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“Says here you like long talks, romantic dates, and musical theater. Your profile pic is actually a headshot. Nice smile, by the way.”
My face heated with embarrassment. “So what! What’s wrong with that?” I didn’t appreciate him making fun of me for being a nice guy.
“Nothing at all, if you were on Match or some other snooty hearts and flowers dating site. But this is Grindr. It’s strictly for hookups. Guys on here use a shot of their abs or ass for profile pics. They denote their preferred sexual positions, not their favorite restaurant. None of these guys care if you like moonlit walks and classic poetry. They just want sex, pure and simple. They have no intention of ever calling you again.”
I hung my head, knowing he was telling me the cold, hard truth. Defeat smothered me, dulling the alcohol in my system. Why did he have to ruin the nice buzz I had going?
“Don’t look so glum, sugar plum. I know just what you need.”
Doubtful.“What would that be? Another drink?”
Carson shook his head. A wicked gleam shined in his sea-green eyes. “I’m going to help you find Mr. Right. You’re going about it all wrong, but I’ll set you back on the right track. Leave it to me.”
“What are you, some kind of love guru?” I snorted, looking into the bottom of my empty glass and willing more alcohol to reappear.
“Something like that. Trust me. When it comes to guys, I know what I’m doing.” He swiped my glass and filled a clean one with rum and coke. I noticed it had more coke and a lot less rum than I’d have preferred. Carson was trying to sober me up, which meant cold hard reality was about to set in, reminding me of the ridiculous bargain I’d just agreed to.
Was I so pathetic that I needed the advice of a virtual stranger to help me find a decent man? How low had I sunk?
There wasn’t enough alcohol in this bar to make me forget about my night with Carson. The way my heart raced when he drove me home, the heat in my belly when he kissed me, or the ache in my groin when he touched me. Everything else, the dating disasters and humiliating rejection, it all faded into background noise when I thought of him. And now, instead of offering to take me home again for another night together, he was suggesting I allow him to help me find someone else to pawn me off on.
I’d bet there also wasn’t enough alcohol here to make that sting less.
6
CARSON
For the next three days,I wondered what the hell was wrong with me that I had agreed to be Ryan’s dating coach. The idea was beyond ridiculous. It was outright absurd! He was a marshmallow, an adorable little fruitcake. Mr. Goody Two-Shoes in the flesh. Guys like him ended up married to boring ugly men with money and a lot of letters after their last names, like doctor so-and-so or something the fourth. I didn’t know the first thing about guys like that. But when he sat at my bar and hung his pretty little head, looking defeated and forlorn, crystal blue eyes appearing empty, lacking the fire I’d seen in them last week when I had my dick buried inside him, how could I not help?
I just wanted to see him burn again, consumed by the heat and hunger I’d glimpsed. Tonight, he resembled a small helpless version of the firecracker I’d met last week. I wantedthatRyan back, even if it meant agreeing to be his dating coach. Every fiber of my being told me I was going to regret this. Sooner rather than later.
Instead of enjoying my night off from work, cruising for a date of my own, I was headed to Ryan’s condo to help him create an online profile for a reputable dating app that would guarantee him a solid date.
“Hey, Carson.”
He answered the door with a sweet smile, wearing jeans and a lavender polo, and sure enough, all three buttons were secured. I laughed, my fingers going straight for his shirt before I could even greet him properly. I opened up his collar and ruffled his perfectly styled hair.
“Better. I hope you ordered pizza because I’m starving.”
Ryan dodged my hands, smoothing his hair back into place. “Thanks for coming over to help me. If you’re hungry, I can order whatever you like. After all, you’re doing me the favor. It’s the least I can do.”
His words, however innocent and straightforward, sounded flirty and full of innuendo. I was sure only I was taking it that way and that Ryan had meant nothing by it. He didn’t strike me as a flirt.
His home was just as tidy and impressive as the last time I’d seen it. Every surface gleamed, every was pillow fluffed, every corner free of clutter and cobwebs. He’d probably have a seizure if he stepped foot into my messy bachelor pad. Just for kicks, I tried to picture him there, amidst my old sofa and dusty bookcases, mismatched furniture and scuffed hardwood floors. Nope. I couldn’t see it. He’d stick out like a sore thumb. Ryan was too elegant, too refined. Sophistication oozed from his pores. He belonged here, among posh interiors and exotic vacations, country clubs and gated communities.
To put it bluntly, he was filet mignon, and I was ground beef. I asked myself for the fiftieth time what in the hell I was doing here. Didn’t his mother know the son of somebody or other, some judge or oil tycoon who she could set him up with? Why was he wasting his time on cheap hookup apps? Better yet, why was he wasting his time with me?
“Can I pour you a glass of wine? Or a beer? I also have soda, tea, and water.” Ryan appeared anxious, like he was trying too hard to please me. He was probably hoping I’d relax and make myself comfortable and stop looking at his home like I was walking through a museum exhibit.
“Sure. I’ll take a beer.” I stood next to his sofa but didn’t sit. The tufted gray linen looked soft, and I imagined my ass leaving an indent in the plush cushion, screaming that I’d been here, invading a world I didn’t belong in.
Ryan returned a moment later holding a frosty brown bottle, some fancy imported beer I’d never heard of. I should’ve figured he’d serve me something like that. “Maybe I should go. We could do this over the phone.”
A frown marred his pretty face, and he tugged my arm. “Sit. Drink. Relax. You weren’t acting like this last time you were here. What’s gotten into you?”
“Because last time I was here, you were naked and my dick was hard. You were all I could see.” I tasted the beer. It was sour and fruity and tasted foreign, but good.
Ryan blushed, and I wondered just how far down his chest the color traveled. “I’m not taking my clothes off to make you feel at home. Just drink your beer.”
