Page 34 of Dating Mr. Right A Collection
Kirby: I wanted you to know I’ve recovered.
Kirby: Well, mostly recovered.
Kirby: Actually, I’m still suffering.
Macy: What happened? Are you okay?
Kirby: From the way you and my sister subjected me to hearts and teddy bears at rehearsal today.
Macy: What sort of recovery has been required? Was it lots of chest-thumping, Tarzan-ing, and other exceedingly masculine pursuits?
Kirby: Mostly it was pizza and beer. That’s often the answer. To all of life’s questions. And to pretty much everything.
Macy: *rolling eyes hard* Also, I refuse to believe you hated it that much.
Kirby: I’m trying to understand how you like it so much. Why? Tell me why.
Macy: Are you seriously asking me?
Kirby: Yeah. I’m trying to understand the obsession that women seem to have with it.
Macy: Are you grouping me in with all women?
Kirby: Not in a bad way, but women seem to dig it.
Macy: I don’t think it’s only women who dig this holiday. There are a lot of guys who do too.
Kirby: Name one.
Macy: From what Ally tells me, Miller likes it.
Kirby: Miller likes everything. He’s the world’s happiest person.
Macy: And what’s so wrong with liking it? Or being happy?
Kirby: It’s a social construct.
Macy: Lots of things are social constructs. And we still like them. The obsession with hockey could be considered a social construct.
Kirby: Whoa. That’s hitting below the belt.
Macy: Did it hurt?
Kirby: Nah. It’s just other things below the belt are more fun.
Macy: From Valentine’s Day to social constructs to naughty jokes . . .
Kirby: I’m down with that direction.
Macy: I bet you are.
Kirby: Bet it all.
Macy: Anyway, I’ll get to the bottom of your disdain. :)
Kirby: How? Will you torture me with teddy bears and candy hearts?
Macy: I have my ways.
Kirby: I’d like to know what these ways are.
Macy: Would you, now?
Kirby: Yes, I very much would like to know your ways . . . especially if they go in certain directions . . .
Macy: I know what direction you mean . . .
4
Kirby
Tugging my jacket tighter, I turn the corner as the wind whips along the city street.
New York City is a cold mistress in winter, and this February she’s punishing all her residents. I’m done with work at the agency for the day—a task complicated by the minefield of secret cupid shenanigans at the office, but I’ve masterfully avoided all the valentine exchanges. It was a short day for me, and we’re recording the videos this evening. Then I’ll be done with this stupid holiday.
And on the day itself? Since Valentine’s Day is a Saturday, I’ll while away the day with sports and successfully avoid the love fiesta.
As I pass a jewelry store, I snap my gaze away from its obnoxious window signs about sweethearts and rings.
Besides, the whole complicated situation with Macy is another slap in the face. Even if I pursued something with her like I want to, it would surely go belly up. Bianca’s curse would prove true.
The woman I want is simply off-limits. She’s my friend, and friendships like this don’t come around often. I don’t want to chance messing it up.
Knowing my luck, I’d lose her as a friend.
I grab the door for Doctor Insomnia’s Coffee and Tea Emporium and head into my regular haunt. Escape at last—I can completely avoid the holiday in this store. The guy who owns the shop doesn’t have a single valentine decoration in the window.
God bless him.
I stride up to the counter and give a fist bump to Tommy, the owner. We catch up on music, and he gives me the names of some cool bands he’s been listening to. As I order a latte, he asks how things have been going at the ad agency.
“Working on a cool new ad campaign for a video game maker, and the client loved it. So I can’t complain about work.” That’s a place where I have good luck. “All’s well with you?”
“Life is always good,” he says as he makes a latte for a woman wearing a raspberry knit hat.
I glance around. “This shop is just what I need. I’m so glad you didn’t give into the madness of the holiday.”
The woman clears her throat, cutting in. “Could I trouble you to do one of those little latte hearts?”
“Absolutely,” Tommy says with a smile as he works his latte art magic.
I roll my eyes.
Tommy hands her the drink, and she grabs a seat. “You need to get over your hatred for Valentine’s Day,” he says, his tone a little stern.
“Why’s that?”
“Because someday you’re going to be with a nice woman, and she’s going to expect you to bring her flowers, roses, chocolate, everything.”
“Hopefully I’ll meet a nice woman who doesn’t expect those things.”
“I don’t think you need to meet a nice woman.” His growly, rough voice rumbles through his shop.
I furrow my brow. “Wait. You just said I needed to meet someone. I’m confused. Do I or don’t I?”
