Page 2 of Knocked Up By The Mountain Man

Not because she's unlikable, but because she is. She's sweet. She's nice. She's trying her best to compensate for my lack of energy and personality on this date by saying ten words per second.

I think I've said exactly three words since we sat down in the booth at Dolly's Diner, and already I feel exhausted and guilty. If this woman were annoying or rude, or shallow, or had some other sort of character flaw, I wouldn't feel so bad.

But I've been trying to find an excuse to ditch her since we first sat down, and so far I'm coming up empty.

She's great. She’s sweet. And that's the problem.

I don't do sweet. Actually, I don't do dating at all. But if I'm going to be with a woman casually, she needs to come with the kind of disillusioned, world-weary mentality that can handle a man like me. A woman who gave up on happily ever after a long time ago, and doesn't have a Pinterest board dedicated to her wedding day. A woman who, like me, has had her heart broken one too many times, and the last time it broke, she didn't have the energy to piece it back together.

That's me. Permanently broken, with better things to do than try to fix myself so that I can have one more round of trying and failing to find my fucking soulmate.

“Soulmate.” Ha.

Whoever coined that stupid term put a curse on humankind. If people didn't know about the concept of soulmates, they wouldn't waste so much time looking for theirs.

They wouldn't all agree to waste their formative years on a wild goose chase, searching among the millions and millions of people who populate this earth for the one special person who matches them and complements them so perfectly.

There's no such thing as a soulmate.

There's no such thing as love at first sight.

There's not even such a thing as unconditional love.

There's just…companionship. That’s it. And if I want companionship, I’ll adopt a dog.

Yeah, I know. I'm the opposite of a romantic. The opposite of the woman who is practically vibrating with hyperactive energy in the seat across from me right now as she sips her third cup of coffee.

She should probably switch to decaf, I think, glancing at the steaming mug. She doesn't need any help in the energy department.

“Funny. I can't stand black coffee,” she says eagerly, leaning over like she's disclosing some long-held scandalous secret. “I like lots of cream and sugar.”

“I, uh, I noticed,” I say politely, clearing my throat and looking over her shoulder.

I asked the waitress for the check ten minutes ago.

The sooner I can get out of here, the sooner I can go back to my cabin. As soon as I get back home, I plan to give Adam a call and tell him that I'm not interested in a second date with Carla, or with any more blind date fix-ups.

The woman giggles, looking down at her mug full of light brown coffee.

“Yeah,” she says. “I guess you would have noticed…I have a bit of a sweet tooth. Speaking of, this diner has really good apple pie. Would you like to -?”

“No,” I say quickly, trying to twist my facial expression into something resembling polite kindness rather than my usual resting bitch face. “No, uh, thank you. I’m good. You can order some for yourself, of course. I’m just not in the mood. For…uh, pie.”

Her smile falls, and I feel like a fucking jerk.

I shouldn't have agreed to this, no matter how much Adam insisted. For some reason, my group of friends got it into their mind that I needed a woman in my life again.

I don't know why. I've been living alone for almost a decade, and I have been fine, and it's been fine. Well, it was fine until I met her. Alyssa, the mysterious dark haired beauty who rolled into town for one night in search of something she didn’t share with me.

Alyssa is the one who ruined the whole “being on my own and ignoring women” thing. Before her, I'd been a solitary man in every sense of the word.

No woman in my life at all, no sex, and I'd gotten used to that existence until one night I made the mistake of pulling over to help a woman out on the side of the road. Her tire was flat, and she was lost.

Her cell phone had died. It was pretty much the worst kind of situation you can be in out in these mountains, especially this time of year.

I might be antisocial, but I’m not totally heartless. I pulled over, helped her out. She looked at me with misty brown eyes and spoke with a stutter, either because she was freezing cold or because she found me intimidating. I’m still not sure which, because a lot of women tend to find me intimidating at first. It’s just the cost of being a tall, large man.

A tall, large man with resting bitch face.