28 Dates Read online

  “You know what I mean. Just a month. It’s all I’m asking. See what happens before I finalize the kinks in it. It’s not like you have to marry the guys you’ll meet.” He looks at me with a strange sparkle in his eyes, tilting his head to the side. I know this look: it means trouble. “And who knows, maybe you’ll finally move past He Who Should Not Be Named.”

  He’s referencing Jonas. It’s possible I was not Miss Pleasant to Be Around in the weeks following the dissolve of our arrangement months ago. Pushing down the lingering pinch I feel whenever Jonas is brought up, I flash Trey a wink. I’m determined not to go there.

  Yet maybe he has a point. Ever since Jonas and I ended, I haven’t hooked up with anyone. And when our friends Teagan and Corbin were married last fall, it was the first time I felt some strange emotion as they recited their vows with tears in their eyes.

  Loneliness?

  Whatever it was, that same pesky sensation, that niggling feeling at the base of my neck, made a return appearance over the holidays, which I spent with Teagan and Corbin. They were just so darn cheerful.

  Maybe I am missing something.

  “Well, there’s a bonus,” I tease. “But you don’t need me for this. You have a handful of testers you can use for these kinds of projects, and those who tested PerfectMate. They’d jump at this chance.”

  “Please, Caty-bug. At least try it out for my sake, let me know if there’s anything wonky with it or doesn’t work right.” He pouts and pulls his sad puppy dog face on me. The one he knows he can use to get me to do whatever he wants. Damn friends. “You’re my only hope.”

  Great. Begging, a stupid nickname I hate and love in equal measure, and a Star Wars reference. The man knows all my weak spots.

  “Thirty days?” Oh God. I’m doing this. I’m actually considering this.

  “Thirty days.”

  I take a hefty swallow of my cooling coffee and cringe, forcing down the chilled flavor. And because Trey would do anything for me, regardless of how crazy or stupid or life-defying, I finally say, “I’ll think about it.”

  He throws his arms around me like me thinking about it is the same as me agreeing. In all honesty, it probably is, but I’ll still make the guy sweat out my decision for another twelve hours.

  “Thank you, shrimp. You’re the best.”

  I shove him away from me. Corbin and Trey have a knack for giving me ridiculous nicknames because I’m a full foot shorter than either of them. “Shut up, geek, and go take a shower. You smell.”

  I walk away from Trey, catching him sniffing his armpit right before I leave the kitchen and head toward my bedroom.

  I’ll deal with the favor I know I’ll do for him after a few more hours of sleep.

  * * *

  —

  After I go back to bed and wake up again at a more reasonable hour, I spend hours shuffling through spreadsheets, cleaning up Trey’s expenses and collecting tax information for his accountant. Unable to focus on much else, I call it an early day and grab my pink wool coat and cream scarf and head out in search of lunch. I’m not at all surprised when I end up outside Dirty Martini’s, the bar Jonas now owns. Granted, I haven’t been here much in the last few months. Hard to return to your favorite place when your friends-with-benefits arrangement comes to an abrupt termination.

  After six months, even that’s all water under the bridge. Mostly. I miss Jonas. And not just the way he knows how to play my body like I was made for him. I miss his laughter and his humor and how easy it was to fall not only into bed with him but into a friendship. Some days the pain of that last moment with him, standing in my doorway, braced to leave but hesitating, still haunts me. There’s still the moment I wish I could have said something, or run to him and throw my arms around him and tell him, Yes. Yes I want more, too. But even on the days when I imagine that scenario, I know deep down it’s not something I’m capable of. So while I miss him desperately, I still let him go so he can find his own happy, which I truly want for him.

  It was still a huge shock to my system when I walked into Dirty’s for the first time after our FWB arrangement came to an end to find him leaning over the bar, kissing a cute little brunette on her cheek, and promising he’d be at her place later. She stood up to leave, and he followed her with his eyes until she walked past me on her way out the door. It was then that Jonas caught sight of me at the bar and froze for a brief moment before plastering a grin on his face I knew was forced. He’d then said hello, asked me what I wanted to drink, and eventually told me that the girl was Ashley, the one he’d said he was interested in the morning he left my place.

  I plastered on a similar fake smile and forced myself to choke down the martini he handed me, taking my time so it didn’t look like I was in a hurry to get the hell out of his bar for the first time in years since I’d discovered it. And slowly, over time, it’s become easier to walk through the doors and resume a friendship with him.

  That doesn’t mean I still don’t check to see if he’s at the bar before I enter. Today, since it’s well after lunchtime, the customers are sparse, and thankfully there isn’t anyone sitting at the tables lining the window where my face is pressed so close to the glass, fog forms on it.

  At the bar to the right, there’s a bartender whom I know, and while there are a couple of men dressed in suits at one end, sipping on bottles of beer, it’s the woman across from Tucker who grabs my attention.

  Ashley. Jonas’s girlfriend. I’d hate her if she weren’t so sweet and lovely.

  After Trey’s proposition earlier, I’m in need of a drink to consider my options. For a second, I debate whether or not to enter. Maybe I should find a new favorite place altogether. Continually putting myself in front of Jonas, able to look but not touch, does weird things to my mental health.

  Like, currently making Trey’s app seem like a better idea.

  “Whatever,” I mutter to myself. The app is maybe not the worst possible idea ever thrown my way. And this is my favorite place for lunch. With a burst of confidence, I tug open the front door, and as it closes behind me, I’m already unwrapping my scarf.

  Even as strange as I’m feeling, I head straight toward Ashley. We’ve run into each other enough now, it’d be weird for everyone if I didn’t join her.

  In the month she’s been with Jonas, I’ve never asked if she knows our history. It’s not important, nor is it my business. The benefits arrangement Jonas and I had ended the day he left my apartment, and we’ve now settled into a fairly decent, only sometimes awkward, routine. I show up, we laugh and joke and talk about politics, and I argue with him that nothing in the world beats a West Coast summer. He feeds me, fuels me with a variety of martinis, and then we wave goodbye. Really not too different than we used to be, except now I know those waves and winks we exchange will never again lead to his hands on me.

  Which is a bummer in itself because while I’ve apparently accepted we are just friends…I haven’t been able to replace him either.

  Perhaps taking a stab at Trey’s app will be a good thing, then. A chance to get back out there, like he suggested, and find a new fling or two even if that’s not the app’s purpose.

  “Hey lady, what’s shakin’?” Ashley asks as I drape my coat over the barstool next to her and slide onto the seat.

  “Ugh. Life.”

  She smiles sweetly. “I hear that. Work sucks, but luckily Jonas is taking me to the coast for the weekend so I can’t complain.”

  She’s a pediatric nurse and works early morning shifts at the children’s hospital. From stories she’s told before, she works mostly with cancer patients. I can’t fathom what it’s like to lose a child to such a horrific disease and still be able to smile at the end of her shift. She’s just that good a person.

  “Oh. That’ll be nice.” I turn to Tucker, one of the best new bartenders Trey has hired. The man is already shaking my drink up and sliding the empty martini glass in front of me. It’s like he knows the bile is rising in my throat at the thought
of Jonas and Ashley going away for the weekend.

  Tucker pours my drink, and I instantly grab it, taking a healthy swallow. “Bad day?”

  “Stressful one.”

  “Anything suit your fancy to eat?” His blond hair brushes his shoulders. He’s young but cute. With his cocky swagger, and bartending to pay his Portland University tuition and his rocking hard bod, I doubt he spends many nights alone.

  “Bruschetta to start with, please,” I reply. I don’t need the menu. It hasn’t changed in two years but has somehow gotten better.

  I give credit to Jonas for changing their suppliers to using more locally grown, organic ingredients for the boost in flavor.

  “Gotcha. Anything good goin’ on for you?”

  “Nah,” I tell him as another customer grabs his attention. “Same ol’ same ol’.”

  He slaps the bar, grinning as he walks away. “I hear that.”

  But for some reason, for the first time, “same ol’ same ol’ ” sounds rather pathetic and boring.

  Chapter 2

  Jonas

  I’m neck deep in inventory orders when my phone buzzes with a text from Tucker. The guy does an awesome job manning the bar when I can’t be out front, and I often find myself hoping that when he graduates, he’ll take a full-time bartending job. Unlikely since his major is marine biology and he spends half of every year surveying and studying the whales off the coast and their migratory patterns.

  Someday he’ll be that guy, living on a boat for much of his life, wearing rain slickers and clodhopper boots, living his dream.

  Which sucks for me because he’ll be hard to replace.

  Assuming his text is something work related, I tuck away my spreadsheet and glance at my phone.

  Your girl is here waiting for you.

  Ashley. My girlfriend. The word doesn’t fit. Doesn’t make my heart bounce like it did even up to a few weeks ago, and I can’t put my finger on why that is. She’s sweet. She’s funny. She’s the most caring person I know. She’s loyal and honest, and she looks at me with large brown eyes full of excitement and hope every time I walk into a room.

  I slam my hand to my forehead and groan. “Crap.” I’ve just thought of Ashley in similar terms to the golden retriever I had growing up. I type out a quick thanks to Tucker for letting me know. This order has to be submitted before heading out to see her.

  Months ago, I’d met Ashley on a rare night out. She’d been with friends celebrating a bachelorette party at a club downtown, and I’d met her at the bar while she’d ordered a round of blow job shots. I mean, what guy could resist that opening? Especially when she’d blushed twelve shades of pink while placing the order. She delivered the round of shots to her friends, came back to the bar where I was standing with a buddy of mine, requested a water, and we’d spent the rest of the night talking.

  I’d liked it. I’d liked being around a woman who wasn’t afraid to show affection or her enjoyment of being with me. Two days later we went for coffee. Then a dinner.

  Then I’d felt like a complete asshole when I’d fallen into bed with Caitlin. A woman who was the exact opposite of Ashley in every way. Granted, I’d ended it the next day, but what still sucks is that I hadn’t wanted to. If Caitlin had given me any hint there was a possibility we could move our relationship forward, I would have taken it.

  Unfortunately, that pain in my gut when Caitlin walks into Dirty’s where I have to fake I’m totally okay with this new friends-only thing we have going on is starting to become impossible to ignore.

  I like Ashley. I have a weekend away planned for us in hopes I can ignite that spark that’s missing in our relationship, the passionate clinging-to-each-other-and-unable-to-keep-our-hands-off-each-other vibe that isn’t quite there for reasons I can’t put my finger on.

  Probably because you still want the sexy little fiery redhead who wants nothing but your dick.

  Shit. Okay. Yeah. I’m still not over Caitlin. But I also want more. Using Ashley though to search for that more when it’s not there and continuing to string her along probably makes me a dick.

  “Damn.” I stare at my phone, wishing I hadn’t seen the text. Ashley is probably stopping in on her way home from work at the hospital. She usually does this when she’s had a bad day.

  I need to get my shit together before I see her, figure out what I’m going to do…especially about the upcoming weekend. But the more I think about it, cleaning up the spreadsheets a bit and finalizing the rest of my orders, one thing is for certain.

  Dragging her along because I’m not over a woman I can’t have is not the guy I want to be. It’s not the guy I am.

  Another groan rolls through my throat as I push out of my chair and leave my office, locking the door behind me. I trust all my workers, but the office is just past the bathrooms, and customers, especially after a few drinks, have a tendency to wander where they shouldn’t.

  I head out of the hallway at the back corner, far away from the bar at the other end. Dirty’s isn’t too busy for late afternoon. The semiprivate booths are filled with folks who I assume have skipped out of work early, but the other tables are mostly empty. It’s expected for a late Monday afternoon. Our busiest nights run Thursday through Saturday with a line down the block most weekend nights until midnight. It’s impressive considering we’re just an upscale martini bar and not a nightclub, but I’ve worked my ass off since I bought the place months ago to turn it into a trendy hot spot. It’s cost me an amount of money that makes me want to vomit when I take the time to think about it, but thankfully, the terrifying investment has paid off in returns larger than I could have ever imagined.

  My gaze skips down the bar, expecting to see Ashley’s black hair, pulled back into a ponytail, while she sips her favorite appletini. I don’t see her, and a frown furrows my eyebrows while my gaze makes another trek and then stalls.

  Caitlin.

  Her rich auburn-red hair falls in a silky sheet down her back, and she’s near a corner, turned in such a way that her smile aimed at Tucker does crazy, hot, and swirling things in my chest straight to my dick.

  Fuck. You’re a prick, Jonas.

  I am. And I can’t deny it because while it would have been nice to see Ashley despite knowing I’m going to end up hurting her, seeing Caitlin is fire and spice. My reaction to her is everything I so desperately want to have with Ashley.

  I am so completely screwed.

  It takes me a moment to gather my nerves and steel my heart against Caitlin’s beautiful laugh and voice that I’ll hear soon. I slide through the tables and patrons, heading straight to Tucker, now confused by his text.

  “Hey, boss.” He flips a towel over his shoulder, his logo for Dirty Martini’s still visible on his black polo shirt.

  I barely pay him attention. “Hey there.”

  As he speaks, Caitlin’s back straightens like she’s surprised to hear me coming up behind her. She does this frequently. The first time she came into Dirty’s after we ended things, I’d had the strangest hope she was coming to tell me she made a mistake. That she missed me. That she’d do anything to keep me. Instead, she hadn’t shown a single reaction to seeing me kiss Ashley, and she sat down at the bar like nothing had changed. Talk about a blow to my fucking pride.

  In the months since I’ve been with Ashley, Caitlin has never acted any differently. She’s never led me to believe letting me walk away is something she regrets. And it sucks that I’m still thinking of her while with another woman, but that doesn’t mean if she would have said anything, I’d act on it. I might obviously be stringing Ashley along, but I haven’t cheated on her. And I won’t.

  I’ll end things with her before our weekend trip and go back to finding a woman who can light my skin on fire with a glance and give me the long-term relationship I want.

  Unfortunately, that still isn’t Caitlin, as much as I wish it could be.

  “You’re here earlier than usual. Crap day?” I ask Caitlin, walking by her without my usual
hello. Things in my head are starting to knock together, and I need some of that Tylenol we keep behind the bar.

  She tosses her phone onto the bar and rolls her eyes. Pretty green eyes I’ve seen hazy and glassy and excited and spitting fire.

  Good God. Why today? Why now is this getting to me?

  “You could say that. Trey’s been an asshole.”

  “Bosses usually are.” Tucker shoves my shoulder as he says it.

  I shove him back. “You’re fired.”

  “Sure I’m not.” He lifts his chin toward a guy in a suit at the far end of the bar and heads that way. He’s not fazed by my meaningless threat. Who can blame him? I say it at least twice a shift.

  “So what’s the hard day about?” I rest my elbows on the bar and lean forward, gesturing with my hand for her to give it to me.

  “Oh no,” Caitlin laughs. She shakes her head and appears almost bashful. Which piques my interest. Caitlin is anything but bashful. “I’m not falling into the whole my-bartender’s-my-therapist thing you have going on. It’s not a big deal, really. I’ll figure it out.”

  “Sure?”

  It’s the last time I’ll ask. I won’t push her to talk if she doesn’t want to. Push Caitlin, and she pole-vaults away. I learned that within the first two weeks of sleeping with her. She might enjoy a physical connection, but it’s on her terms. Which makes me a lovesick fool for still wishing she’d give me that chance.

  She sips her martini, extra dry with two olives like I always know she’s going to have at least one of. “I’m sure. But thanks for asking.”

  “There you are! Hey honey!” I jump at the sound of Ashley’s voice. And good Lord, I’ve completely forgotten about the text, the fact I didn’t see her.

  A quick glance at Caitlin shows her smile has tightened, and before I can question it, Ashley is behind the bar, sliding up to me and wrapping her arms around me for a quick hug.