Make Me Yours

“I’m not a doormat. I love Gray. I’ll love him forever.”

We’re quiet a few minutes. My chest hurts at her confession, and I wrap an arm around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. “He’s a lucky guy. I wish I felt that way about someone.”

As I say it, I realize it’s true.

She puts her head on my shoulder. “What will you do if you’re not a therapist?”

“No idea.” I shake off the sudden melancholy mood and take another, longer sip of my sweet drink. “Search for my insanely rich Asian husband?”

“Not in Oakville,” she straightens, looking around the room.

She can say that again. It’s a fantasy football sausage fest in here. The guys are all big and boisterous, and when the juke box starts blasting “Fly Me to the Moon,” they all start singing loudly.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I mutter, when my eyes land on a guy sitting alone at the other end of the bar.

Lava lamps don’t provide much light, but I can see he’s wearing a tailored gray blazer over a white shirt, and he’s nursing what looks like a scotch. His brown hair is just long enough to be messy, and it has a sexy little wave across his forehead, which he pushes aside with an elegant hand.

He glances up, and when our eyes meet, he gives me a brief smile. Heat shoots all the way to my core. Holy shit, he has a dimple in his left cheek!

I give him a shy smile and turn slowly to face my friend. “Holy shit, I’m in lust.” I hiss, grabbing her arm fast. “Who is that?”

“Who?” Drew is talking way too loud, and now she’s looking all around the bar dramatically.

My jaw clenches. “Stop it. He’ll know we’re talking about him.”

“How am I supposed to know who you mean if you won’t let me look?”

“The Jamie Dornan clone in the corner.” The music is blasting, and we have to shout.

“You think every hot guy looks like Jamie Dornan.”

“I do not.” Her eyes slant, and I defend my position. “Jamie Dornan has a very standard, hot-Anglo guy look.”

“Are you saying all hot white guys look alike?”

“I am not saying that. It’s racist. You’re saying that.”

“Good thing I’m white.”

Rolling my eyes, I shake her arm. “Whatever. He’s hot as fuck. Who is he?”

She finally looks, then she starts bouncing up and down. “Oh! That’s Remington Key! I tried to introduce you to him at church, and you couldn’t be bothered.”

My fingers clutch her arm tighter, and I pull her to me. “Please stop jumping and screaming his name. He’s not in BTS.”

“You with the K-pop.” Her expression turns excited. “Just think, Mr. Right was waiting for you in a bar all along. It’s like the olden days!”

“Ma says Mr. Right is waiting in church.” I’m still not sure if she meant Jesus…

Drew’s eyes go even rounder if that’s possible. “You met Remi in church and now at a bar—that’s got to be a sign!”

I steal a glance over my shoulder again, and he’s reaching into his back pocket for his wallet, giving me a glimpse of his cute butt.

“I’ll tell you what’s a sign—that ass. You did not introduce me to him. I’d remember it.” Drew starts to argue, but I cut her off. “I’m going to investigate. Stay out of trouble.”

She yells after me. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“I never follow that rule.”