Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83358 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83358 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
He opens one eye.
“Which obviously means sarcasm and a healthy dose of self-preservation.”
After shrugging out of my coat, I set up the tripod, balance the ring stand, and adjust the angle until the lighting is flattering. I run my fingers through my hair, swipe on a little lip balm, and try not to look like I’ve been having an in-depth conversation with a rabbit.
I take a breath. Then another.
“Okay,” I murmur. “Let’s do this.”
I tap record.
The screen splits with Lucky’s TikTok still rolling on the left—his cocky grin, that annoyingly symmetrical face, the glint in his eye when he says, “Challenge accepted.”
I stare into the camera, already regretting everything.
“Okay, besties. Remember how I said I wanted one decent, average guy? Like, someone who drinks regular coffee and forgets where he put his car keys and maybe has mild back pain by thirty?”
I point toward Lucky’s profile. “This is @LuckyBranson69. He’s apparently a professional hockey player. I googled him. He has the requisite six-pack of an athlete, a verified checkmark, and the face of a man who has definitely been told he’s someone’s Roman Empire. He’s apparently accepted my dating challenge.”
Cut to me again, eyes wide.
“Average? He is not. I guarantee he owns a suit tailored to his jawline.” I sigh, slumping into my couch. “As for accepting my challenge… I mean… I appreciate the offer, I really do. But this is way above my pay grade. I was thinking I would date someone with divorced CPA energy. Not Excuse me, ma’am, your jaw is on the floor energy.”
I smile softly, biting my lip.
“So, respectfully—and with deep appreciation for the cheekbones—I’m gonna have to pass. I don’t think I’d mesh with anyone that… shiny.” I toss Buttermilk a piece of arugula. “He agrees.”
I stop the recording and add a few hashtags. #OneDecentGuy #AveragePlease #SendCPA
I don’t post it though. I’ll do it tomorrow because I have a scheduled post on the three funniest things my kindergarteners said this week, which I do religiously on Fridays, and I couldn’t possibly deny my followers that level of cuteness.
CHAPTER 5
Lucky
The clang of weights, the low thump of music, and the sound of Penn groaning as he finishes another set would normally be enough to occupy my brain.
But not this morning.
No, ever since I woke up at six a.m., I’ve been refreshing TikTok every two minutes. I’m obsessively looking to see if WinnieTheNotWild has responded to my stitch. We’re well past the twenty-four-hour mark and there’s been nothing from her.
I hit refresh again.
Nothing.
“She’s gotta post something,” I mutter, swiping down again while perched on the edge of a bench. I’m wearing a Titans’ hoodie, but I may as well be wearing a Winnie the Pooh onesie for how much attention I’m paying to my workout right now.
“Yo.” My head pops up and Atlas tosses me a bottle of water. “If you say ‘she’ one more time without context, I’m going to bench-press you.”
I ignore him and refresh again, grudgingly admitting to only myself that this behavior might be a little weird. But watching that dating challenge video has me somewhat obsessed. It’s like a puck to the chest—funny, honest but holding real truth. And then I went down the Winnie rabbit hole (no pun intended) where I watched video after video of her content. I grew transfixed as I watched her.
Videos of her in a messy bun, talking to her rabbit like he’s her therapist. One where she explains how to make “emotionally supportive tea.” I’m not even into tea. But I’ve watched that one three times.
Another where she breaks into giggles mid-rant about men who treat liking Taylor Swift as a personality.
Then there’s the one where she tries to DIY a bookshelf and ends up covered in wood glue. She didn’t edit it. Just laughed at herself, told Buttermilk he could have her house if she died of shame, and signed off with a wink.
How do you not become a little obsessed with someone who can laugh at themselves like that?
“Dude,” Atlas complains. “Are you working out or not? We’re supposed to grab lunch when you’re done and Penn and I are about ready to go.”
“Just a minute,” I say with a wave of my hand. Lunch can wait.
I refresh again and my blood zings through my body as a notification with her handle shows up.
I pump my fist. “Yes! There it is.”
“What?” Atlas exclaims, moving up behind me to look over my shoulder. Penn joins him, jostling to see better, but I shush them both before they can make any more noise.
I watch intently as the screen fills first with my face on a split screen—grinning, cocky, confident.
And there she is. Her hair is in a ponytail and she’s wearing makeup, although she’s not overly glammed up. “Okay, besties. Remember how I said I wanted one decent, average guy? Like, someone who drinks regular coffee and forgets where he put his car keys and maybe has mild back pain by thirty?”