AllFreeNovel
Share Us
CHAPTER ONE
MARTI
MARTI WANTED TO STAB herself in the eye with a fork. Seriously. Rusty, blunt, and covered in food—it didn’t matter. Fork. In. Eye. Anything to get her out of this date.
She fought the yawn tickling the back of her throat. She needed something, anything to distract her from the dull man in front of her.
Okay, maybe that was a little unfair. Somewhere out there, the perfect woman waited for Tim from—where did he work again? Lee and Lewis accounting? Something like that. Never mind. His employer was hardly relevant. The point was that poor Tim met the wrong girl tonight. Somewhere out there a librarian or maybe a preschool teacher sat at home, prepping some kind of craft for her kids on Monday. She was the kind of girl Tim needed. They’d be perfect for each other. They’d date for a year, get engaged and marry in a big church surrounded by all their family, riding off into the proverbial sunset. Matching PJ’s would totally be their thing, as well as those cheesy holiday photo cards. All they’d need is to buy a golden retriever and name him Max, build a white picket fence around their dream home, and they’d be set.
Unfortunately, for both of them—although more her than him—Tim from accounting wasn’t on a date with the preschool teacher. He was on a date with Marti McBride—The Queen of Single.
Marti’s gaze flickered over him. She supposed he wasn’t so bad, really. He had dirty blond hair and chocolate eyes. But the way he periodically smoothed a hand over the top of his perfectly gelled quaff annoyed her. She wanted to rip his hand off and shave his head. Not even gale force winds stood a chance against his mop. He could, literally, be trapped in the eye of a hurricane and his whole head would come out unscathed.
And his hands . . . Don’t even get her started on his hands. Had the man ever done any manual labor? There wasn’t a single callus. Not one scar. Nope. It was all velvety, peaches and cream as far as the eye could see. To top it all off, Marti was pretty sure he got regular manicures.
She glanced down to her own crappy nails. Only nubs remained after chewing them to the quick during the first five minutes of their mind-numbing interaction. No doubt, his nails were in better shape than hers, and his skin looked smoother than a baby’s bottom.
Forget the nails, or his skin, or the preschool teacher. This guy screamed metrosexual. He was high maintenance to the core. Maybe a big-busted blonde named Bambi was a better fit. They could get doubles mani-pedis on the weekends. And as they aged, they could get his and her plastic surgery.
Oh, my gosh. He needed someone like Marti’s boss. Maybe she could set them up. . .
Marti grimaced at the thought.
She needed to focus on the problem at hand. She couldn’t date a man who needed more time primping in the bathroom than her.
Okay, truth be told, she didn’t really want to date anyone. In theory, she liked a man’s-man, but in all actuality, she liked being left alone even more. She didn’t write one of the most popular digital columns in the country—Single in the City—for nothing.
So why did her boss think she suddenly needed a boyfriend?
Marti had no clue. All she knew was she received a text-bomb that morning informing her she needed to consider a boyfriend. And by consider, her boss—Blue—meant she needed one ASAP.
That was it. No explanation. Nothing.
But as she sat in front of Tim, she quickly decided she’d rather live in the shadiest back alley in New York City than even fake a relationship with him—and that was saying something.
Regardless, at least she’d glean enough material from this short interaction for an article or two. Maybe she’d title one of them, You know it’s time to run when your date has better nails than you do.
“So....” Tim shifted in his chair. Marti could practically see the wheels spinning in his head as he tried to come up with some form of conversation that would pique her interest.
Little did he know, there was none.
She should probably help him breach the awkward silence, but she couldn’t muster the energy. Maybe if she allowed the conversation to die altogether, he’d leave and spare them both the misery.
Fat chance.
He launched into discussing his work while she tried to catch the bartender’s eye. Cameron had worked at The Pub, her favorite hole in the wall, for three years and had saved Marti from a terrible date a time or two. Okay, maybe more than one or two. But who’s counting?
She casually moved her hand to the side of her head and tried to send him the signal, but when Tim’s eyes zeroed in on her, she smoothed the hand in question over her hair.
Turning her attention back to Tim, she reassessed the situation. He doesn’t have a bad mouth, she mused. Her eyes flicked over his face, trying to feel some sort of spark, a jolt of attraction. Anything.
Is that. . . Is he wearing concealer?
She squinted, examining the delicate area around his eyes like a specimen in a petri dish under a microscope.
Tim chuckled at his own joke, some nerdy math humor, to which Marti forced a laugh, much too late and much too loud. When he raised a brow at her deranged cackle and poor timing, her laughter ceased. If she were a better person, she might feel bad.
“Um, I’m going to use the restroom. If you’ll excuse me.” Tim stood and made his way toward the corner of the pub, leaving Marti to wonder for one brief, blessed moment, if her neurotic laughter was enough to scare him off.
With any luck, he’d
sneak out the back, but she wasn’t taking any chances. The second he disappeared into the restroom, she whipped around on her stool and hissed, “Cameron. Cam!”
He ignored her while he flirted with a large-chested blonde.
Grumbling, Marti searched her surroundings for a way to get his attention. Balling up her napkin, she threw it toward him, but it fell short. Desperate, she reached into Tim’s rum and Coke and pulled out an ice cube. Saying a prayer for good aim, she whipped it in Cameron’s direction and nearly cheered when she nailed him right between the eyes.
Holding up a finger to the blonde, he turned around, eyes wide, clearly shouting a silent what the heck?
Marti traced an SOS in the air with her finger, then motioned to the empty seat next to her and waved him over. By now, he was used to her antics, and as he approached, she sighed with relief. “Cam, I need your help.”
Cameron threw his bar towel over his shoulder and crossed his arms. If Marti didn’t know better, she’d think he was super hot, with his lean arms and sandy locks that would even make Legends of the Fall, Brad Pitt jealous. But she definitely knew better. He was good to her, but a player nonetheless.
