’d said as he gathered the cards from our Texas Hold ’Em game.

  Panic had filled me, because surely that meant he also saw how I felt about him.

  “I knew you’d gotten the card you wanted the second I dealt the river.” He forced the deck back into the frayed box it’d come in.

  “I worked so hard at not smiling, though!” Landing another five had been such a long shot, but it gave me four of a kind, and I was sure I’d finally win big. But Linc folded when I raised, just like he always did when I had a big hand.

  “Not with your mouth, but you smiled with your eyes. Like Tyra Banks always says to do when you make me watch America’s Next Top Model with you.” Linc sighed and hung his head. “I can’t believe I just referred to smizing. I think you owe me two sports movies now.”

  “Two? They’re all the same, so why bother ever watching another? I’ll just tell you the plot right now. Team or player looks like they’ll-slash-he’ll never make it big. Training montage ensues. Cue sad music when it appears losing is inevitable. Cue happy music when team or athlete digs deep and turns it all around for a glorious comeback.”

  My legs were tired from being in a cross-legged position for the past hour, so I shifted, leaning my back against the bottom of the couch. “There. I saved you hours of boring movie watching. Wh
ich is convenient, because I have a couple of Top Model episodes on the DVR. And don’t act like it’s a big hardship staring at pretty girls for an hour.”

  Linc squinted, making a big show of scrutinizing my expression. “Your face tells me you think you’ve won.”

  I crossed my arms. “I’m not trying to make a poker face right now.”

  “I don’t think you could make one to save your life.”

  I tried to school my features, draining them of every emotion, and blankly blinked at him. He leaned in and my pulse quickened. I tried not to swallow, but then I couldn’t not swallow. Then it all seemed so silly. A laugh wanted to escape, and I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

  Linc looped his arm around my shoulders, tucking me into his side as he shook his head. “It’s okay. I don’t think you’ll need that good of a poker face to be an English teacher. As for everything else, just flash that killer grin and you’ll get your way plenty.”

  The compliment buoyed my mood even higher, and I decided to test out his advice for my own nefarious purposes. I turned on the TV, selected a recorded episode of Top Model, and flashed him a huge grin before I pushed play.

  He watched the entire episode with me.

  I blinked back to the present, where I stood in the hallway of my building, key in the door of my loft. Good thing I ended up switching my major and learning how to avoid falling for a guy’s charms, because that was probably the only thing that’d help me survive another round of being friends with Lincoln Wells.

  Chapter Four

  The curly-haired brunette in the back corner of the Daily Grind had her head ducked down, her attention on the computer in her lap, but I was fairly certain she was who I was looking for. “Abigail?”

  She looked up and pushed her white cat-eye frames up her nose. Her features hinted she had some Asian ancestry in her background, and she had the kind of flawless skin most women dreamed of. Without makeup, though, she looked much younger than twenty-seven. “Savannah Gamble?”