Page 16 of Snatched
“And? You Googled your dentist once too.”
“That was different.”
“He had nice forearms. Same thing.”
“Oh my God.”
Harper smiles softly. “Look. He’s cute. You’re single. You’re allowed to wonder.”
“I can’t do anything about it.”
“I didn’t say do anything. I said wonder.”
I groan, dramatically flinging myself backward onto the couch. “I’m done for the night. No more decisions. My brain is soup.”
“Wine and reality TV?”
“Wine and reality TV.”
“If you see a guy on the show with abs like your trainer, don’t cry.”
“Goodnight, Harper.”
I pour myself a generous glass of Merlot, grab the remote, and put on the trashiest dating reality show Netflix has to offer—Love Mansion, Season 14, where twenty adults in bikinis pretend to be surprised they’re all horny.
Halfway through the first episode, I’m giggling at the contestants’ confessional interviews.
“Oh my God,” I mumble into my blanket. “I need a life.”
Onscreen, a muscular guy named Chase says he’s ready for “a woman who can handle a real man.”
I make a face. “Absolutely not.”
My mind—traitorous—supplies an image of Colt saying something like that.
Except he wouldn’t say it likethat.
He’d say it in that quiet, confident tone he uses when he corrects my form.
My stomach does an embarrassing little flip.
“Stop it,” I mutter at myself. “Stop thinking about him. You have a date on Thursday.”
A date.
After my session.
After seeing Colt again.
After hearing that low voice say my name again.
After watching him adjust my posture again.
I take a large sip of wine.
“This is fine,” I whisper into my glass. “This is all fine.”
But as I settle deeper into my couch, as reality TV blares and wine warms my veins…
