Geoff: Ugh, that sucks. Stuck at the shop but could meet you in the Village in an hour?
Cat: Okay, will head over soon.
I set my phone down with a weary smile, taking my drink from Myles. It’s a shame Geoff is gay, because he’s such a good guy. It would be so much easier if I could just shack up with him and call it a day.
Myles wanders down to serve a couple of guys and I lean on the bar, sipping my vodka, suddenly feeling tired. Not just normal, end-of-the-workday tired, but bone-deep, sick-of-dating tired. I’ve been on this treadmill ever since my divorce and it’s exhausting.
Okay, I know. I could just stop dating and focus on my work. I do love my shop and creating my own designs. But all around me I’ve watched friends meet great guys and settle down. I’m thirty-five now, and as much as it pains me to admit it, I want that too. I want a great guy who knows how to treat me well, and that takes a little work to find. But I’m sure he’s out there. Somewhere.
My phone buzzes on the bar in front of me and I reach for it, thinking it will be another text from Geoff. I unlock it and there, filling the screen, is a shot of someone’s dick.
Oh, not just someone’s—Simon’s.
A shadow falls across me and I glance up to see Myles. “You recovering okay?”
Mouth hanging open, I turn my screen to show him and he recoils with visible horror.
“Jesus. I don’t want to see that.”
“Neither did I,” I mutter, deleting the image. If only I could delete it from my brain.
I look at Myles again and he’s rubbing his chin, brows pulled together. “Does that happen a lot?”
I shrug. “It’s a good week if I don’t get one.”
Josie, another bartender here, wanders out from the back room. She gives me a little wave then turns to serve a group who’ve piled into a booth.
“Why do you do it?”
I look back to see Myles still studying me, and I give him a funny look. “Dating? Because I want to meet someone.”
“Come for a drink with me then.” That cocky grin is back on his face. “I have a break soon.” He leans onto his elbows on the bar so we’re at eye level, his gaze locked on mine. He might be cute, but he’s so damn sure of himself that I can’t help but want to take him down a peg.
“That’s very… sweet. But I don’t date bartenders.” My ex-husband was a bartender when we met and I’mnotdoing that again.
At that moment a guy strides into the bar; six-foot-six, disheveled dirty-blond hair, mischievous brown eyes. To most girls who come here he’s the hot bartender who will likely, at some point, bed them. To me, he’s just Cory: the older brother who always looks out for me. His gaze swivels in my direction and he grins as he lopes across the bar.
I turn back to Myles, sucking down the rest of my drink and hopping up off the stool. “And I especially don’t date guys who work for my brother,” I add, giving Cory a squeeze as he sidles up to me.
Cory’s eyes narrow as he catches the end of my sentence, his gaze darting between me and Myles. “New guy giving you a hard time?”
I glance at Myles and chuckle when his eyes widen and crimson streaks across his cheeks.
“Nah, he’s alright,” I say, offering him a smile. “He helped me out with a bad date earlier.”
Myles lifts his chin, his self-assured grin gone, but a more sincere smile passes over his lips.
“Thanks for the drinks, Cors.” I grab my purse, giving Cory a quick kiss before he ducks behind the bar. Myles waves as I head out, and I’m surprised to find myself smiling all the way across town.
2
By the time I get to the West Village I’ve almost forgotten my brief meet-up with Simon the would-be porn director. That’s what happens when you have enough bad dates; you learn to let them roll off you so you can move onto the next. If I didn’t do that, I’d never get anywhere.
I head into the bar where I’m meeting Geoff. We’ve known each other for over a decade now, and he’s one of my best friends. He’s the kindest, most selfless person I know, and he has a fantastic sense of humor. He loves hearing about my dating disasters, so he’s going to enjoy this latest installment. I don’t know what he’s going to do for entertainment when I finally meet someone good and stop going on these random meet-ups.
Not that we’re in danger of that happening anytime soon.
I stop at the bar and grab a Diet Coke, spotting Geoff at a table in the corner. His slightly-pudgy frame is dressed in a polo shirt and tan chinos, square-rimmed glasses on his nose.
