Love Reality

Mia Donovan was a love disaster.

Maybe disaster was too strong a word for it. Perhaps she was just a bad date magnet. She could only pray that tonight’s date was better. But, if her recent dates were any indication, she was in for another doozy.

She twirled on the bar stool at Prohibition and scanned the crowd again. The speakeasy was one of the more popular bars in Soho, with everyone from financial types to hipsters, to fashion models crowding it, but as usual, when the happy hour crowd thinned out, it had a more intimate feel.

As she rifled through her bag looking for her phone, her eyes scanned the letterhead on the envelope from Watkins and Miller Law offices, and her stomach pitched. She’d been getting letters like this for more than six months. Her birth mother was looking for her, the same woman who had abandoned her to foster care. “Look all you want,” she whispered. “You might be looking for me, but I am not looking for you.”

When her fingers wrapped around her phone, she yanked it out and checked the time again. Seven forty-five. Shit. Her blind date was late. She’d kept an eye on her phone, and so far, no calls, no text. She’d been stood up. She clamped her jaw shut to rein in the fury. In today’s day and age, there was really no reason for a no-call no-show.

This was the last time she did a favor for Larissa. Her best friend had been insisting for weeks that she had the perfect guy for Mia. Perfect her ass. Mia stowed her tablet and hopped off her stool. Leaning forward, she signaled the suspender-wearing bartender.

He came over with a big smile, no doubt ready to create some hideous-sounding concoction with egg whites and cayenne pepper that would turn out to taste like heaven. “What can I get you?”

“Actually, I’m headed out. Can you close my tab?”

He frowned. “What? If I had you waiting for me, I wouldn’t stand you up.” He inclined his head. “Listen, I’m new here, but some of the regulars sit toward the back, one of them could be your guy. Maybe he’s been waiting too.”

Mia shrugged. The last thing she wanted to do was go on a desperate hunt for someone. “We’ll see.”

“Or you can wait for me, and when my shift is over, we can go on a midnight date. See the city with new eyes.” He winked as he handed her card back.

Mia raised a brow. “You know, you would have had a better shot if you used an original line.”

Suspender boy turned a lobster shade of pink. “You read Matthew Rhodes?”

Mia ground her teeth together. Matthew Rhodes wrote the “Single Guy” column for the New City Post, and the damn thing was ubiquitous. Guys loved to quote from it like he was their dating God. And it certainly hadn't helped that he'd been on morning radio, giving guys his best pick up and ”seal the deal” lines.

It didn't matter that they'd never met or spoken. Mia considered him her nemesis. He gave guys bad dating advice that she and fellow unsuspecting women were then subjected to. He was one of the inspirations for why she’d started her own blog, “Lonely Girl.” Matthew had often taken pot shots at her blog, calling it naïve about modern dating. He was the one who was an arrogant bullshit artist who’d taken the connection and love out of dating, replacing them with advice on the easiest ways to score.

If that idiot could do it and be successful, then so could she. Problem was, he wasn't a complete idiot. Some of the advice he gave was sound. It was just often wrapped in nonsensical bullshit. There was something about his tongue-in-cheek snark and directness that appealed to her a little. He was brash and bold and sometimes dirty. A part of her wished she could be like that in her life.

He was also insightful and unflinchingly honest as he saw it. He started every bit of advice with the line: “Life's too short to fumble around in the dark unhappy.” If words could have sex appeal, then he wrote them.

But if he could get on radio, then she could get her own show as well. She'd put together a proposal for the TVN Network's open pitch session based on her “Lonely Girl” blog. She just needed the final finishing touches. There were three rounds of submissions, and the winner got to produce their show. Her stomach fluttered every time she thought about that grand prize.

Ever since she’d been a kid, television had been her escape from real life, a place to run and hide and laugh or cry. Be someone else for a minute. She wanted this show more than she'd ever wanted anything. Maybe it would give someone like her an escape when they needed it.

She didn’t wait for suspender boy to start another approach. “I’m just going to have another look in the back.”

There were a few people seated in the booths. She immediately eliminated the pairs and groups and focused on the two men sitting alone. One guy was blond, so she discarded him as a potential. She’d been told Will had dark hair.

But the guy sitting alone didn’t look like he needed any help getting dates. So this is what people meant when they said pure sex appeal. He had a laptop and a drink in front of him, but she could see that he dressed well. Preppy chic, with dark jeans, a button-down shirt, and a vest. His dark hair fell onto his brow, lightly curling. Stubble dusted his strong, square jaw. His high cheekbones and full lips completed the picture. She just wished she could see his eyes. If this was her date, she owed Larissa a case of her favorite liquor.

She swallowed hard and marched up to the table, nervously tugging at the hem of her fitted white blouse. When she’d gotten ready for her date, she’d thrown on standard drinks date attire. Provocative, but not revealing. She’d worn a red pinstriped skirt that flared out a little and stopped just above the knee, showcasing her legs.

When she stopped at his booth, his gaze slid up her body as if he were cataloging every inch of her. Tilting her chin up, she licked her lips nervously. "Uh, I'm Mia. Please tell me you're my date because I've been waiting at the bar for like twenty minutes, and the bartender is starting to think I'm stalking him."

His laugh was low, like a rumble actually. “Lucky guy.” His smile was show-stopping, and she got a clear look at his deep-set jade green eyes. “Suddenly my night is looking up. I can be your date."

Disappointment bloomed. She scrunched her nose and sighed. "I'm guessing you're not Will?" Of course the hottest guy in the place by miles would not be her blind date.

"Well, I could pretend. Tell me, do you like this Will character?"

Her lips tipped up at the corners. "At the moment, not so much. I think he stood me up."

He leaned forward, and Mia caught a whiff of his cologne. Woodsy, but subtle. He smelled divine, and it made her want to nuzzle close.

"In that case, no Will here, but will I do? One man's folly is another man's fortune."

His voice, like warm chocolate drizzled over something sinful, warmed Mia's skin from the inside and added a chaser of a shiver down her spine.

The way he looked at her, like he had every intention of spending hours getting to know her body, made her blush. She had definitely been stood up. Damn it.

The pitying look on Mr. Sexy's face made her squirm. Being the object of scrutiny and pity wasn’t her thing. If she'd been paying attention, she would have known that he clearly wasn't Will. First, guys this good-looking didn't need blind dates. Second, too charming. Third, she'd spoken to Will on the phone once to set up the date, and he'd been a little awkward. There was nothing awkward about Romeo here.

Her body wanted to take him up on his offer. But her brain knew better. This kind of guy didn't date girls like her. They liked their party-girl types. Fun and carefree. Carefree, Mia was not.

She let her gaze slide past his face, over his broad shoulders, and had to work to bite back the drool. "Sorry to bother you."

His gaze didn't waver once. "You’re not. In fact, you made my whole night."

Charm for days. But for some reason, instead of retreating behind her default shell of protection, she grinned. Her body, recognizing a very hot potential bed partner, went on autopilot. She cocked her head. "Do those lines usually work for you?"

A grin flashed. "Not always, but it’s worth a shot. How about I say my night is definitely looking up. Why don't you at least have a seat? I don't bite." Despite his obvious confidence, there was something sweet about him.

A laugh bubbled out of her mouth before she could think to filter it. "Somehow, I don't believe you." Okay, enough fun playing with the Faberge Egg in the store you can't afford. Time to go. "I think I'm going to pass."

"If I can guess your favorite book, will you stay?"

This ought to be good. "Okay, if you can guess, I'll stay for a little bit." She did her best not to fidget as he assessed her, but it was difficult under the intensity of his gaze.

"Let me guess, Pride and Prejudice." He pressed a hand to his chest. "I'm Ryan by the way."

She relaxed. This was fun. He was fun. Keep it to fun, and you won’t get hurt. "Ooh, tough break. While I have been known to enjoy some Mr. Darcy, Firth, not MacFayden. And while I love Elizabeth and think she was the original feminist icon, my favorite book is Kaffir Boy by Mark Matherbane."

He frowned. "I was so sure I had that right. I guess I had you pegged wrong. I don't think I know that book."

"You probably wouldn't. He's not a major bestseller or anything. He's a South African author born during Apartheid." The author’s struggle to fit into a world where he didn't belong spoke volumes to her. She'd read the tattered copy she'd found at the second hand shop more than a dozen times.

"And here I thought I could impress you with a first edition Pride and Prejudice I acquired years ago."

Mia blinked. "You're kidding me."

He cocked his head, winking at her as he grinned. "I thought it wasn't your favorite?"

"Oh, come on. It might not be my favorite, but I love books, and any lover of books would give anything to lay their eyes on a first edition of that one." She laughed.

His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, and the amiable stranger morphed into Mr. Sexy as Hell again. He leaned back in his booth. "Why don't you tell me exactly what you'd give?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, Ryan?" Was this her? Bantering with a total stranger. She wasn't shy exactly, just someone who'd learned early to play things close to the vest. No show of feelings meant someone couldn't use them against her or hurt her.

"I didn't guess your favorite book; do I guess that you'll be walking out of my life?"

She didn't want to go home. After all, only her DVR waited for her. "I'll give you one more chance for redemption. Because, well, nobody's perfect."

His grin flashed again. "Please, please, please, tell me you're making a Some Like it Hot reference. If you are, I could marry you."

He knew Some Like it Hot? Who was this guy? "You like movies, huh? Let's see how you are with music. Pop quiz, hotshot, why don't you tell me your favorite song right now and why?"

"Oh, the lady drives a hard bargain. First, the she drops a Speed reference, then she asks something so personal. Fair enough. Right now it's Gill Scott’s “Me and the Devil”. Something about it is just a little dirty and soulful, and I can't get it out of my head. Which is interesting because I seem to hate everything else he sings. But then, I prefer blues to jazz. And I know they're essentially cousins, but I just can't hang with jazz."

She blinked in surprise. "Okay. I guess I expected something else."

"Imagine Dragons or One Republic? Solid bands, but I like the unexpected."

The fluttering low in her belly told her she was in trouble. But it was her brain perking up that told her she was a goner. She slid into the booth next to him. "You're right. I made an assumption. And we all know when you make an assumption, you make an ass out of you—"

He didn't even let her finish, as they excitedly chanted in unison "—and umption."

He laughed. "What? You thought you were going to get me with a Samuel L. quote? Long Kiss Goodnight is a classic movie. Okay, now that I pass muster on movies and music. Time to get personal. Text or talk."

She didn't even need to think about it. “For flirting, text. For emotional connection, talk. I know how guys are with the phone, but I prefer it. Besides, phone sex is so much hotter than sexting. A picture might speak a thousand words, but it’s all about the tease. It’s hotter.”

“Will you marry me?“

Mia laughed. “You’ll have to work a lot harder than that. It’s like sending an email to say thank you. Sure, it’s convenient, but a letter is so much more personal. When I’m pitching a show, I always send a personal letter.”

“How can you talk about phone sex and be so old fashioned?”

It was too easy to talk to him, to flirt. Mia felt like someone else. “I’m a woman. It’s all part of the mystery.”

And they went back and forth like that for an hour. There, in the dim light of the secluded bar, she chatted with a stranger about what she liked to read and her favorite food and favorite indulgences as if she'd known him forever. Maybe this was one of those epic nights that movies were based on. He was fun and relaxed. He didn't seem to take himself too seriously. She could use some of that in her life.

But it wasn't until he asked her for her favorite drink that things got interesting. "It's a toss-up between a Caiprihna and a mojito. All depends on who's making it."

His eyes lit up. "Come with me." He stood.

"What? Where are we going?"

He laughed. "It's called going on an adventure. Surely you've been on one before?"

"Yes. Just not with total strangers."

"Relax. We'll catch a cab. And, I'm taking you somewhere very public. It just happens to be one of my favorite places in the city. Are you game?"

That was the real question. She usually played it safe. But the tiny voice in her head kept telling her to live a little. Have some fun. For one night, she could let go, right? "Okay, but I warn you, if you plan on trying to chop me up into little pieces, I'm going to make it very difficult for you."

He chuckled. "Noted. Now are you up for an adventure, or aren't you?"

Mia watched him warily when he held out a fist to her.

“Will you hold this for a second?”

She automatically reached her hand out, and he opened his hand to take hers. “Now we’re dating and I’m not a stranger.”

Despite herself, Mia laughed but clasped his hand tightly. "Lead the way."

As Mia's decisions went, she'd never made one like this before. Throwing caution to the wind was not in her playbook. Like ever. But with Ryan touching her, she was in the say yes kind of mood. Following a total stranger to a Cuban bar in Spanish Harlem: Yes. A couple of mojitos, complete with sugar cane stalk: Hell yes. Press body up against the sexiest man she'd ever met in her life: For the love of God, YES!

For an hour they danced, her body pressed up against his. His leg sliding between hers as their bodies fused together. Ryan had the skills. Clearly Salsa was not new to him, but it was more than the moves that lulled her into a sex-crazed-ready-to-crawl-out-of-her-skin stupor.

It was the way his broad hands would splay over her back as he pulled her to him. Or even better, the way they slid down over her hips and low on her back. Hinting at where he'd like to put them, but never overstepping the line.

They skimmed over her body, leading her into a deliberate rotation of her hips then a spin. It was the way he'd slowly smooth his hands over her belly and rest them on her pelvic bones, making her insane. By the time they stumbled out of the bar, she was pulsing with need. Over the course of the night, they’d only briefly touched on what they did for work. She’d mentioned she was in production and he’d mentioned he was a writer.

He was like a drug. The worst kind. And Mia was definitely hooked.

After the bar, they jumped into another cab to head farther downtown to the Village. He dragged her into an unassuming pizza place, stating unequivocally that it was the best pizza in New York. He ordered them something called the Grandma Pizza, and she couldn't deny he was right. So right that she ate half the thing on her own.

He stared at her as they walked out.

"What?"

"You want to pretend that didn't just happen?"

Mia frowned. "That what didn't just happen?"

He tugged her to him, and she gasped at the sudden contact. "That I didn't just get out-eaten by a girl."

Mia giggled. "Well, this girl likes to eat, and when you have eleven brothers and sisters, you learn to keep your head down and chow down if you don't want to starve."

He leaned back a little to peer at her. "E-eleven?"

"Yeah," she said with a laugh. "Relax, most of them are adopted."

"Still though, that's a lot of kids." He licked his bottom lip and sucked it into his mouth. "So tell me, how many of those eleven are brothers?"

"Six, why?"

The right side of his mouth ticked up into a half smile. "Just wondering about the ass kickings coming my way."

He was close enough that his breath comingled with hers. As lust melted her bones and fried her synapses, her heart thundered. Maybe it was the alcohol, or the way he touched her, or the intoxicating way he smelled, but her body swayed into his.

He leaned forward, dropping his forehead to hers, and whispered, "I want to see you again."

Lust drunk, she nodded slowly as he added, "And you know I can't let the night end without kissing you."

His lips were soft at first, gliding over hers, and Mia drew in a shuddering breath.

Wow. As soon as she granted him entry, the kiss changed from teasing and testing to desperate and needy. Ryan slid his tongue over hers expertly, and she moaned at the contact.

One hand caressed her face while the other slid over her nape and into her hair. He tasted like mint and rum and sugar, and Mia couldn't get enough. When she wound her hands around his neck, he growled low in his throat, shifting his hand from her face to the small of her back and pressing her closer.

Through his jeans, she could feel every throbbing pulse of his erection as it pressed into her. His fingers tightened in her hair, and heat pooled in her center. She wanted him. Needed his hands on her. Needed to be close to him.

In the distant recesses of her brain, she heard the clanging of warning bells. But she could ignore them. She would ignore them.

They were bumped by a passerby, and Ryan cradled her, steadying her on her feet. He drew back and dragged in a breath. "You pack a hell of a punch, Mia."

"Says the guy who should probably make a career out of kissing girls." She started to smile, but there was something so familiar about what he'd said before that had her frowning.

"Somehow, I don't think frowning is what I was going for."

Her eyes widened. "No. Oh God. You are good. At that. Great. Fantastic. You should be a professional kisser." She nodded awkwardly. "I'm going to stop talk—" It finally occurred to her what was wrong. Right before he kissed her, he'd said something that sounded familiar. But no, it wasn't just familiar. It was like she'd heard the exact phrasing before. Verbatim. "What did you say before you kissed me?"

He nuzzled her nose with his. "I was trying to get you to agree to see me again. Why?"

She shook her head. "No, uh, you said you couldn't let the night end without kissing me.'"

"Something like that. Now, if you'd let me get a word in edgewise, I'll do it again."

Her memory jogged, something else came to mind. Right before they’d left Prohibition, he’d asked her to hold something then taken her hand. It was cute and funny, but that too was familiar. Too familiar. At the salsa club, he’d stayed close, had his hands all over her, introduced her to the owner, made it seem like the place was his second home. The mojitos had flowed and they’d left seemingly without paying. He would either settle up later or they had his credit card on file for things like that. As a dating tactic, it was killer. And just now what he’d said…

Matthew Rhode’s column. Ryan was a writer.

Oh hell.

She eyed him. "I just want to know how much of tonight was sincere and how much is for your column?"

He blinked twice, then his gaze cleared, and he slowly released her. "You read my column?"

Her stomach knotted. "Yeah, I do." She nodded. "And I have had the distinct pleasure of more than one bad date quote your particular brand of bullshit to me.” She rubbed at her temples. “I should have known this was too perfect to be real."

He shook his head. "Look. Yes, I do write the column, but I'm not faking this."

He was good. His words carried a certain level of sincerity that made her want to believe him. "Okay. Then tell me, how many women have you taken to that salsa club? How many times have you used that hand-holding trick? Or just answer this, how many times have you used that exact line in the last month?"

"Shit, I'm not thinking about it. It sort of just fell off my tongue, I—"

She crossed her arms. "How many?" Her heart sank. Nothing about this was real. "Here's a hint. Next time, try to be sincere. And I swear, if I see a hint of tonight anywhere in your column, just remember, I have six brothers."

His mouth fell open, and he stuttered for words. When he reached for her, she backed up, turning to try to hail a cab.

"Mia. It's not like that. Maybe I say those things in my column, but I'm not playing you. I was just having a good time."

She whirled to face him, and her purse slipped off her shoulder, spilling all the contents. "Shit."

He bent to help her, and she shooed away his hands. A huffy exit worked so much better when you actually had somewhere to go. Damn. How had this turned from the best date of her life to the worst in a matter of moments?

"Mia, listen to me, okay? I was having fun, and I think you were too. Just forget about the column for a minute. Do you feel this between us?"

Yes. "I don't feel a thing. Not anymore." Never mind that her lips still tingled. "You want me to forget about the column and the way you talk about women like we're all desperate to lock-in a husband? For your information, you're a sexist ass hat."

His gaze narrowed. "Newsflash—it's not sexist when it's true. You want to pretend during our little date there you weren’t picturing me in a tux?"

"You are such a cocky—No, I wasn't." She'd been picturing him naked. But he didn't need to know that. "You talk about dating like it's a game and women are just elaborate pawn pieces."

"Mia it is a game. Sometimes you get lucky and meet someone you really connect with. But mostly it's a game."

Glaring up at him, she felt around for the last items from her purse and shoved them inside before standing. "Spoken like a man who's never actually been in love. You spout all this bullshit, but you don’t know what it's like to actually care about someone. I can't wait till it happens to you. I hope you choke on that crow."

"And you want to tell me you've been in love before? Come on, it's a load of crap."

A flare of fury had her opening her mouth, then she snapped it shut. He's not worth it, Mia. Keep your cool. Just get in a cab. You would not look good in prison orange. He couldn't know about David or how he'd broken her heart. And she certainly wasn't going to give this douche bag the satisfaction of telling him. "You don't know anything about me."

She whirled around and, lucky for her, a taxi was just letting someone out. She jogged up in her heels and slid in. She told herself not to do it, but she glared back at Ryan. Their eyes locked, and she ground her teeth as a hot spike of need rolled through her. This was just her stupid luck. All night she'd been on a date with her nemesis.