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Total overkill if you ask me. And still no idea how she did it. I’ve been trying to get one guy—Ryan—for the past year, one—and still no dice.
It doesn’t matter. It will be worth it in the end. Not everyone gets their soulmate on the first try.
Or the hundredth, for that matter. Hundred-and-twenty-fifth to be precise. Hey, it’s a good number. These things take work.
And I do work it as I approach Ryan, as Simone advised me to do after watching Pretty Woman, swinging my hips and lifting my chin, letting my ponytail swish against my back.
He’s getting ready to start, draping his manly black towel on the seat of a rowing machine and… whoa.
Red alert. His T-shirt molds to an impressively sculpted chest and set of shoulders, his corded arms in full display, a picture straight out of Men’s Health magazine.
Holy guacamole.
Woo.
But of course I shouldn’t be shocked. I chose him. He’s everything a man should be. He just has to see I am the girl for him.
That’s why he’s single. He’s been waiting for me all along.
Finding my stride, I strut my stuff to the other end of the gym and turn back. I lift my towel, ready to let it fall in a classic move. Hey, it works in books and movies all the time.
Throw something. Walk away. Have handsome man run after you with it.
Candy did say I should have a man running after me rather than the other way round. Wait until I tell her of my plans.
Elegantly, smoothly, I drop my towel in front of his machine as I walk on by…
But my foot catches on something, and I trip, crashing into a guy crossing over to the weights area. He stumbles backward, and I grab fistfuls of his chest hair to keep from falling.
“Easy,” he grunts, steadying me. “You okay?”
I gasp something that doesn’t qualify as a word, getting my feet under me. Straightening, I realize my tiara headband has slipped over my forehead, my ponytail somehow got tangled in it, and that my low-cut top has slipped even lower, almost flashing my boobs to everyone present.
And worse still… when I look up, trying desperately to cover my boobs and untangle my ginger curls from the glittery bandana, I realize I finally got Ryan’s attention. At long last, he’s staring at me.
Now, of all times.
Then he snorts, a dismissive sound, and turns away once more.
Jesus on a pony.
Okay, fine. I’m declaring the first offensive a failure. I lift my chin, still tugging on my hair, and pretend my cheeks aren’t flushed red.
Everything is as planned. I’m getting a feel for things.
Figuratively.
Just watch. My next move will knock your socks off.
***
“What about that other guy?” Simone asks when I return to my machine, frazzled and in deep planning mode, refusing to think of his derisive snort and my total and spectacular failure.
Just a minor setback.
“What other guy?” I pretend not to know who she’s talking about.
“You know. The dark-haired one with the gray eyes. A cousin of one of Candy’s boyfriends that we met at the party they threw the other day?”
