Just Say Yes

PRAISE FOR
THE BEST MEDICINE

“A scorching debut! Elizabeth Hayley is an author to watch.”

—
New York Times
bestselling author Tracy Anne Warren

“Saucy, fun reading. . . . An entertaining read.”

—
Romantic Times

“
The Best Medicine
is a fun and sexy romance with . . . fun, flirty, innuendo-laced banter.”

—Harlequin Junkie

“The banter is epic. . . . Elizabeth Hayley used it to show the many layers of each of their characters.”

—Agents of Romance

ALSO BY ELIZABETH HAYLEY

The Strictly Business Series

The Best Medicine

The Pieces Series

Pieces of Perfect

Picking Up the Pieces

Perfectly Ever After

Stand-alone Novel

Sex Snob

SIGNET ECLIPSE

Published by New American Library,

an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

This book is an original publication of New American Library.

Copyright © Shauna Johnson and Sarah Glasgow, 2015

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Signet Eclipse and the Signet Eclipse colophon are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

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penguin.com
.

ISBN 978-0-698-19493-9

PUBLISHER'S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

For our agent, Sarah Younger.

Because you put up with us and somehow make it seem like it's a pleasure to do so.

Slow Simmer

Quinn popped a guacamole-covered chip into her mouth and looked up at the man seated across from her. “I love Mexican food, and I didn't even realize this place was here.” There were plenty of Mexican restaurants in the area, but she didn't know of any that felt as authentic as the one she currently found herself in. The intimate space was dimly lit, with small wooden tables and colorful murals decorating two of the walls. The short, plump woman who had seated them had introduced herself in a thick accent as the owner. Quinn also noticed that some of the entrees came with a complimentary shot of tequila—which was a nice touch, though she had chosen to order a dish without one because she didn't think having any more alcohol would be the wisest decision. She'd been sitting there with Jeremy for only a little more than twenty minutes and had already drunk half her margarita—which the restaurant served in something that resembled a small mixing bowl with a glass stem. She was sure she'd feel buzzed after just one. And she didn't want to make a poor first impression, or worse yet, have absolutely no recollection of the night. She knew the girls would want the details when they met for lunch the next day. “Do you come here a lot?” she asked.

Jeremy took a sip of his beer before answering. “No. I've never eaten here. Why?” He furrowed his brow a bit, looking as though her question threw him, though Quinn wasn't sure why.

“You were quick to pick this restaurant, so I just figured you liked the place.”

“Actually, I review restaurants, and this was the next one on my list. I've heard good things about it, so I figured we'd give it a try.”

Quinn smiled, relieved that they'd found common ground so quickly. “Do you review for a local paper or a magazine? I'm actually a writer myself.” When Jeremy had approached Quinn at a coffee shop near her office, they hadn't really shared many details about themselves. He was cute and seemed normal, so when he'd asked her out, she'd agreed.

His eyes lit up. “Oh, I don't get paid to do it. It's sort of a hobby.” He removed his phone from his pocket and typed in his code before clicking on a few things and angling it toward Quinn so she could see the screen. “I review them on Twitter.”

Quinn's eyes widened. “EatandTweet?” Quinn asked, referring to his Twitter handle.

“Yeah, pretty cool, huh? I give each one a rating and a hundred-and-forty-character review. This last one got three forks. See?” he said, pointing to the silverware emojis. Clearly, Jeremy had mistaken Quinn's shock for excitement. “I'm up to almost two hundred and seventy followers.”

That seems like way too many.
“I see that.”

Jeremy laughed.
“To pee or not to pee?”
he said, quoting his last tweet with amusement as he opened up a picture he'd taken of the restaurant restroom. “Clever, right? That bathroom was disgusting.” Jeremy inched his chair closer to the table, clearly excited to share his hobby with someone. “The embarrassing part is that my mom was the one who came up with the idea. I critique her cooking every night—”

That's not the only embarrassing part.
“Wait—
every
night?”
Does he still live at home?

“Well, other than the nights I have band practice.”

“Oh,” Quinn said, eager to discuss something else. “You're in a band? What do you play?” Though she didn't usually go for guys in bands, she couldn't deny the appeal of a musician. Trying to make it in the music industry would help her overlook the fact that he probably slept on a futon in his parents' basement.

Jeremy brushed a few errant strands of light brown hair away from his eyes. “Oh no. I'm not
in
a band. I'm the band director at a middle school in D.C. We have a pretty impressive woodwind section, given that I used to play the clarinet.”

And with that, all hope of salvaging the date was lost. Quinn couldn't deny that he was good-looking. He had a strong jaw, broad shoulders, and lips that begged to be kissed. And for a moment she actually considered it if only for the sheer fact that it would prevent him from saying anything else that negated his handsome features.

Thankfully, Quinn had to hear about Jeremy's latest band competition for only a minute or so before the waitress arrived with their food. “Chicken mole,” she said, placing the plate in front of Quinn. Then she gave the other to Jeremy. “And beef enchiladas. Can I get you anything else?”

Jeremy lifted up his Heineken and wiggled it back and forth to show it was nearly empty. “I'll take another Hiney when you get a minute.”

Another Hiney?

Quinn saw the waitress trying to suppress a smirk. “Another beer coming right up. Anything for you, miss?”

Yeah, a shovel so I can bury what's left of my sex drive
. Beginning to rethink her original vow to remain relatively sober, Quinn considered ordering another drink. The only thing as painful as having to experience this disaster was having to remember it. But ultimately she decided against a refill. Because there was one thing worse than remembering this date: agreeing to another one. And she didn't trust an alcohol-hazed mind to make sure that didn't happen. No, she just needed to finish dinner and then get out of there as quickly as possible. “No, thanks,” Quinn answered with a polite smile.

The two spent the next few minutes eating and engaging in forced conversation. Well, it was forced on Quinn's end at least. Jeremy, on the other hand, seemed to be having a good time. He asked her about her chicken—whether it was too dry, whether the sauce was the right amount of sweet and spicy. She could almost see the wheels turning in his brain as he composed pieces of his review in his head while they spoke. He even offered to get her something else if she didn't like her meal. Thankfully, her dinner was good, saving her the embarrassment of Jeremy sending it back. Though she had to admit the offer was sweet.

Jeremy asked her about her family, job, and hobbies. And Quinn politely did the same. That is, until they were interrupted by a deep, booming voice singing in Spanish. Quinn looked to her right to see the owner approaching them as she belted out “Feliz Cumpleaños” in an operatic solo. The rest of the diners focused their eyes on Quinn and Jeremy as the owner set a slice of cake in front of Quinn. She hated being the center of attention, especially when she wasn't expecting it. She wanted to crawl under the table and hide. But instead she widened her eyes at Jeremy before turning to the owner. “I'm sorry. It's not—”

“Of course it's necessary,” Jeremy interrupted.

“I was going to say ‘my birthday.'” Quinn had lowered her voice, though she wasn't sure why. There was no way the woman could hear their conversation over the sound of her own singing.

“I know. It was last week though, right? I looked it up on Facebook.”

Goddamn social media.
Realizing that the serenade would end only when the song lyrics did, Quinn collapsed her face into her hands. She could feel the warmth coming from her cheeks. She was sure they were nearly as red as her hair.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Jeremy said sympathetically, “I'd heard that the owner is a phenomenal singer. Singing Spanish opera to the customers is kind of her . . . thing. I wanted a reason to hear her so I could include it in my tweet. You're doing me a favor really.”

It didn't make Quinn feel any better. And she couldn't help but feel bad that she had no interest in Jeremy. Despite his gentle eyes and sweet nature, he just wasn't for her. And Quinn couldn't help but worry that no one else seemed to be for her either.

•   •   •

The rest of the girls were already seated around the table at Panera when Quinn arrived for lunch on Sunday. “We said one thirty, right?” Quinn asked, double-checking her watch. It was one twenty-eight
.
She wasn't late, but the group already had their meals in front of them.

“Yeah, we got here a few minutes early,” Cass replied. “Guess we were all eager to hear the deets of your hot date.”

Quinn set down her French onion soup and salad and took a seat across from Lauren and Simone. “Not sure that date would qualify as ‘hot'—unless you're counting the green salsa. Of course, if you follow Jeremy on Twitter, you probably already knew about the salsa.”

She anticipated the confused stares on the girls' faces. “You heard me right. The guy tweets reviews of restaurants like he's Zagat. It's his ‘hobby,'” Quinn said, adding air quotes for emphasis.

The girls all tried to rein in their laughter.

“I think it's creative,” Lauren chimed in.

Quinn glared at her. “Surprisingly, so do two hundred and sixty-eight other people.” She broke off a chunk of her bread and dipped it into her soup. “Hmm, I wonder how many
forks
he'd rate this fine meal.”

“Stop,” Simone said, dragging out the word as if she felt bad for Jeremy. “You said he was cute, right?”

Quinn swept her deep red hair around to rest on her left shoulder and sat back in her chair. “Yeah. Kind of like a three-legged dog. You can't help but think it's cute because you feel so sorry for it.”

Quinn felt an elbow dig into her arm, courtesy of Cass. “Don't be mean. It doesn't suit you.”

“He's twenty-eight and still lives with his parents, Cass. And he spent most of dinner telling me about how the middle school band he directs came in second in their latest competition because he thinks one of the boys from another school stole the reeds to the clarinets so they couldn't practice beforehand. We had
nothing
in common. I seriously contemplated telling a story that began
This one time at band camp
just so I had something to contribute to the conversation.” Quinn huffed. “I'm not trying to be mean to him. I'm just . . . I don't know.”

“I meant don't be mean to the three-legged dogs of the world. They have it rough,” Cassidy deadpanned. “This guy sounds like a complete tool. And that was a missed opportunity if you didn't tell him you masturbated with a musical instrument. That movie's classic.”

Quinn ignored Cass and released a heavy sigh. “Okay, enough about my nightmare of a dating life. What's going on with you girls?”

Cass perked up. “I just might have a story to rival yours, Quinn. I was talking to Alex the other day, and he—”

“Since when do you talk to Alex?” Simone questioned.

“What do you mean? I talk to him all the time. We're friends.”

“God, you want on his dick so bad,” Simone quipped as she plopped a chip in her mouth.

Cass at least had the forethought to
act
appalled. “I do not!” She looked around at the three unconvinced faces staring at her. “We are
friends
. He has enough family drama going on his life to warrant a Lifetime movie. I don't have any room in my life for that mess beyond a phone call here and there.”

Quinn didn't have to sneak a glance at the other girls to know they weren't buying Cass' story either. But none of them called her on it. That's what good friends did: let you stew in your own denial for as long as you needed to fester there.

“Anyway,” Cass continued. “He went on a date with some chick last weekend. It was a fucking disaster.” She snickered as she took a sip of her lemonade.

“What happened?” Lauren asked. “I'm surprised Scott hasn't told me about it.”

“Maybe they haven't talked yet. Who knows? Boys are weird. I mean, if you can't tell your embarrassing life stories to your best friends, who
can
you tell?”

Quinn propped her elbow on the table and dropped her chin onto her hand. “Are we going to hear a story sometime soon?”

“I'm getting there. God, you're so touchy when you haven't gotten laid recently.”

Quinn stuck her tongue out at Cass, which she ignored and continued on. “So Alex was superexcited about his date with this girl. Heather, I think her name was. He met her at the gym, and he said they totally hit it off. He asked her out and suggested they go to that nice new Italian restaurant that opened over on Broad Street. But she wasn't having it. She suggested they go to Blue Wave, that new age hippie joint where wheat germ is the ingredient of choice.” Cass' lips quirked. “Maybe we can ask Jeremy if he's reviewed it yet.”

“Go to hell,” Quinn quipped.

Cass suppressed her smile. “He should've known the date was a bad idea then. But being the nice guy he is, he went. She even insisted she pick him up. In her
electric
car. She proceeded to talk the entire time about solving world hunger and tried to convince him to become a vegan. Poor Alex. He really knows how to pick 'em.”

Quinn couldn't help but feel a pang in the center of her stomach.
I seem to really know how to pick 'em too.
“What do you mean?”

Cass swallowed a bite of sandwich before answering. “He always ends up with these nightmares.” Cass shook her head. “I dunno. I think all the drama with his ex is really doing a number on him, so he convinced himself that he has a certain type. But that type is boring as hell. He needs to stop taking the safe road and look for someone who will challenge him. Someone with a little edge to her. Sure, the guy's strung tighter than piano wire and has got to loosen up, but he also needs someone who can keep up with his freaky intellect.”

Cass kept speaking, but Quinn wasn't listening anymore. Alex's story was hitting a little close to home.
Is that what my problem is? Have I pigeonholed myself into a type I'm not even all that into?
Quinn thought back over the guys she'd dated the past couple years. They'd all had that boy-next-door charm. The problem was, Quinn didn't want a
boy
. She wanted a man. Someone who had a career that was going somewhere, who could afford his own apartment but still knew the importance of watching a ball game or grabbing a beer after work with her. She wanted someone she could grow
with
, rather than have to raise like a man-child. There were only two problems: Why the hell hadn't she figured all of this out before, and where the hell did she find a guy like that?