I push against his rock hard chest. “Nay, sir. We’ve yet to marry. I mustn’t be sullied.”
“I’ll not sully you.” He tightens his hold. “I shall feast upon these sweet melons. And find the nectar hidden within your quivering loins.”
I twist my head, my heart almost beating out of my chest. “I cannot allow this tawdry lust to overtake me.”
His mouth nears mine as he whispers, “Nay, don’t allow it. Welcome it.”
An hour later, I stare at the screen, my stomach sinking. I’ve made zero progress since the maiden was nearly ravished.
The cursor waits. Its ever-blinking eye watches me.
Another ten or so texts have come through from Leigh. Each of them is a friendly, little push to do something about my love life—or lack thereof.
I grin as I text her.
-You’re a pain in my ass; you know that?-
Her response is almost immediate.
-I know you aren’t writing, so click to it. Humor me.-
I tap out my reply.
-You aren’t the boss of me.-
I shake my head, imagining her smile, as I navigate to the DATE.COM website.
It has pretty colors, boasts pictures of happy couples, and promises all kinds of wonderful things, if only I sign up now.
Sign up and pay—to find a date.
To not be alone any more.
As much as I hate to admit it, that sounds more than appealing.
Alone sucks.
Oh, what the hell? I’ll have a look. Nothing says I’m obligated to go out with any of the guys they suggest, right? Maybe I can use this in a book somehow.
I’ll call it research.
I fill out the payment form and click to the next page.
Oh, good Lord. Now they want me to write a freaking profile?
Fuck.
Okay—it’s fine. I’m an author. I can write about myself. Easy peasy, right?
Independent, fun-loving, and generous wench
Wench? That probably won’t work on the more contemporary man.
Words that describe me: successful
My friends say I’m fun and loving and fun-loving.
Beautiful woman wants a gorgeous guy.
One look at my photos and they’ll see that’s a freaking lie.
Okay. No lies. Straight-up honesty.
Single woman seeks man who can keep it in his pants when he’s with other women, but is willing to whip it out for me…and only me.
Woman seeks man who has it where it counts and knows how to use it. But only uses it for me. Ever. Like… really, no cheats, no liars, no jiz-dribbles.
Oh, hell. This is ridiculous.
I text Leigh.
-How am I supposed to tell someone about me?-
Two minutes later, my phone rings. Leigh’s face smiles on my display.
I slip out onto the front porch as I slide my finger across the screen to answer. “What do they even want to know?”
“All you have to do is give a general description and tell them you’re awesome and how much they want to date you.”
I plop onto the porch swing, allowing it to sway back and forth as I wiggle my toes in the air. “Sure. I’ll just put something like ‘Long, red hair, blue eyes, average build. You should totally pick me! I’m fantastic and you’ll love all my weird, little quirks, because they’re what make me so incredible.’
Or I can say, ‘My friend Leigh says you should go out with me. She thinks I need to get laid. Actually, I do need to get laid, so let’s get together. Pencil dicks and assholes need not apply.’ ”
“The dicks and assholes part I like. Though you may want to be careful about advertising the fact that you need to get laid. There’s no telling what kind of freaks will come out of the woodwork.” Leigh giggles.
I shoo away a curious honey bee. “Aw, now, a guy who’s got a little freak flag to fly might not be a bad thing.”
A distinctly male laugh yanks me out of the swing.
“Crap. I think he heard me.”
The blades of a pair of garden shears peek out from the backside of a giant bush at the corner of the house next door. They lop off two low branches in quick succession.
Leigh says, “He? He who?”
I cover the phone and raise my voice. “You know, eavesdropping is rude, asshole.”
Another couple of snaps of the shears, and then the richest voice on the planet says, “But it’s so informative.”
I race down the steps and around to the side of the house.
Hedge clippings lie scattered across the strip of lawn between our homes, but my neighbor is nowhere to be seen.
I kick at the limb closest to my foot. Its sharp tip jabs into the side of my toe. “Ouch. Damn it.”
I hobble toward my porch.
“Hey, I’m still here.” Leigh’s small voice squeals through the speaker.
I put the phone to my ear. “Idiot man.”
“Who? The neighbor?” She gasps. “Sugar glider guy?”