Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
“That’s so fucked up,” he says, chuckling.
“At least we both know it when I do it, as opposed to most of the men who use another dinghy and don’t tell me about it.” I blow out a breath. “Look, most women give men way too many passes. The guy ghosts them before their date? They accept his bullshit answer. He ‘forgets’ his wallet at home? They pay for dinner. They catch him on a dating site and believe him when he says that he hasn’t logged on in months.” I snort, embarrassed that I’ve been guilty of the same crimes. “Life is too short to mess around with unworthy men.”
“Who the hell are you dating?” he asks, laughing. “Do you intentionally search for assholes or what?”
“I have a type, okay?”
He snorts. “What? The feral, unemployed type?”
“Hey, I’m not judging you based on your women of choice,” I say, laughing, too, even though I have no idea what kind of women he sees.
“I would be more than happy to be judged based on how I treat women, thank you very fucking much.”
My lips twist to try to hide my grin.
“Let me ask you a question,” he says, resting his forearms on the table. “When you start dating a guy, do you expect it to last? Do you think you’re choosing qualified applicants for the job?”
My eyes stay on his for a beat longer than necessary as one corner of my mouth lifts. “What are you getting at?”
“How long was your longest relationship?”
What? I peer across the table at him, wondering where he’s going with this. The look he gives me is innocent enough, but it feathers a flame in my stomach, nonetheless. Maybe it’s the curiosity in his eyes. Perhaps it’s the sexy grin that accompanies it. Either way, my instincts tell me to tread carefully. Despite the warning, I’m intrigued.
“Seven months,” I say. “His name was Calvin. He was an Aries.”
“What caused you to bail on him?”
“He was a prick, for one. For two, he was an Aries. And three, he didn’t check off enough boxes to warrant a life jacket, so to speak.”
Drake grins mischievously. “When you met him, you thought he was capable of passing the interview?”
“When I met him, I was three martinis in, and he was a six-foot-two security guard with curly blond hair and a very wicked tongue.”
“I’ll take that as a no,” he deadpans.
“You can take it however you want.” I certainly did.
Drake sits back slowly with his gaze trained on me. Like he’s getting comfortable. His blues twinkle, and I don’t know what to make of it. He’s plotting something, and whatever that is amuses him.
My heart races at the unknown. I finger the edge of my shirt under the table, fighting the urge to cut to an ad. I’ve lost control of this conversation, and it’s my damn podcast. Worst of all? I don’t know how to take it back—and that’s a position I’ve never found myself in before.
“I think the advice that you give comes from a history of dating the wrong kind of guy, and if you dated better men, you might have a different perspective.” He pauses, fighting a grin. “Maybe you need that kind of experience to round out your worldview. It might save some hearts.”
On the surface, it sounds casual—but the challenge is unmistakable.
“What are you getting at?” I ask. I may not fully understand the challenge, but I’m not backing down from it. “I like the guys that I like. I can’t help it.”
“You like being treated like shit?”
“I think you’re overgeneralizing.”
“Try me.” He smirks. “Let me prove you wrong.”
“Excuse me?” I ask, my brows pulling together.
He takes a breath. “Date me for six weeks.”
What the fuck? I lean away from him, processing his words. There’s no way that I heard him right.
“Date me for six weeks,” he repeats. “We can document it here for your fans. It’ll help your ratings if nothing else.” He shrugs like he knows he’s got this in the bag. “You can think of it like an experiment to make you a better podcaster.”
If a pin dropped in the room, it would sound like a bomb.
It takes a full five seconds for me to partially process what he’s saying. He wants to date me? I have so many questions and no idea where to start. So I jump right into the middle of it.
“You want to fake date me to get our ratings up?” I ask.
“No.” He grins. “I want to date you for real to prove that your one-size-fits-all approach to relationships doesn’t work.”
I’m vaguely aware of Francine reacting in the sound booth, and my phone lighting up like a Christmas tree. But I’m anchored in place, heart racing, and staring into the eyes of … my new boyfriend?
I’ve done much, much crazier things in the past with much, much lesser men than Drake.