The Introvert's Guide to Online Dating (The Introvert's Guide 1)

He reached onto the back of the sofa and grabbed a blanket. “One, two, three, go.”

Laughing, he pulled out of me and I lifted my hips so he could shove it under us.

“Lovely,” I quipped.

“Always prepared.” He pulled me right into him, wrapping his arms around me in a way that contradicted the way we’d just fucked.

I couldn’t stay here too long. I knew that. Lying here with him with my cheek pressed against his chest where I could feel the rapid beating of his heart was a terrible idea.

I didn’t need to feel anything more than I already did.

I did really need a cuddle, though.

I stayed for a little longer, closing my eyes to breathe it in. He was warm and strong and comfortable, and that was the exact problem.

“I need to pee,” I whispered, extracting myself from his arms. He groaned as I did so, but I moved quickly and ran for the downstairs half-bath. I’d be able to sort myself out adequately there before going home for a shower.

“Always with the peeing,” Colt said when I came back out. He was up and had pulled his sweats back up from their previous place around his ankles. “Kills the moment, you know?”

“I’m sorry, I’d prefer not to get a UTI just because you want to cuddle,” I snarked. “Not that fuck buddies are supposed to cuddle, but whatever.”

“That wasn’t a cuddle,” he argued. “That was a catch-your-breath session.”

“Right.” I retrieved my bra from the floor and pulled it on before securing the catch. “If you say so.”

He met my eyes with a smirk. “Tell me you hated it, and I promise I’ll never, ever do it again.”

“You’re such a child.” I grabbed my coat and shrugged it on. “Am I allowed to leave, or would you like to cuddle again?”

“You may go.” He bit into the end of a breadstick. “Unless you’d like to cuddle.”

“I’d rather use that breadstick to scoop my eyeballs out. Goodnight, Colton.” I turned and walked to the front door.

“Goodnight, Victoria.”

“Stop calling me that!”

“You didn’t care fifteen minutes ago!”

I slammed his front door behind me and shoved my hands in my pockets.

Damn it.

I hadn’t.

CHAPTER THREE – TORI

rule three: cats literally do not care a damn thing about your dating life. all they care about is food, naps in the sun, and under-chin scritches.

“Genevieve, that is not the deal.”

My Ragdoll blinked at me with her big, blue eyes. She was sitting next to her food bowl—her full food bowl—because she could see a speck of the bottom of the bowl.

“You have to eat that food first.”

She looked down at the bowl then back up at me. “Rrrroew.” The low-pitched noise was halfway between a plead and a whine, but I wasn’t buying it.

All I had to do was wait for her to find a good sunny spot on the windowsill. Then I could shake her food bowl, cover the empty spot, and she’d happily eat her kibble.

If Mariah Carey was a cat, she’d be a Ragdoll.

They were damn divas.

I turned away from her and took my cereal over to the dining table where my laptop was set up. You’d think at this point that I’d have a desk somewhere, but my apartment really wasn’t made for more than one person, so my itty-bitty dining table was my ‘desk.’

That, or my sofa was.

Or my bed.

That probably explained the neck pain I experienced on a regular basis.

I scooped a spoonful of Cheerios that may or may not have been one week past the expiration date into my mouth. They still tasted fine, and the milk was in date, so it wasn’t like I was going to throw up.

I hoped.

Although I did have a terrible habit of eating out of date cereal…

I tapped in the password for my laptop and waited for it to fully load up. I was pretty sure I’d shut it down last night with Photoshop still running, and that meant I was two seconds away from hating myself for that particular decision.

My laptop was not high spec enough for that nonsense.

By the time it was ready for me, I was almost done with my breakfast and Gen had decided my foot was a good place to flop onto for a nap.

Story of my life.

My toes were half dead, my email was overflowing, and my coffee cup was empty. I had absolutely no chance of sorting anything but the email, so I got to work on it. After sifting through at least thirty emails from Alice and John and Sandeep and Dean asking me if I’d be willing to offer my Facebook page up for advertising for varying fees, I finally made it to the actual emails.

All right, so I replied to a few telling them I was in Europe and they were breaching GDPR laws.