Page 30 of Wild Abandon

“I like a guy with hair I can grab on to. It’s just a preference but not a deal-breaker. Let me see the rest.” I motion with my hand for him to scroll down.

He stares at me a beat and then scrolls down. Reading the profile, I see the guy is a high school English teacher and enjoys the symphony.

“Oh, he has three kids.” My interest plummets.

“You don’t like kids?”

“I do. I want them desperately. I’ve just learned that men who have more than one are usually done and are just looking for company at that point.”

Nate easily agrees with my answer and swipes to the next profile. This next guy has a nice mane of dark hair and sexy blue eyes. He is seated at a computer, which shows me he is a professional.

“Oh, I like.” I lean forward and take the phone from Nate.

This guy’s name is Derek, and he’s a Fine Wine Manager. He likes water sports and horses, and he plays the piano. No children, never married, and looking for a long-term commitment. I hit the icon to let him know I’m interested, and I wait for a reply. If he’s interested, he’ll ping me back with a request to meet.

“You like that guy?”

“Um, hello? He’s hot as hell, and he hits the checklist. Successful, cultured, and—”

“Looking for a commitment,” Nate finishes for me. “He looks like a first-rate A-hole.”

“Pardon me?”

“If he’s that much of a catch and so openly looking for a commitment, why is he on a dating site?”

“Is that a dig against people on dating sites?”

“Kind of. I don’t understand why you’re on there either. You even said it yourself. You’re a catch.” His tone is sarcastic as he quotes my words from the first time I was here.

“There are more eligible women than there are men. As men get older, their dating pool opens up. They can date women their age or younger. But for us girls, there are a select few men who are looking for someone of the same age. My competition is vast. This”—I hold up my phone—“solidifies the process. Every available man in a twenty-mile radius who is willing to date me is at my fingertips.”

“It seems a little desperate.”

“Desperate?”

“Hear me out.” He puts his hand on the back of my chair and leans in. “You’re smart, funny, and accomplished. When you walk into this bar, every guy in the place looks at the beautiful woman with the killer legs. You can have your pick of any guy in this bar.”

I snort, a rather unattractive one at that, at his comment. “If that’s true, then why aren’t they clamoring at my feet?”

“Because you’re closed off,” he says.

Hello, Pot, meet Kettle. “How so?”

“You’ve been in this bar five times, and each time, the men don’t know how to react to you. It’s as if they know they’re gonna get shot down before they even talk to you.”

“That’s nonsense. I’m an imbecile, saying the wrong thing half the time and always pretending to be someone I’m not just to fit the mold of the perfect woman.” I put my hand to my mouth. Did I really just admit that?

Nate’s eyes shoot up at my admission. “You shouldn’t have to pretend to be anyone but exactly who you are. You’re perfect.”

Oh.

“Don’t read too much into that.”

“I’m not.” Well, not really. “You’re not my type anyway.”

“I know,” he says with a sigh of satisfaction.

“Don’t you have to work?” I look over to the other bartenders working hard.