The Dating Proposal
Lauren Blakely
Copyright
Copyright © 2019 by Lauren Blakely
Cover Design by Helen Williams. Photography by Wander Aguiar, First Edition, 2019
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This contemporary romance is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. This ebook is licensed for your personal use only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with, especially if you enjoy sexy, hilarious romance novels with alpha males. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Also By Lauren Blakely
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Big Rock
Mister O
Well Hung
Full Package
Joy Ride
Hard Wood
One Love Series
The Sexy One
The Only One
The Hot One
The Knocked Up Plan
Come As You Are
The Heartbreakers Series
Once Upon a Real Good Time
Once Upon a Sure Thing
Once Upon a Wild Fling
Sports Romance
Most Valuable Playboy
Most Likely to Score
Lucky In Love Series
Best Laid Plans
The Feel Good Factor
Nobody Does It Better
Always Satisfied Series
Satisfaction Guaranteed (June 2019)
Instant Gratification (September 2019)
Overnight Service (December 2019)
Standalone
Stud Finder
The V Card
Wanderlust
Part-Time Lover
The Real Deal
Unbreak My Heart
The Break-Up Album
21 Stolen Kisses
Out of Bounds
Unzipped
Birthday Suit
The Dating Proposal (May 2019)
Never Have I Ever (Fall 2019)
The Caught Up in Love Series
Caught Up In Us
Pretending He’s Mine
Playing With Her Heart
Stars In Their Eyes Duet
My Charming Rival
My Sexy Rival
The No Regrets Series
The Thrill of It
The Start of Us
Every Second With You
The Seductive Nights Series
First Night (Julia and Clay, prequel novella)
Night After Night (Julia and Clay, book one)
After This Night (Julia and Clay, book two)
One More Night (Julia and Clay, book three)
A Wildly Seductive Night (Julia and Clay novella, book 3.5)
The Joy Delivered Duet
Nights With Him (A standalone novel about Michelle and Jack)
Forbidden Nights (A standalone novel about Nate and Casey)
The Sinful Nights Series
Sweet Sinful Nights
Sinful Desire
Sinful Longing
Sinful Love
The Fighting Fire Series
Burn For Me (Smith and Jamie)
Melt for Him (Megan and Becker)
Consumed By You (Travis and Cara)
The Jewel Series
A two-book sexy contemporary romance series
The Sapphire Affair
The Sapphire Heist
Contents
About
Author’s Note
1. McKenna
2. McKenna
3. Chris
4. McKenna
5. McKenna
6. Chris
7. McKenna
8. McKenna
9. Chris
10. McKenna
11. McKenna
12. Chris
13. Chris
14. McKenna
15. McKenna
16. McKenna
17. Chris
18. McKenna
19. Chris
20. McKenna
21. Chris
22. McKenna
23. Chris
24. McKenna
25. McKenna
26. Chris
27. McKenna
28. Chris
29. McKenna
30. Chris
31. McKenna
32. Chris
33. McKenna
34. Chris
35. McKenna
Also by Lauren Blakely
Contact
About
Watch out world - I'm ready to date again.
The seven years I invested in my ex left me with nothing but scorch marks from the way he peeled out and left me at the altar. I'm not looking to put my heart into a relationship any time soon. But getting back out there? That sounds like a helluva good idea to get my groove back.
Then I bump into Chris....Clever and funny, with a sexy surfer's bod and a brilliant nerd brain, he has just the right screwdriver to fix my hard drive. (Yes, the one for my computer.) I wouldn't mind dating him. The trouble is he just proposed to me-to be the dating guru on his TV show-and now he's my new business partner.
What happens when you meet the right person at the wrong time?
Author’s Note
Dear Reader,
Back in the day, I wrote a book called TROPHY HUSBAND, and though it’s no longer available for sale, the characters of Chris and McKenna seemed to demand another chance in the spotlight. THE DATING PROPOSAL is a complete reimagining of their romance, with 85 percent brand-new material, a fresh plot, and vastly expanded characterizations so you can come to know and love Chris and McKenna like I do. Enjoy!
xoxo
Lauren
1
McKenna
Today is my anniversary, and I plan to celebrate in style.
I slide into my favorite skinny jeans, grab my lucky Michael Kors bag, and cinch on a slim rose-gold bracelet my sister gave me.
Boom. I twirl in front of my roommate. “Everything look good?”
Ms. Pac-Man raises her snout from her dog bed, one of many in her collection.
“Can I take that as a fashion hound sign of approval?”
She wags her fluffy yellow flag of a tail.
“Excellent. I thought you’d agree.” I bend and give her a kiss on the nose, and she places a big paw on my leg. “Yes, I love you too.”
And I’m off to a solo Monday breakfast that happens to mark a special occasion.
I head downstairs to the garage, into the car, and onto the street, driving past a local organic grocery store, a hipster cafe, and a cake shop I believe uses alchemical powers in its batter. One evening many months ago when I was feeling particularly blue, I stumbled in and tried to erase my sorrows with a marble chocolate cake that I was sure would cure my broken heart with its magical elixirs. Alas, the owner handed me a napkin, told me there, there, and
said my tears had probably ruined the slice, so I should try another tomorrow when she baked a new cake. On the house.
You bet your ass I went there the next day for my free sympathy slice. Admittedly, I felt a bit better. Go, cake.
Today, I’m not crying in my dessert. No chance. No way.
I’m officially done mourning the death of my almost-marriage.
As I drive, I turn the radio up louder. I sing along to the music—Frank Sinatra’s “I’ve Got You Under My Skin”—as I motor up steep hills then down a roller-coaster dip on my way into Hayes Valley. The station shifts to playing the King, another favorite of this retro music–loving girl, and he’s now crooning “Can’t Help Falling in Love.”
My favorite song ever.
The song Todd didn’t want to be our wedding song, since he’d insisted on “Have I Told You Lately”—the perfect tune, since that was how he felt about me, he’d claimed.
And you know what?
I turn it all the way up and sing along like I’m getting paid.
He can’t get me down anymore.
I love this song. It’s mine. It belongs to me and only me now.
A red Honda scoots out of the prime spot right in front of a restaurant coolly named Madcap, next to the diner where I’m going. As I glide my orange MINI Cooper into the space, I mouth a silent thank you to the parking gods. I happen to have excellent parking karma and my ex has the shittiest, which simply reaffirms my belief in, well, karma.
Then again, it would be awfully hard to have good karma if you’re, say, the kind of person who dumps your fiancée via voicemail the day before your wedding.
“Listen, I’ve had a change of heart. I met someone else, and as much as it pains me to do this the day before, well, hey, better than the day after! What do you say we call the whole thing off?” he’d said in his phone message.
One year later, I’m most decidedly not celebrating the anniversary of our loving union, but I am celebrating this fantastic parking spot. And all things considered, especially given how ridiculously hard it is to find one in this city, I’ll take the sliver of space for my auto, thank you very much.
I open the door and snatch my bag from the seat. I consider this purse lucky because the same day I bought it, a new investment group contacted me with an offer. And it can’t hurt to have some luck on my side today. When I reach the sidewalk, I catch a glimpse of a familiar figure, a tall, dark-haired man. I don’t know his name, but I see him occasionally, and I think he works at Madcap. Every now and then he’ll say, “Hey there” or “How’s it going?” He’s friendly and has excellent taste in clothes. His charcoal slacks and navy-blue button-down look like they came from Barneys. He’s chatting on his phone, pacing in front of the restaurant. He looks up, notices me, and shoots me a smile.
It’s kind of sweet and sexy at the same time, and I feel a little flurry of, dare I say, butterflies in my belly.
That’s interesting. Hmm. I haven’t felt those in a long time.
And you know what? I welcome their return. Not with a parade or anything grandiose, but maybe a banner and some glitter, and hey, glitter can be cool.
I give a small smile and head next door to The Best Diner in the City, which I suspect was named for Search Engine Optimization. It also happens to be completely accurate so I come here once a week and have for the last year.
Dining alone doesn’t hurt anymore, thanks to this self-assigned therapy. I’m a big believer in hoisting yourself up by your garter belt, so I ate here alone the first weekend after the breakup, and then did it again and again until the aching stopped. Even though I’d found this place a few years ago and came here occasionally, Todd never went with me to this diner. He said he didn’t care for cheap, hole-in-the-wall eateries. Fine by me. This diner feels like mine. Gloriously all mine.
The hostess guides me to one of the last remaining two-tops. I sit and run a hand along the slightly distressed fabric of my skinny jeans. Designer brand at a bargain-basement sale. Another of life’s little wins.
I order my usual—scrambled eggs and toast, opting for a Diet Coke because it’s a celebration. A minute later, the waitress brings me a can and a glass of ice. I thank her then crack it open, indulging in one of my un-guilty pleasures as I savor the first effervescent burst and the taste of the cold metal on my lips.
One of the great benefits of dining alone, as I’ve learned, is there’s no one to steal the first sip from me.
How about that for another win?
I pour the rest into the glass then reach for my laptop from my bag.
As I flip open the computer to work on my fashion blog, the waitress guides a gorgeous young redhead over to the table next to me. As if on autopilot, I scan her outfit—sparkling white running shoes with a pink swirly stripe, black workout pants, and a color-coordinated snug workout top—she looks rather peppy.
She flashes a warm smile. “Hi.”
“Hey.”
“This placed is jammed today. Weird for a Monday.”
“It’s like this every day. The food is amazing.”
“I’ve heard great things about it. I’m so excited to finally give it a try.”
Maybe I won’t need the laptop. Perhaps this gal and I will chat for the next thirty minutes, seeing as she’s mighty friendly. “You won’t be disappointed. Everything’s good.”
“My husband said he’s been wanting to go to this place for the longest time. He’s just out parking the car. We couldn't find a spot nearby.” She tips her forehead to the door.
I half expected her to say her dad was going to join her because she looks like a teenager. But maybe she was a teenage bride. “Both of you will love it, then. I’m a regular. A devotee, as they say,” I add in a British accent, just for fun.
She laughs. “What do you recommend?”
“Anything. Except hard-boiled eggs, because they’re gross.”
“They’re the most disgusting food ever.”
I lean closer and say in a conspiratorial whisper, “My ex used to love them. I couldn’t even be in the house when he ate hard-boiled eggs.”
“You want to hear something funny? My husband used to love them too. But I laid down the law. No hard-boiled eggs ever in my home. I cured him of his hard-boiled egg addiction like that.” She snaps her fingers.
I hold up a hand to high-five her. “You deserve major points.”
“Oh, look. There he is.” When I turn to follow her gaze, it’s as if I’ve had a pair of cleats jammed into my belly. This is what it feels like when the batter slides into home and you’re the catcher who’s not wearing a chest protector.
The diner shrinks. The walls close in, gripping me. I can’t breathe. This has to be a mistake. An error.
Todd’s here.
He freezes when he sees me then quickly recovers, taking the seat across from his wife.
The girl-child I’ve been chatting with, my new breakfast-best-friend, is the college-age creature from Vegas who won his heart before he said “I do.” The woman he met the weekend of his bachelor party.
And you know what?
It doesn’t hurt like a pair of cleats any longer.
Sure, I feel a tinge of frustration that I can’t continue this chat with her.
A small dose of annoyance that my breakfast is zooming toward unpleasant territory, to say the least.
But the pain? The shock? Just as quickly as they arrived, they exit. Gone, simply gone.
The walls return to normal.
I breathe easily.
“Hi, McKenna,” Todd says in his best business-like voice.
“Oh . . .” Amber releases a long, slow breath as her mouth drops open, and she shifts her gaze from him to me, registering who she’s been chatting with. “I’m so sorry.”
But I’m going to be the bigger person. After all, today is an awesome day. “Nice to meet you, Amber. And congratulations on the hard-boiled egg cure. That is seriously awesome. I'd love to sit here and chat with you, but I have a
blog to write and then some business plans to review. But I hope you love everything here. Enjoy!”
“You know, why don’t we just get a new table?” Amber says to Todd.
He scans the restaurant. This is the last empty one. “We can leave. We’ll find someplace else,” he says, and his voice is the definition of contrition. This is the Todd I knew—polite no matter what.
But I’m not letting him have the last word on breakfast. He might have gotten it when it came to marrying me, but he does not get to leave this place too. I put on my best professional smile. “Please stay. I was telling Amber that you haven’t lived unless you’ve eaten here. It’s the best.”
He glances at her, asking for permission. She lifts her brows, unsure, but I can tell she’s bending.
“It’s all good, guys,” I add, with a smile.
“Okay, then. We shall stay.” He reaches for a menu and scans it.
And I conduct a scan of my emotions.
There’s no stinging feeling in the back of my eyes. There are no tears I’m keeping at bay. There’s . . . nothing.
I want to break out in song.
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