I Flipping Love You (Shacking Up 3)

“It’s new, and I didn’t feel as though I owed you an explanation.” I’m not sure why I feel as though I owe him one now either.

“Are you exclusive?”

“I don’t date more than one person at a time.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t.” This guy is super-insistent to the point of being unnerving.

“Okay. Fine. I like that you don’t want your attention divided. I don’t like mine divided either, so when this thing with this current guy doesn’t work out, you can go out with me.”

I take that to mean he’s accepting the 20 percent chauvinist-remark discount, so I fill out the check. “What makes you think it won’t work out?”

He hitches a shoulder and motions between us. “Because there’s chemistry here, and I doubt you’ll be able to ignore it indefinitely.”

“Wow, it’s surprising you can fit through a door with the size of your ego.” I pass the check over and give him my sweetest smile. “I added four dollars and seventy-five cents for the coffee.”

He may be right about the chemistry, but there’s no way I’m going out with him. That’s a recipe for certain disaster.

CHAPTER 4

DATE

RIAN

Two days later I’m standing in front of my closet, surveying my dress options. I’m going out with Terry tonight. I’m not excited. At all.

Marley flops down on my bed. “Wear the green dress. It brings out your eyes.”

“I wore the green dress last time.” I pick out a hot-pink wrap. “What about this?”

Marley cocks her head, her long, wavy ponytail skimming my comforter. “Is that new?”

“I’ve had it for a while.” The neckline is pretty low, though, which is why it has yet to make an appearance. I shimmy into the dress, adjusting the top so the girls are mostly contained.

Marley nods her approval. “You should definitely wear that.”

I inspect my reflection in the mirror with a critical eye. “I don’t know. I think there’s too much cleavage.”

“This is a second date, right? What’s his name again? Trent?”

“It’s Terry.”

Marley makes a face. “Right. Can we rename him Trent? It’s so much cooler.”

“No, we can’t rename him.” I smooth my hands over my hips. This dress is great for highlighting curves, but the chest exposure is extreme for me. I lean forward at the waist, which only makes it worse. “I should wear a camisole.”

“Do not ruin that dress with a cami. Unless you want to send the message that you’re not interested in sleeping with him.”

“There’s no rule that says I have to make that kind of decision by date two.”

“Honestly? You’re twenty-seven, Ri. Don’t waste your time on someone who doesn’t make you tingle when you look at him. If you’re not interested in getting horizontal with this guy, why go out with him? Especially with a name like Terry.”

Typically I would agree, but I need a distraction from the dreams I keep having about a certain hot suit. Plus, Terry seems safe. “Terry isn’t a terrible name.”

“You’re only saying that because the last guy you matched with was named Eugene.” She rolls onto her back and moans, “Oh, Terrrrry, right there, that’s it, Teeerrrry.”

“Is that necessary?” I retie the wrap in an attempt to achieve more coverage.

“I’m demonstrating how unsexy his name will sound when you’re moaning it later tonight.”

“I’m not sleeping with him tonight, so you can give it up.”

“The fact that you don’t want to sleep with him is a problem.”

“I didn’t say I don’t want to, just that I’m not going to.” I don’t think I want to sleep with him.

She crosses her legs and props her chin on her fist. “Maybe you should cancel and we can go dancing or something. You can borrow one of my dresses and pick up some supersexy hot guy and hump each other on the dance floor to loud music.”

“It’s too late to cancel. And I hate nightclubs. Drunk, sweaty guys are not my thing. Besides, Terry and I have a lot in common.”

“Loving numbers and chocolate martinis doesn’t scream compatibility. Also, I don’t think men should love chocolate martinis, it seems wrong. Like guys who drink Shirley Temples.” Marley rolls off the bed and bats my hands away, adjusting the dress so I’m showing more instead of less of my lady lumps. “Maybe you have too much in common. Maybe you should be looking for someone who’s less … numbery.”

“Numbery isn’t even a word, and we’re a nine-out-of-ten match according to the compatibility test.” The whole nine-out-of-ten thing has me fascinated.

Terry is an accountant, which means he loves numbers the same way I do. The consistency and the variables turn me on. Terry doesn’t seem to have that effect on me, and while that should technically deter me, I actually find it reassuring. Lack of sexual chemistry means I’m less likely to lose my head over him.

Marley sighs. “Are there any sparks? Do you need to bring spare underwear with you when you’re on a date? Do you want dinner to be over so he can be your dessert? If no is the answer to any of these questions, then this date is pointless.”

“Relationships are not just about sex, Mar.”

She pushes me out of the bedroom and into the bathroom, forcing me to sit while she retrieves the hair dryer. “If there isn’t any chemistry, you’re friends.”

I ignore the chemistry bit. “We’re going to Fresco’s for dinner tonight.” It was his idea, not mine. Maybe the romantic setting will help with the lack of sparks.

She pauses with a brush in her hand. “Really? That’s swanky. So he must be feeling you. Now the most important question is: Who’s paying?”

“I didn’t ask. I’ll have to wait and see.” Last time we went Dutch. It was just coffee. He’s really upping his game.

My sister sighs dramatically. “Seriously? If he doesn’t pay and he doesn’t make an attempt for a real goodnight kiss, you have to cut him loose.”

The idea of his tongue in my mouth makes me shudder, but I keep quiet. Marley does my hair and makeup. I’m not the best at putting it on myself, but she’s a pro.

She forces me to wear a pair of wedges that are two inches higher than I’m used to, because they make my legs look longer. I don’t need any help in that area. I’m five eight, my legs are already pretty damn long. It’s a short walk, though, so I should be fine. I make sure I have my wallet, phone, lip gloss, and mace tucked away in my purse, and I’m ready for this date. Which I’m still not excited about.

“I’ll text in an hour to see if you need saving,” Marley says as I head for the door. “And if you’re not coming home tonight, make sure you let me know. And text me an address so I can call the cops if you stop responding to messages.”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself.”

“I’m being positive.”

By the time I get to the restaurant, my feet already hurt, but dinner is a sit-down event, so I’ll be able to get some relief from these ridiculous shoes.

I spot Terry as I approach the front entrance of the restaurant. He’s sitting on a bench, head bent over his phone. He hasn’t noticed me yet, so I take the opportunity to give him a full assessment with a “Marley lens.” We have very different criteria for what we consider to be viably datable, but even I can admit that Terry is a little … lacking.