12 Steps to Mr. Right

by Cindi Madsen

  He had the gall to look offended. “I was trying to get a feel for your job. But maybe I’d like to attract a certain type of woman. Did you ever think about that?”

  “Well, you’d have to find someone else.” Not that I thought he was serious. “I only take on women.”

  “Wow. What’s the female equivalent of chauvinistic?”

  “Poetic justice,” I replied with a smile, although chauvinist would fit for men or women—most people only thought of it as a male trait, though, and as a female, I couldn’t help but agree, even if that might nudge me toward the line.

  I reached for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution so I could get a better look at the puzzle he was filling out.

  “Judging from your grandpa insult, I’m taking it you don’t like crossword puzzles,” he said.

  “It’s more like I have a love-hate relationship with them. I love when I know the answer, and hate feeling stupid when I don’t.”

  “That’s why you fill out the other boxes, so you get more clues.”

  “Right, but that’s time consuming.”

  “And fun.”

  The paper crinkled as I folded down the corner and narrowed my eyes at him. “I’m still having trouble believing you like them.”

  “I’ve always liked a challenge.” That damn right eyebrow cocked up and I flipped the paper back up. Maybe a paper barrier was better than a screen. I checked out thirty-seven across to try to get help with the lottery clue, and when it was “Willy with a chocolate factory,” I grabbed my purple pen and wrote in “Wonka.” It looked much more festive than the black ink, but despite having a cheerier color, “wahoo” didn’t fit in the down squares.

  “Eight spaces,” I muttered. “It’s so long.” Unable to think of another exclamation-type phrase that started with W, I lowered the paper and noticed Linc studying my notebook and the articles I’d printed, most of which were like the one on my screen—not very helpful.

  Linc slid my notebook closer to him and read, “Where to meet singles.”

  “It’s the number one question I get asked. There’s online of course, but women want to know where all the quality single men hang out.” One article did mention running in the park, and judging from the other day’s encounter, it was actually possible. Time would tell if that way of meeting came back to bite me in the butt, though.

  Linc fanned out the pages I’d printed and made notes on. “And you think you’ll find the answer sorting through nationally distributed magazine articles?”

  “It’s a start.”

  He glanced from the notebook to the printouts with his brow screwed up, as if it were another puzzle for him to solve. “I have an idea…”

  The hair on my arms pricked up at his mischievous tone—it was the same one he’d used to convince me to sneak onto the roof of the natural science building so I could help him do his astronomy homework while we drank cheap beer and generally violated several of the code of conduct rules. “I’m already getting a bad feeling about this.”

  He grinned like I’d given him an amazing compliment. “You want local, right?”

  “Ideally. I mean, I’ll want a more general list for my blog that applies to whatever city my followers are in, but for my clients and the women who sign up for my workshop, local places would be a bonus.”

  “We should do some in-person research.” He tapped the scribbled list in my notebook. “Museums. Parks. Gyms. We can check them all out for ourselves. I can offer a guy’s perspective, and then you won’t have to go alone, because that’d be boring, and I’d definitely make it more fun.”

  As far as ideas went, it was a pretty good one. Ivy worked late hours, which made it nearly impossible to get her to go with me. If I waited for her nights off, it’d take me years to compile my list. “Wait. You work at a bar. You’ll be busy at night.”

  “Only part time, and mostly on the weekends. During the week, I’m coaching at a summer baseball camp for high school kids. I can fit in a lot of these.”

  A lot. Which translated to a lot of time with Linc, and I thought we’d try more of a slow, paced return to friendship. But he had a point—going alone was kind of boring…

  Honestly, a guy’s perspective would be valuable. While I held my own in the flirting department, it wasn’t like I thought I could walk into a place and hordes of single men would trip over themselves to get to me, even if they were looking. Linc could tell me if he thought guys would go to the places, and if he thought they’d be open to meeting women for potential relationships there. It also opened up the possibility of submitting the article to national publications, which often liked both male and female viewpoints.

  Before I answered, I did a quick check-in with myself. Chatting with him gave me a bit of a nostalgic vibe, but we’d stuck to light, safe banter. I was slightly more flushed than usual, my pulse a bit faster, but I was still in control of my emotions and—more importantly—my hormones.

  “Okay. It’d be nice to have help with research, actually.” I glanced at his crossword puzzle again. “It’s really bugging me that ‘wahoo’ didn’t fit.”

  Linc scooted closer, grabbed his pen, and filled in forty-one across, which added an E to the mysterious “Lottery winners’ cry.”

  “It’s ‘we’re rich.’” He filled in the rest of the letters, and sure enough, it fit.

  I frowned. “All smashed together and no apostrophe? Seems like cheating.”

  “English snob,” he said, elbowing me.

  “Simpleton jock,” I retorted with a smile.

  Instead of scooting back to his side of the table, he moved his pen down to the next clue and read, “Cockpit panic button.”

  “Shit?”

  He laughed. “I think it’s eject.”

  “So they’re just going to shoot out of the plane and leave the passengers on their own?”

  “It’s probably referring to one-person planes.”

  I rolled my eyes before scanning down the page, determined to get another one. “Ooh, an Oscar who said ‘True friends stab you in the front’ is Wilde.”

  He filled it in and pointed to another clue. “What’s a word for contractor’s estimate?”

  “Always wrong?”

  Linc laughed again. “This is definitely more fun with you.” We filled out a few more together, and then he retrieved my notebook. “So, which place are we going to check out tonight?”

  Chapter Seven

  Linc opened the door to the art studio, and as I brushed past him, I forgot to hold my breath and caught a whiff of his cologne—Mankind Ultimate, and it smelled as masculine as its name suggested. The scent took me back to nights on the couch eating pizza or Chinese food while procrastinating our homework; to college parties crammed so full I had no choice but to be partially pressed against him. The top couple buttons of his dress shirt were undone, giving me a tantalizing peek at his chest. Not that I noticed the firm line between his well-built pecs or anything.

  The buzz of several conversations mixed in with soft instrumental music. Since Linc and I had just so happened to have the Atlanta Journal-Constitution in our hands earlier, we’d flipped to the events section and found out about this art show. It had a couple of big name artists mixed with several up-and-comers—anyway, the paper said so. Admittedly, I didn’t know a whole lot about art, only if I liked it or not, and that people who created it impressed me.

  “Looks like a good turn out,” Linc said, and I had to agree. There was a good blend of age ranges and people in couples and groups, with a few checking out the art by themselves—not that that meant they’d come alone, but it showed promise.

  “I’m impressed at how many people are out and about on a weekday night. Guess we might as well divide and conquer while it’s hopping.” I took a step but Linc caught my arm.

  “Maybe we should check out some pieces together before we go all Attila the Hun.”

  If I stayed by his side, though, it’d feel less like research and more like…well, more. But fri
ends looked at art together, I supposed, and we were doing the friends thing now. I’d just have to keep my eyes to myself. And I definitely needed to stop noticing how warm and firm his hand felt against my bare arm—I should’ve worn a dress with sleeves. I’d gone with cute and flirty in the interest of research.

  I swallowed. Research, research, research. Keep it light. Friendly. “You know by conquer, I meant feel out the vibe, not start swinging a sword around.”

  “Well, when it comes to big swords—”

  I clamped my hand over his mouth and he laughed. Walked right into that one. I shook my head and then started toward the closest display.

  A woman approached and greeted us, although I use “us” loosely, as her gaze remained on Linc as she told us about her piece. He politely thanked her for the information but didn’t flirt, which made me feel better about our arrangement.

  Even though he was of course free to flirt and should, considering that was a necessary part of the research. Ugh. This is more complicated with him. I should’ve simply come alone, boring or not.

  Honestly, I didn’t feel quite as in control as I had this morning with a table and my laptop between us.

  We worked our way clockwise—I made sure to keep a few inches between us, because better to be overly cautious than negligent—and when I reached a painting with a cat in cat-eye glasses, my mind automatically went to Abigail. I leaned in and studied the name of the artist.

  Garrett Ballard—I don’t know a single female Garrett, so it’s a pretty sure bet he’s a dude. Maybe he’s single…

  A guy wandered over, and his nervous posture made me ask if the painting was his.

  “Yeah, it’s mine. It’s my first big showing, so I’m a mess.”

  “Well, it’s a great piece. Is the cat yours?”

  “My niece’s, actually­—although I added the glasses. It was hard enough for me to get Tigger to sit still without adding props.” He chuckled and then shook his head, as if he wanted to erase what he’d just said. “Really, I did the painting for my niece since she recently had to get glasses and was bummed about it, and funny enough, it’s the one that’s earned me the most praise.”

  Niece that he talked about affectionately. Passionate about his art. The guy checked a lot of good boxes.

  “The detail is amazing,” Linc said. “The fur even looks like it’d be soft—but don’t worry, I won’t touch it. I might not look like I belong here, but I know the rules.”

  Garrett laughed. A little harder than Linc’s joke deserved. Then I noticed the blush that crossed his cheeks. I’d been so caught up in how perfect he might be for Abigail, I’d failed to notice she wouldn’t be his type, mutual love of cats or not.

  “Good luck with your work,” I said. “I’m sure someone will scoop this one up. In fact, do you have a card?” Okay, so he might not be right to date Abigail, but I bet she’d love to hang this in her apartment. We’d have to have a discussion about where, though, because I needed to put a dent in her obsession with cats, not add another barrier between her and a guy she might bring home.

  Linc snagged two flutes of champagne off a tray, and we got pulled into a conversation with a group who was studying a floral landscape done in oil—like used motor oil, not the paint. It was edgy and unique, and I’d always been a sucker for black and white.

  The next painting depicted a scene straight out of Pride and Prejudice—obviously there wasn’t a theme to the pieces.

  Linc crossed his arms and glanced from the painting to me. “Let me guess, this is your favorite.”

  “Maybe,” I said, although I did love it. Literature had been my first love, and it felt like I was reading a classic novel simply by looking at it. “I used to think it’d be so cool to grow up in that era and wear a ball gown, but now I realize I’d probably be the servant who was cleaning those people’s houses, and I wouldn’t have been invited to the ball.”

  “You’d be far too progressive for any of those stuffy guys wearing”—Linc gestured to the outfit one of the bystanders in the painting wore—“whatever that getup’s called. But one of them would find you too beautiful and intriguing to resist, and they’d buck society and their family’s rule and marry you anyway.”

  A light, floaty sensation rose up before I kicked it down and reminded myself smooth lines like that had always rolled off his tongue—in college he’d been a shameless flirt, too, always giving me compliments that tangled up my thoughts and led to false hope. As long as I realized there was no deeper meaning, I’d be fine.

  “I do like that version better than the one I envision with me dumping chamber pots.” I turned to him and looked him up and down, adding a teasing compliment of my own. “I bet you could pull off silky pantaloons. They’re not really all that different than baseball pants if you think about it.”

  Linc’s jaw dropped. “I cannot believe you said that.”

  “Look, they even wear their socks up over their calves. Add a cravat, and it’s like are you at a ball or fielding balls?” The more exasperated he got, the funnier it became, until I had to clamp my lips and swallow my laughter, or I’d be the one who got us kicked out.

  “Are you done?” he asked, and I shook my head.

  “Far from. I plan on bringing this up from now until forever. That’s what you get for forcing me to watch all those baseball movies—I had no choice but to study the fashion aspect to keep from falling asleep when they ended up being like every other sports movie.”

  “Oh, you wanna play dirty? Remind me what show you skipped class for in college?”

  I gasped. “It was only a couple of times, and I told you that in confidence.”

  “Hey, I’m not the one who thought finding out what happened to Snooki and JWoww was more important than my education. Anyone could see from the previews that they were gonna get drunk and make bad decisions, just like they did every episode.”

  A loud laugh burst from my lips before I could stop it, and then I had to duck behind a wall to avoid the disapproving glances. Linc followed me, and I poked him in the chest. “We’ll settle this later. Right now, I’m supposed to be doing very serious work.” I noted the time. “Let’s take thirty to circulate, then meet in front of the cat to exchange intel.”

  “How clandestine. I like it.” Linc leaned in and whispered, “The black duck flies at midnight.” Then he strode away, glancing around as if someone might be following him.

  I shook my head but couldn’t help smiling.

  More people had come in, so I circled the room, observing interactions. There were a few friendly groups of women, but I noticed not a lot of guys came with friends. One was with a woman. No ring, and from her body language, I could tell she thought of him as a friend, but from the way his eyes tracked her every move, not to mention lit up whenever she turned to tell him something about the paintings, he wished for more.

  There was a cute gay couple debating whether or not one of the paintings would fit in with the design of their living room, and when the guy who clearly didn’t think it would said his partner could buy it if he really wanted it, an internal aww went through my head.

  “Hello,” a deep voice said near my ear, and I turned. A man who might be described as a silver fox by some offered me a glass of champagne. In the interest of research, I figured I could spare a few minutes. After all, some of the women in my classes were older divorcees. The problem, of course, was this man came over to talk to me instead of finding someone closer to his age.

  Red flag.

  “You know, I have a private art collection in my home.” He actually waggled his eyebrows, and we officially had red flag number two.

  “That must be nice for you.”

  “It could be nice for you.”

  And I was done. “Excuse me,” I said, and then I spun around and made a beeline for Linc. I’d probably gotten a good enough feel for the venue. Maybe a larger show would be better, but I didn’t see this as a very effective way to meet a lot of singles. Maybe one
or two, with the possibility of the guy being a keeper if you were also interested in art.

  Before I reached Linc, a woman who’d been with two girlfriends separated from them and approached him. I hung back, watching as they interacted. Admittedly, it was a bit weird. And I might’ve felt a pinch of envy.

  Linc smiled and easily fell into conversation as they gestured at the painting in front of them. I wondered if he was complimenting her, and making the same kind of jokes he’d made with me. I was fairly certain she wouldn’t compare his baseball pants to Regency-era ball wear, though, which I thought put me ahead.

  Not that this was a competition, and I knew all too well he was like that with all the girls. After all, during those crammed college parties, I had a front-row seat to watching him hit on girls and vice versa, not a second thought to the fact that I was right there. Looking back at it, I really should have seen how far inside the friend zone I was. Joking and keeping things light were where we excelled, and now I knew to stick to what we were good at.

  I hope my bringing up baseball wasn’t insensitive, considering I still don’t know exactly what happened with his career.

  I mentally added a note to slip it into the conversation later and headed to the other end of the room, to the paintings I hadn’t gotten a good look at yet. I spoke with the artists, and one of them was a very cute, very young Brazilian guy. His words blurred together as he quickly and fervently described his technique and inspiration. With his thick accent, I only understood half of what he said, which was probably why I was a little bit in love with him by the end of the conversation.

  Long term, he and I wouldn’t mesh, even if his age and the fact that he was still in college wasn’t a factor. I asked him a few more questions anyway, simply so I could listen to his magical voice.

  When I cast another glance around the room, Linc had a different woman by his side. Looks like it’s a better place for men to meet single women than for women to meet single guys.

  So, like, half the city. Statistically speaking, you’d think it wouldn’t work that way, and yet it did.