Loving the Ladies’ Man by Kristin Canary

Chapter 6

“Ican’t believe you were stuck overnight with the hottest man you know and didn’t so much as kiss his cheek!” Kayla groans and collapses on our couch dramatically.

“I knew you’d be disappointed in me.” It’s been an hour since Kayla picked me up at the hospital, where the rescue crew insisted Connor and I go to get checked out (my feet should be healed in a few days, thank goodness!). Now that I’m freshly showered and finally in my comfy pajamas, I’ve just finished giving Kayla a play-by-play of my time with Connor. Of course, she’s haranguing me about my lack of romantic prowess, but what’s new?

I sink into the living room’s funky patchwork wingback chair. Alexis, who owns the house we live in, has decorated all the common areas in bright colors. There are magenta curtains on the windows, lime green throw pillows on the royal blue couch, and yellow-accented abstract art on the walls.

I shouldn’t be surprised. Alexis herself is a walking color palette. We never know what color her hair is going to be.

“What kind of romance reader are you, anyway? I mean, you couldn’t have a better meet-cute than him putting his arms around you and giving you his jacket.”

She has a point, but there’s one thing she’s forgetting. “That’s exactly it, Kay. I’m a reader. I spend my days living vicariously through other people—and fictional ones at that.” I tug my long hair back into a ponytail, using the rubber band around my wrist to secure it. “The romance doesn’t usually happen to me.”

“Or maybe it does, and you just choose to ignore it.” Kayla tosses the throw pillow at me. “When I picked you up tonight, I saw your face when Mr. Hottie hugged you goodbye. You seriously looked like you’d just eaten your mom’s Seven Minutes in Heaven Chocolate Cheesecake.”

I smile—at the silly name my mother gave her “famous” dessert, not realizing that she’d basically named it after a horny kissing game played by teenagers—but then sober up when my brain comprehends Kayla’s meaning. “Yes, as we’ve established, he’s very attractive.” And yeah, maybe I sank into his embrace like a rock in water. “But it was just a hug.”

“No way. It’s more than that.” Kayla pins me with what I affectionately call her gotcha gaze. “You like him. He likes you. Why else would he suggest going on a date?”

I fiddle with the tassels of the pillow, which remind me of tiny white pompoms. “Because he needs an editor for his manuscript, and he thinks nothing of going on a date. He goes on dates all the time. They’re nothing special to him.”

“So why has he never asked you on a date before now? If it’s no big deal and he’s literally gone out with almost every other female in that office?”

“He just doesn’t see me like that.” Not that I can blame him.

“Stop it.” Kayla sits up and points a finger at me. “You’re doing that thing again.”

“No, I’m not.” I hesitate. “What thing?”

“That thing where you doubt what a freaking catch you are.”

“Oh. Well.” Now I’m gripping the pillow to my chest, so tight that if it were a balloon, it would pop and scatter fake fluff everywhere. “I’m just being realistic. I’m not his type.”

“So his type isn’t gorgeous, brilliant, and kind?”

“Ha.” I swallow, my throat full of cotton balls. “Maybe he’s just not my type.”

“Well, that’s just ridiculous because tall, dark, and luscious with muscles for days is everyone’s type.”

“Exactly. I can’t compete with all of those other women.” I rest my chin on the top of the pillow. “Not that I want to.”

“You’re just scared, Evie. How many times do I have to remind you?” Her eyes soften. “Not all men are jerks like David. Someone someday is going to see you—really see you—and love every inch of what he sees.”

Aw, geez. I look away, toward the sixty-inch television mounted to the wall. On the mantel, Alexis has placed a few framed photos—one of her and her younger sister Kennedy, who lives in San Francisco, and another of all of us. Kayla and I have only known each other since we both answered the ad Alexis placed looking for housemates seven years ago. There were two other women who lived here for a while, but it wasn’t until Shelby and Lauren moved in three years ago that our group felt complete. And now, they’re my family away from home.

I don’t want to have to leave them. Moving back to Iowa would be …

Don’t think about that. You’re going to get that promotion.

You have to.

Shaking free of the thought, I return my attention to Kayla. “I love your confidence in me.”

“I just wish you’d be as confident in yourself.”

My friend just doesn’t get it, but that’s because two people probably couldn’t be more opposite. After all, confident is her middle name. She’s hot stuff and wicked smart, and she knows it. Not that she’s arrogant. There’s a fine line between arrogance and confidence, but she walks that line with grace.

My phone pings on the side table next to me. I pick it up and blink as I read the screen.

Connor: So what’s the dress code for this bridal shower thing, anyway? Formal? Super casual? Athleisure-wear? *smiley face wink* What are you planning to wear?

I’ve had his number in my phone contacts for a long time—Lisa encouraged us to exchange info when we were working together on a big project years ago—but this is the first time he’s ever texted me.

Ever.

Which is why I’m staring dumbly at the screen when Kayla asks who it’s from. When I don’t answer, she jumps off the couch and yanks the phone from my grip. Her eyebrows go up and her jaw drops. “Girl! He’s into you.”

My stomach drops at her proclamation. “He is not.”

I can’t deny that Kayla does seem to have an uncanny ability to predict which couples will get together, which will last, and which will break up after a few months (she told me after David and I broke up that she knew it was going to happen). But she’s wrong about this.

Scooting to the edge of my chair, I hold out my hand. “Kindly return my phone now.”

“Not until we figure out the perfect answer.” Kayla taps her chin. “Oh, I know!” Her fingers fly across the screen.

I lunge for her, but she’s too quick for me. “Kay!”

“There! All done.” Her singsong tone grates against my ears as she shoves the phone back into my hands.

Evie: Wouldn’t you like to know. *Smiling kissy face*

“Kayla!” Tossing my phone onto the couch as if it’s burned me, I have the very strong urge to murder my best friend. “Now he thinks I’m flirting with him.”

“And why shouldn’t you? He’s gorgeous. Single. An author—which would not turn me on in the slightest, but you? Hello!” She’s ticking off Connor’s attributes one by one, and I can’t help but be in silent agreement with each of her points. “And, from what you’ve told me, he’s sweet too. He took care of you when you were scared, fed you when you were hangry, and bandaged your wounds. If I were you, I’d be flirting it up allllll day.”

I bury my face in my hands. “I have no idea how to flirt!”

“All you have to do is say the word and I will teach you.”

My head pops back up. She’s not joking. “Kay, I love you, but even you can’t teach this old dog that new trick. I’d be like Albert Brennaman in Hitch.” (And in case you’re not up on your romcom knowledge from the early 2000s, that’s the super awkward guy who hires a dating coach because he wants to win the affections of a woman way out of his league—the guy who drops mustard on his pants, dances like a freak show, and has to pull out his inhaler before kissing her. And yes, he ends up getting the girl, but that’s beside the point.)

But my bestie rubs her hands together, a semi-wicked grin on her face. “Oh, my young, padawan. You have no idea who you are dealing with.”

“Padawan?”

“It’s a Star Wars reference.” Oh, right. She may be sophisticated and chic, but Kayla is also a closet nerd. (No one knows this but me, and she will murder me if she finds out I ever told.) “It’s like an apprentice. A student. You will be my student, and I will teach you how to flirt.”

I laugh—loudly. Because the idea, it’s just … well, silly. Ludicrous. Farcical. (What? Connor doesn’t call me Webster for nothing.) “Even if you could somehow achieve this miraculous feat, I can’t go flirting with Connor.”

“And just why not?”

“I’ve already told you. He’s my co-worker, and we’re competing for the same job. Flirting with him could just get … complicated.”

“Or it could be the perfect opportunity for you to get back on the horse without any sort of serious commitment.”

“What do you mean?”

My friend sighs. “You’re never going to be a serial dater, Evie. And I love that about you. But David really rocked your confidence. So maybe Connor—someone who doesn’t seem to take dating all that seriously—is the perfect guy to practice your skills on. There’s no expectation for a relationship. Just fun.”

Oh. Hmmm. Maybe her idea has merit. But before I can really consider it, I whisk it from my mind. “I have to stay focused on getting the promotion.”

“Flirting is all about having confidence in what you have to offer. Have you ever thought that maybe showing more confidence in yourself could help you get the promotion?” Kayla cocks her head. “Your boss knows you’re a hard worker, but you think Connor will get the job because of how well he can schmooze. Where do you think that schmooze-y talent comes from? His self-confidence.”

“I guess I never thought of it like that.”

“So. Will you let me give you some confidence lessons?”

My stomach flips at the absurd notion. “What all would that entail?”

“Other than some more generalized confidence coaching, I’ll give you lessons in the art of flirting and how to deal with different situations on a date.” She looks me up and down, lips pursed. “And, if you’re okay with it, I’ll also give you a bit of a makeover.”

It hits me in the gut, the idea that even my bestie wants to change me. “I don’t know.”

“And before you go thinking that it’s because you’re not good enough as you are, the purpose of the makeover wouldn’t be to change or ‘improve’ you, because there’s nothing that needs improvement.”

“So you’re not going to put me in leather pants like Sandy at the end of Grease?”

She winks at me. “I think Connor would probably like that, but no.”

Ha. “That’s good, because I’m pretty sure those would only look good on you.”

“I do have the butt for them, but you’re delusional if you think I’d ever wear them.” Then she gets all serious on me again, grabbing my hand. “Evie, let me do this for you. Let me help you find yourself again—love yourself again. Because I love you and so does everyone who really knows you.” She grins. “And, if my instincts are right, Connor is starting to as well. He might even already be there.”

“Now who’s delusional?” I squeeze her hand and let go when my phone pings again from the couch. Rushing over, I pick it up and read the message.

Connor: I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.

Oh. My. Holy. Freaking. Cow. I turn the phone around to show Kayla, wide-eyed. “What have you done? There’s no way I can go on a date with him now. He probably thinks I want to hook up or something.”

She reads the message and laughs the exotic laugh of a confident Superwoman. “Maybe you should.”

I pinch her in the side and she twists away from me, cackling some more. Another message rolls in. She grabs the phone, squints at it, and rolls her eyes. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, girl.”

“What do you mean?” Snatching the phone back, I look at the string of messages and breathe a sigh of relief.

Connor: I meant my outfit. Get your mind out of the gutter, Webster. *laugh-crying smiley face*

Connor: For real though, let me know the dress code when you get a sec. I need time to perfect my look. It’s not like I just roll out of bed looking this gorgeous.

Oh, that man. I smirk, slumping back onto the couch. “He’s so good at this. Flirting is like breathing to him.”

Kayla tosses her hair over her shoulder and pulls me to my feet once more. “Once I’m finished with you, you’ll be teaching Connor Bryant a thing or two.” Something flashes in her eyes. She likes the challenge, I can tell. “Are you in?”

Biting my lip, I consider everything she’s said. I’ll do anything to get that promotion—even let my friend dress me up. And, maybe the process will help me become a bit less awkward when it comes to the male species.

So before I can run back to my room, I give a firm nod. “All right. Let’s do this.”