How to Win the Dating War

by Aimee Carson

  His heart pumped like the pistons of an engine doing a thousand rpms, because a man couldn’t spend his whole life being left behind by those he cared about. He remembered too well how it wreaked havoc on the psyche.

  Of course, the devastating events by the pool had already laid waste to his last protective barrier. Cutter had feared nothing on the track, least of all death, but the terror inside him now forced him to go on.

  “I won’t survive the cut being compared to the guy to my left and my right,” he said. “In a list of my pros and cons, the cons win by a mile.” Unable to stop himself, his pounding chest painful, he swept a sweat-soaked strand of hair from her forehead, his eyes holding hers. “I think we both know this has to end.”

  Not trusting himself to wait for a response, he turned and headed into his house, quietly shutting the door behind him.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “AND she was constantly complaining about my dog.” The middle-aged, balding man blew his nose into a handkerchief and looked around the circle of divorce survivors sitting in the reception area of Perfect Pairs, clearly looking for support. “She never liked Darth,” he went on, sniffing with a mix of anger and allergies. “And when she told me it was either her or the mutt, I told her at least Darth Vader never mocked my love for Civilization.”

  Bewildered, Jessica stared at him. “Civilization?”

  The man blinked at her, eyes watering, either from hay fever or emotional pain. “The computer game.”

  “Oh, yes,” Jessica said. She didn’t know whether to be amused, disgusted or disheartened by the man’s reasons for ending his marriage. And when the perfect reply escaped her, she simply cleared her throat and glanced at her watch, grateful the hour of horror was finally over. “Well...” she said, forcing a smile for the circle of faces, “if no one else has anything to share, why don’t we call it an evening?”

  There was a chorus of murmuring voices as the small band of people gathered their belongings. Jessica rose from her seat on the couch. With a combination of dread and relief, she saw the last of the support-group attendees out the door, locking it behind them.

  One obstacle cleared. Now she had the worst one to go.

  A knot of anxiety gnawed at her insides, and she turned and leaned her back against the door, closing her eyes. Cutter had left a message about their final session, the one she’d been too distracted by the events at the pool to discuss. And, too chicken to call him on the phone, she’d texted him back. Thank God he’d agreed to meet her here tonight to post his last question for the contest. She couldn’t stomach the thought of returning to his home.

  Memories of the blow-up by the pool three days ago washed through her. His anger. Her crushing disappointment.

  And the combustible desire.

  A burn began in her belly, her palms grew damp and she longed for a chilled glass of wine. Because, after all the eventful emotions, Cutter’s text had seemed so normal, including a little sarcastic comment that had made her laugh.

  When he’d told her it was over, intellectually she’d had to agree, but her body—and a big chunk of her heart—had screamed no.

  Jessica threaded her fingers through her hair, trying to soothe the war being waged inside. It had been an ongoing battle since she’d first fallen under Cutter’s spell, and she should be grateful he’d done what she’d been too weak to do to date. Last night she’d walked the hallway in her home, searching for an answer to the Cutter conundrum.

  But there wasn’t one. And in her rather extensive history of setting herself up for failure—in marriage, in dating—this one would be legendary.

  Worth its own wing in the Romance Blunders Hall of Fame.

  Unfortunately, her relationship with Cutter was doing more than just messing with her head, it was also mucking up the rest of her well-ordered life. She never used to feel irritated during the support groups before, impatient with the occasional silly reasons for the end of a marriage. And she hadn’t had time to continue her search for the right guy because she was too busy wanting to be with the wrong one.

  And when had her parents realized they were wrong for each other?

  The thought snuck up on her, and once it had made itself known, she couldn’t ignore it. What had caused her parents to wake up one morning, look at each other, and think—hey, this isn’t working out? Had they started out good together and slowly grown apart? Or were they just a bad match to begin with?

  Like her and Cutter.

  The sadness that had been building for years threatened to breech the dam and come pouring out. Her parents’ divorce. Her own. Now Cutter. And though she’d always strived for optimism, it was growing harder and harder to maintain.

  She rubbed her forehead, smoothing away the frown lines, turning the questions over in her head. But leaning here against this door wasn’t going to solve her problems. And no one liked a whiner either. She had to somehow prepare for Cutter’s arrival.

  With a sigh, she straightened her shoulders and headed down the hallway towards her office. As she crossed the threshold, she spotted Cutter at her desk. She stopped short, but her heart kept going, slamming into the front of her chest.

  He was thumbing through one of her brochures, one hip perched on the edge of her desk, muscular legs bared beneath his shorts. When he looked up at her, her world reduced itself to the masculine cut of his face and his expression—as if he was just as clueless how to handle her as she was him.

  She held her breath for the umpteenth time since she’d met the man. Much more training like this and she’d be ready for an underwater-swimming competition. All the way across the blue waters of the Atlantic and back. Or maybe green...like Cutter’s eyes.

  It was a moment before he spoke. “Are Sneezy and his merry band of pessimists finally gone?”

  Her legs finally remembered their purpose in life, and she moved to the chair opposite the desk, slowly lowering herself into the seat. “How long have you been here?”

  “Long enough to hear that the computer-gaming geek should get rid of his dog or make an appointment for allergy shots.”

  “But how did you get in?”

  His lips twisted dryly. “Through the front door. No one noticed me go by. You all were too engrossed in the story about the cheating ex.”

  She shook her head lightly, trying to focus on the conversation. How could he act so normal? “There were two cheating stories tonight.”

  “The one whose wife was supposed to be a computer analyst for the CIA.” He tossed the brochure onto her desk and shot her a skeptical look. “Must be shocking to discover that, in lieu of the Pentagon, your spouse was working the street corner in front of the local seedy motel.”

  They stared at each other, and Cutter looked as if he was waiting for her to respond. But she’d exhausted her ability for status quo conversation with Cutter after their explosion by the pool. As the seconds passed without a comment from her, the atmosphere grew strained. Until Cutter leaned forward, his eyes intent on hers.

  “Why do you do it?” he asked, his face radiating curiosity. Her nerves stretched tighter, and when she didn’t answer, he went on. “The support group.” He seemed genuinely interested, no mocking tone. “Why is someone who is so bound and determined to look on the bright side of life actively seeking out other people’s misery?”

  There wasn’t much of a bright side to see lately. She dropped her gaze to the armrest of her chair, tracing the pattern in the wood with her finger, her mind turning the question over. “I find it helpful to hear why other people failed.”

  When he didn’t reply, she looked up, and Cutter’s expression was doubtful. “How does listening to the million and one ways people botch their relationships benefit you?”

  With a small frown, she combed her fingers through the tips of her hair. “I think I know why my marriage e
nded. But my parents’ is a complete mystery.” Cutter was watching her, clearly expecting more of an explanation. She wished she had one for him.

  “What excuse did they give?” he said.

  “They said they didn’t want to be married anymore.”

  “Sounds honest enough to me.”

  The old guest that had been rattling around the empty hallways of her heart stopped and faced her head-on. Refused to let her pass. Her brows drew together, and her whole face felt tight. “Well, that’s not good enough.” Embarrassed by the words, Jessica closed her eyes, rubbing her forehead, trying to ease the tension. “For the first fourteen years of my life they seemed perfectly happy.” She dropped her hand to her lap and looked at Cutter. “And then one night at dinner they simply announced it was over.”

  His eyebrows slowly crept higher, and then he leaned back, hands on the edge of the desk, as if trying to process the news. “Just like that?” He hesitated, as if waiting for more. But there wasn’t anymore, and that was the hardest part to fathom. It felt so incomplete. Cutter tipped his head and said, “You had no idea something was wrong?”

  Her chest grew tight, and she dropped her attention to her skirt, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles and trying to ignore the ache in her heart. “None whatsoever. They never fought in front of me. They seemed happy.” Still focused on her lap, she linked her fingers together. “The week my father moved out of the house, I sat in my bedroom, waiting for them to tell me it was all a mistake—all the while they were calmly discussing how to divvy up the furniture.” After sixteen years of marriage their conversation had been reduced to who would get what. Her voice dropped an octave, the memory washing over her. The disbelief. The grief. And the confusion. “And all I wanted to do was scream.”

  The silence that followed was loud, and when she looked up, Cutter was studying her with an expression that she couldn’t decipher. Jessica had a powerful urge to fill in the gap with something.

  Anything.

  “Most people say I should be grateful the end was amicable.” She gave a little laugh that sounded pathetic. “My parents told me the same thing.”

  Stunned, Cutter stared at her, until a small scowl overtook his face. “To hell with what they say, Jessica,” he said softly. And when he went on, each word was enunciated clearly, emphasizing his point. “You do not have to feel grateful.”

  Her lids stung from the threat of tears and her lips twitched at one corner, a mix of a forlorn smile and a grimace. “Cutter Thompson says I’m allowed to feel like hell about it?”

  His eyes held hers. There was no cynicism, no suppressed humor, just the frank gaze that never failed to draw her in. “Cutter Thompson says you are allowed to feel like hell about it.”

  She stared up at him, moved by the emotion in his voice. After all these years, it was odd to have someone give her permission to still feel sad.

  And how could someone so wrong for her feel so right?

  Because currently Cutter was looking at her as if he wanted to hold her. To comfort her. Every cell in her body leaned in his direction, wanting—needing—him to do just that. But it was the set of his posture that told the complete story.

  Much as he might want to, he was not going to take her in his arms.

  The ache that had started when he’d called it off grew deeper, and the ripple of confusion grew wider. He was one of the most truthful people she’d ever encountered. He might avoid discussing his feelings, but he was always honest when he did. Often brutally so. He’d told her from that first day in the garage that he was all about Cutter Thompson. The more she’d grown to enjoy the bad boy’s company, the more she’d needed to believe his claim wasn’t true. But that wasn’t his fault. It was hers.

  More importantly, she’d heard the remorse in his words, seen the doubt in his face when he’d told her the truth by the pool. Cutter had come face to face with his mistakes and it had been clear he was questioning the choices he’d made. And didn’t that constitute a positive change?

  Cutter cleared his throat and sat back, and the moment was gone. “So what’s the last Battle question going to be?”

  She had several burning questions she’d like to ask.

  Had they just been exploring their mutual appreciation of each other’s bodies? Had they become friends with oh-so-not-boring benefits?

  Or had they been—could they be—more?

  Heart pounding, she finally settled on the new plan that had eluded her last night, and offered up the idea that was so close to her heart that it hurt.

  “How about...” her voice faltered a fraction, but she pressed on. “What’s a deal-breaker in a relationship?”

  He lifted a brow dryly. “Doesn’t sound particularly optimistic.”

  “Maybe it is,” she said as she leaned forward, her heart rate climbing higher. “We’re two intelligent adults. Maybe we haven’t reached our own deal-breaker yet.” His lids flickered in surprise, but she refused to chicken out, and hope was taking hold of her. Driving her forward. Because she couldn’t stand the thought of the two of them being done.

  She clamped her hand in a fist. “Maybe if we’re willing to try—”

  “Try?” he said, cutting her off. “Sunshine,” he said, the flash of emotion crossing his face not encouraging, “I’ll agree you’re an intelligent woman.” He folded his arms, giving her that boldly frank appraisal that often ended with him saying something she didn’t want to hear. “But right now you’re not being smart.”

  They were the same words that had been whispering in her head since their fight over Emmanuel. But that seemed like a lifetime ago.

  His eyes perused her face, and her apprehension grew as he went on, his voice low. “And you know what else I think?”

  Her fingers gripped the wooden armrests, troubled by his tone. She didn’t respond to his question, afraid to hear his thoughts.

  He went on anyway. “I think you’re stuck on an endless manhunt because the guy you’re looking for doesn’t exist,” he said, the words knocking her even further off kilter.

  How could he say that? “That’s not true. I’m just looking for...” The words sputtered, struggling to gain traction as her mind scrambled to get the statement right. “I’m just looking for...”

  “The Prince of Darkness?” he said dryly.

  “No.”

  The sarcasm disappeared. “A shinier shiny object?”

  “No.”

  The look he shot her held no mercy. “Perfection?”

  “No.”

  His eyes scanned hers, as if trying to read the answer in her face. “Then why do you keep rejecting every man that comes your way? They couldn’t all have been crying about their ex-wives and living in their parents’ garage.”

  She refused to let his cynical views belittle her priorities. And his words reminded her of exactly how far Cutter Thompson had to go. “I want someone who will work with me.” She lifted an eyebrow that was aimed squarely at him. “I don’t want to get involved with another man who emotionally retreats and refuses to discuss where the relationship is going wrong.”

  The pause was longer than she expected, and when it ended, Cutter’s expression had shifted from not encouraging to actively discouraging.

  “Is that how it was with Steve?” Cutter’s eyes narrowed. “You telling him where he was going wrong?” His tone implied the conversation encompassed more than just her ex. It was personal.

  “No,” she said, hating that she was growing defensive. And hating even more that she felt the need to explain. “I just suggested he see a marriage counselor with me, or at least consider looking at a few books that might help,” she said, gesturing to her bookshelf in the corner to her left.

  Cutter faced the direction she was pointing, his whole body radiating his reservation as he gave the floor-to-ceiling shelves
the once-over. “What are those?”

  “Books on relationships.”

  The doubt and disbelief were huge. “All of them?”

  His questioning tone held more than its fair share of accusation, and she bit back a retort as he rose from his seat to survey her collection.

  As Jessica fought to control her irritation, Cutter pulled down a book and began to flip through the well-worn pages—his movements growing slower and slower, until the frown gradually overtook his entire face. He pulled down a second one entitled How to Strengthen Your Marriage and gave it a quick skim. The margin markings on this one were even more pronounced.

  “Damn, Jessica,” he said, raising his head to stare at her, his expression giving way to one of complete shock. “And I thought I was screwed up.”

  A cold hand gripped her heart. She’d expected sarcasm from him, not a frustrating mix of censure and pity. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your insecurities are incapacitating.”

  Anger sent her bolting from her seat, infuriated by his audacious claim. “Well I don’t need a man whose first instinct when threatened by an idea is to insult me and push me away.”

  His green eyes, simultaneously brutally hard and painfully honest, bored into hers. “Yes, I was rude to Emmanuel, but I am not insulting you. I am telling you like it is. But you’re so busy clinging to those damn everything’s-just-fine glasses that you want to ignore the truths that are too inconvenient for you.”

  She planted a hand on her hip. “And which truth would that be?”

  “Like the fact that you drove your husband away.”

  With a frigid flash, her heart froze, sending icy crystals through her veins, the shards stinging as they went and draining the blood from her face. “That is not true,” she ground out. Her heart hammered at a pace that seemed to shake her whole body.

  “Yes, it is.” Cutter stepped closer. He wasn’t angry. The only thing radiating from his face was absolute conviction. “Not only do you not want the guy to the left or the right, you don’t want the guy right in front of you. You want to change him. Turn him into your ideal man. You haul out your books, tell him where he went wrong and give him a list to follow.” Still clutching the hardcover, he held it up higher, more in frustration than anger. “Who could live with that?”