The Dating Proposal

by Blakely, Lauren

  I clasp my skull. “My head is spinning now.”

  She touches my arm. “I know, right? It’s hieroglyphics sometimes, dating. That’s why I say your best bet is to be honest and straightforward. Forget games. Just ask her out again, and her answer will make it clear. At the end of the day, if a woman wants to see you, she’ll make time for you. And likewise, I’d say that to all women too. Don’t make excuses for him. If he wants to date you, he’ll show up.”

  I mime banging a drum. “Truer words. And wait, before I let you go, I have another question I think you’re going to love. Don from Tallahassee wants to know if he should wear sneakers, boots, or boat shoes on an upcoming mini-golf date.”

  McKenna’s blue-gold eyes flicker with delight as I tell her more about Don’s outfit options for the upcoming date. She settles on hip sneakers and tells him to save the boots for dinner. “After all, it’s mini golf you’re doing.”

  I gesture to my feet. I’m wearing casual loafers. “I swear, I only wear flip-flops to play mini golf.”

  “Well, I hope you have nice feet, then, that look good in flip-flops,” she says, a glint in those eyes.

  “They’re quite handsome nearly naked, thank you very much.”

  The producer calls cut, and we’re done.

  Bruce chuckles as he strides over to us. “You two ought to date for real. I’m just saying.”

  I scoff.

  McKenna double scoffs.

  He clasps my shoulder. “Ah, don’t be such a knucklehead.” He turns to McKenna. “I mean, I’m not telling you what to do, Fashion Queen. You’re both grown-ups, and you can make these decisions all by yourselves. But you should consider it. Then it’d be really fun for viewers to throw questions at you.” He steps back and sweeps his hands out like he’s lighting up a marquee. “Picture this: you can answer based on how your dinner-and-a-movie night went. Wouldn't that be funny?” He nudges me. “Funny sells. Funny helps ratings.”

  I’m speechless. I honestly don’t know what to say. I glance at McKenna, and she’s quiet too.

  “You don’t have to smooch or be all kissy face. Just go out and grade each other. A dating report card. Now that’s funny!” He holds up his hands in surrender. “Just kidding, just joking. Don’t look so serious.” He nods toward the door. “And speaking of dinner and a movie, the little lady and I have a date tonight.” He sweeps out of the studio, his preposterous idea trailing behind him.

  But as I flash back to the way things ended at the taco shop, to Cooper’s comments, to the way I feel when I’m with McKenna, maybe it’s not so preposterous after all.

  When he’s gone, McKenna gives me a what was that all about look and pushes out a laugh. “He’s a little overeager.”

  Okay, so maybe she thinks it’s preposterous.

  I slap on a smile. “Yeah, definitely.”

  See? If there was more cooking, she’d say something, right? Isn’t that what she just said on the segment? Or does she want me to say something? But we’re not really dating. That’s already been established—by both of us.

  I do my best to put Bruce’s ideas and Cooper’s advice out of my head as we make our way out of the studio, discussing how the partnership is going. I share some early numbers, and she tosses some in my direction too. And this—this is clarity. There is no secret language of dating to decipher when we’re talking numbers.

  Everything adds up to business only.

  When we reach the door, she smiles again. “This is going well, isn’t it?”

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  Except that’s a lie, and I don’t need to run a lie detector test on her to see if she can tell.

  She knows it. She reads me. She senses it.

  And that’s when I grab hold of Cooper’s advice. That’s when I decide Bruce’s zany idea isn’t so preposterous at all. I’m ready to ask her to cancel the girls’ night out and go out with me instead, when her phone trills.

  She fishes around in her purse, grabs it, and says, “Aha! It’s Handy Andy. I need to take this call. See you next time.”

  And she walks away.

  * * *

  The wave crests, and I catch it, riding it beautifully to the shore. The surf is fantastic this afternoon, and I could spend hours in the water. Hours enjoying the crash of the swells, the chance to catch a perfect one, and the challenge of not getting pulled too far under.

  But I keep thinking about that damn girls’ night out.

  And her meeting other guys.

  And her coffee class.

  And her setups.

  And when the next wave comes, I slide into it wrong, and the sea yanks me under forcefully, the ocean a furious beast. Water clogs my throat and swarms my nose, and when I come up, I’m done.

  Done with the waves.

  Done with the water.

  And done with her being out there.

  I trudge my way to the shore, load up my board, and get in my car.

  I call her.

  Texting is for guys who don’t know what they want.

  22

  McKenna

  I gather my purse and keys as I finish the instructions for Ms. Pac-Man. “Now feel free to enjoy the window view, but don’t go crazy if you see Michelangelo.”

  She tilts her head like she doesn’t know who I mean.

  “Don’t play coy with me. You know who he is,” I whisper conspiratorially. “The horny pug.”

  She growls at the little perv every time he walks by. He tried to hump her once in public.

  She lifts her chin higher, asking for a rub. I oblige, scratching her fur. “I know. You’re a lady dog. You don’t like his cavedog routine.”

  She whacks her tail against the floor in reply. Damn straight.

  With my phone stuffed at the bottom of my trendy periwinkle-blue Kate Spade purse—since I don’t like when people spend more time on their phones than with the actual company they’re keeping—I meet Hayden and catch a Lyft to The Tiki Bar in Fillmore, where we search for Erin and Julia at the venue serving tapas and big, fiery drinks.

  The second we find them in a corner booth, Erin shoves a flaming red beverage at me.

  I arch a brow. “Vas is das?”

  Erin smiles impishly. “Who cares? It’s delish.”

  Julia nods. “It has the bartender seal of approval.”

  I taste it—it’s tangy and sweet with a fiery kick. “Tequila and cherry?”

  “Something like that. Sort of like you,” Erin says, her big earrings jangling.

  “How am I tequila and cherry?”

  “You’re sweet on the outside, and all sorts of fierce on the inside.”

  I take another drink, considering. Is that me? Am I sweet but full of fire? If I were, wouldn’t I have ignored Andy’s call, grabbed Chris by the collar, and said Take me out tonight?

  But I didn’t because I’m only three dates into my new world order, and I still don’t know the next steps in the dance. Maybe it’s easier to be alone. It’s certainly safer. Especially since he’s not dating people he works with, and I’m not ready for something serious.

  I do my best to push Chris from my mind. The ear-splitting beat of pop tunes overhead does its part.

  Erin taps a lacquered red fingernail on the table. “So . . . what’s the story? Am I setting you up with the cyclist?”

  I shrug. “Can I take a rain check? I’m sort of in a time-out at the moment.”

  “Already?”

  Hayden jumps in. “Hey, dating is hard. Our girl managed three dates in the last two weeks, not to mention all those non-dates with Chris.”

  Warmth rushes over me at the mention of his name.

  Erin motions with her fingers, wiggling them towards her. “Give me the goods. I’ve been slammed at work the last few days.”

  As I serve up the deets, we go into a full-on girl huddle. We crowd around the table, tuck in, shoulders hunched. When I’m done with the update, Erin shakes her head in admiration. “I’m impressed.”


  “At what?” I ask, incredulous.

  “At your restraint.”

  “I should have humped him at the table in the taco bar? Like Michelangelo, the horny pug?”

  Erin cracks up, slapping the table. “You could totally go full horny pug on him.”

  I shake my head, laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”

  “I’m just saying. Michelangelo knows what he wants.”

  “My dog does not want to be humped by a rando.”

  “I don’t think Chris is a rando.”

  “You, my friend, are too sex-crazed.”

  She furrows her brow. “No such thing. I just happen to like sex on the regular. Pete and I have a very healthy sex life, and I think you’d rather enjoy having one too.”

  “Oh, you think so? Is that it? Like that never occurred to me before.”

  She knocks back more of her drink then pats my hand, her tone shifting to earnest. “Actually, you have a healthy attitude. You’re approaching getting back on the wagon in a thoughtful manner. You’ve re-entered the dating world with panache, I’d say.”

  Julia raises a glass. “To panache.”

  “To our man shield,” Erin jokes, as she gestures to our positions and the way we’ve blockaded the rest of the bar.

  Hayden draws a circle in the air with her finger. “There is no man strong enough to penetrate our force field of woman-dom.”

  “Can you even imagine who’d have the cojones to try to inject himself into this huddle?” I ask, smiling and grateful that I’m enjoying a night out with my best friends. I like, too, that I can do this without needing a man, looking for a man, or hurting over one. “Just let someone try to tell me to cancel this girls’ night.”

  A masculine voice interrupts our reverie.

  “I’d tell you to cancel it.”

  When I look up, Chris is there, staring at me with a hot green-eyed gaze that makes me flush.

  All. Over.

  23

  Chris

  There are certain rules you don’t break as a man.

  Don’t stare at another dude’s junk while he’s taking a piss.

  Don’t carry a murse.

  And don’t interrupt a girls’ night out.

  Unless you want to face down a den of lionesses.

  But sometimes, you say screw the rules. I’ve battled zombies and artillery-spewing soldiers on a death mission. Hell, I’ve defeated piranha plants and moonsnakes and beat the game.

  I know the way to a woman at a time like this is through her friends, so I address them first. “My apologies for barging in on the sanctity of a girls’ night, but I can’t let another guy have the chance to go on a date with this fantastic woman before I do.”

  McKenna clasps her hand to her mouth, and I feel like a king.

  I meet her eyes, loving the way they spark with delight, with happiness. “I don’t have a clue where this thing between us is going, but I can’t stand the thought of you going to a coffee or cheese or wine or sewing or shampooing or how-to-install-a-shower-door class and meeting some other guy. If you and I dated, I’d make sure you wanted to do all that with me and only me. How does that sound to you?”

  Her smile is the stuff of dating legends. “I totally want to take a how-to-install-a-shower-door class with you.”

  When she jumps to her feet, grabs my face, and plants a searing kiss on my lips, I upgrade my status to Rock Star. The kiss short-circuits my brain and fries wires I didn’t know were running through my head, charging me up.

  McKenna breaks the contact, smiling like that’s all she wanted to hear from me, and hell, I’m grinning too.

  Her friends cheer us on, and they're beaming too. And it’s as if I threw a game-winning touchdown. I’m on top of the world. “I should have done that at the taco shop,” I tell her.

  “I should have said something too,” she says. “And for the record, I never kissed any of those guys. Nothing ever happened with any of them. And I didn’t want to meet anyone tonight. After you kissed me, I had no interest in going out and trying to meet a guy at a bar.”

  My lips curve up in a grin. Pride suffuses me. “Is that so? I ruined you for other kisses?”

  “Yes,” she says with an over-the-top pout. “And the whole time I was out with the guy from coffee class, I was the worst date ever.”

  I loop a hand around her waist, yanking her close, glad that I can. “Why’s that?”

  “I was thinking about you and that epic kiss. And how I wanted to do that with you again. I was officially no fun as a date.”

  And now I’m simply a happy guy because that’s music to my ears. “Good. I’d like to ruin you in other ways though.”

  A throat clears.

  Or maybe a few do.

  Feet shuffle and heels click, and three lovely ladies stand and make their excuses. “I can see we aren’t needed,” says the redhead.

  “Glad you came to your senses,” the tall brunette says.

  “Happy banging,” remarks the spiky-haired woman.

  I like that hello and goodbye best.

  “You guys don’t have to go,” McKenna says to her pack.

  “Yes, we do,” the redhead insists.

  “Wait. Let me introduce you first.”

  McKenna makes quick introductions to Julia, Hayden, and Erin, and then they scurry out of The Tiki Bar, and she pulls me down next to her in the booth.

  “You sure they’re okay with this? Me crashing your night out?”

  Her smile is full-wattage. “They’re more than okay with it. But how did you find me?”

  “I had a tracker put on your ankle,” I deadpan.

  She glances down at her foot, and then extends one very sexy leg across my thighs. “Is that so?” she says in a purr.

  Damn. She’s delicious. I take advantage of this new thing between us—I don’t know what else to call it—and run my hand over her silky skin. “It’s right here,” I say, circling my fingers around her ankle, which looks outrageously hot in that black, red-soled shoe. I know fuck-all about fashion, but I know one thing—red-soled shoes are sex in heel form.

  “Seriously,” she demands. “How did you find me so you could go all caveman and demanding?”

  “I think you like the caveman in me.” I loop a hand around her waist and haul her in for another kiss, hard on the lips.

  When we separate, she rolls her eyes. “Duh. Yeah.”

  “The other day when you mentioned the girls’ night out, you told me you were going to The Tiki Bar. That’s how I found you. As to the why, I went surfing this afternoon, got clobbered by the Pacific a couple of times. And then I got pissed that I hadn’t manned up and told you I wanted to see you, so I decided to stop playing games. I tried calling, but you didn’t answer, and at that point, I was a man on a mission.”

  She hums sexily. “I’m your mission?”

  “Yeah, I think you are,” I say, and maybe there’s a part of me that’s terrified of turbulence again, that’s scared of rocking the boat at work, but another part wants to believe we can figure this out. I don’t know how, but I like this woman too damn much not to try.

  She plays with the ends of my hair, asking, “What’s your mission, then?”

  I run my fingers down her bare arm, my body electric as I touch her freely. “I think we should date.”

  “Because Bruce mentioned it? Even though he said he was joking.” Her tone is straight-up skeptical.

  “It’s not a bad idea. But that's not the reason. I want to, and I think you do too.” I meet her blue-eyed stare, waiting for her answer, wanting it to match mine.

  “I want it too,” she agrees softly, a little nervously.

  I tuck a finger under her chin. “But listen, I know you just want to have fun. I get that you’re not looking for anything more. I respect that. Let’s agree that this thing will be what it is. We won’t push it.”

  She nods. “We won’t define this thing.”

  “We don’t let it mess with our heads.”
/>   Her smile widens. “We’ll be adults. We’ll do modern dating on our terms.”

  “We’ll just date. That’s all. And we won’t expect anything more,” I say, because that seems to be the safest way to have her and to maintain the status quo back at the office.

  “Nothing serious. No expectations.”

  I hold up my hands, showing I have nothing to hide. “And if it needs to end, we agree to do it like adults.”

  “Not like saboteurs.”

  “Exactly.”

  “We can be civilized grown-ups. We can fun-date.”

  “I’ll take that,” I say. “No-strings-attached dating.”

  She beams. “I think we just defined it. And defined a new category.”

  A waitress clicks her way over, parking a hand on her hip. “Can I get you something, sir?”

  “Get one of these drinks, Chris,” McKenna says, pointing purposefully at the flaming red glass in front of her.

  I give her a look like she’s crazy. “That’s not manly.”

  “Who cares? It’s tasty. Try it,” she says, and I lift the glass, but she stops me. “On my lips.”

  Like I’m going to resist that direct order. I drop a quick kiss to her mouth, aware of the waitress but unable to resist McKenna, who tastes like sugar and fire, and I’m dying for more of this cocktail on her delicious lips. I look to the waitress, answering her at last. “One of these.”

  When she leaves, McKenna slides a hand along my thigh. “Is this like an officially sanctioned date? Are we truly going to dissect it on your show?”

  “Depends on how good it is.”

  “How good do you think it’ll be?”

  I squeeze her calf. “I think it’ll be great. Call me confident, but I’m already going out on a limb and declaring it worthy of a second date.”

  She nods crisply. “Then we should do first date stuff.”

  I hope that involves a lot of nudity. I hope it involves her at my place as soon as humanly possible. “Such as?”

  “Music. Talk to me about music.”