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Authors: Kate Perry

BOOK: Project Date
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He cocked his eyebrows as he pointedly stared at my outfit. I was sure there was a culture somewhere in the world where a miniskirt and tank top were old-fashioned, so I stayed quietly righteous.
“I should probably take you home, then,” he said slowly.
I nodded. “That’d be best.”
We walked another couple of feet, not touching. Then Johnny whirled to face me again. “What isn’t too soon?”
I had the distinct impression I was a challenge now. But I still needed a new Barry to impress my parents with, and until I found someone better, I couldn’t rule Johnny out. I remembered his kiss (without gagging), and then I heard Dwight whisper
opportunities
again. So I said, “A couple of dates?”
He grinned. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
Looking up lip-muscle-firming exercises online.
But I kept that to myself, smiled enigmatically (I hoped), and let him take me home.
Chapter Four
Lessons Learned from MacGyver
#124
Computer nerds can be attractive underneath their glasses.
Rrpp. Rrpp. Rrpp.
What the hell?
I lifted my head from underneath the down comforter and glared at the alarm clock. It mocked me, sitting there defiantly crooked.
Why the hell was it ringing? It was Sunday. Either six forty-five or eight forty-five, probably the latter. Better be the latter.
Rrpp. Rrpp.
I scooted over and whacked it once, hard. The plastic part I’d stuck back on with gum flew off, but the alarm still shrilled. So I did what anyone would do: I yanked it so the cord came out of the socket and let it drop to the floor.
Unfortunately, it hit the hardwood floor instead of the rug next to my bed. I heard a crack and a metallic ping.
Looking over the side of the bed, I groaned. The volume knob had broken off. No sign of metal, which meant it was probably something on the inside.
I groaned again. “Shit.”
I pulled the covers over my head and scrunched my eyes closed. I
would
sleep another couple of hours.
Ten minutes later I decided it was futile so I dragged my carcass out of bed. I “accidentally” kicked the clock on my way to the closet to get my robe, after which I shuffled into the kitchen to make myself a large pot of coffee.
The first cup I downed like medicine. The second I savored. By the third I felt human enough to call Matt.
He answered on the second ring. “Hello?”
“I need advice.”
Silence. “Doc?”
“Yeah.” I frowned. “Who else would it be?”
“Exactly. It’s not even ten yet.”
“Don’t remind me.” I felt proud that I managed not to punctuate my statement with a growl. The coffee had mellowed me out.
“I’m just shocked.” He paused. “You do know it’s Sunday, right?”
This time I did growl.
“Have you had coffee yet?”
“Three cups.”
I could hear his thoughts loud and clear:
and still you’re surly?
But he wisely backed off. “What kind of advice do you need?”
“I went out with Johnny last night—”
“Johnny?”
“Johnny Morgan. The VP of biz dev at work.”
Matt groaned. “Doc, never shit where you eat.”
“Huh?”
“You don’t date guys you work with,” he said succinctly. “It makes it awkward after you break up.”
“I don’t work with him.”
“You just said he was from work.”
“Yeah, but I don’t actually work
with
him. His office is on a completely different floor.”
Matt sighed. I could picture him rubbing his neck like he does when he’s exasperated. “So what advice do you need?”
“Should I go out with him again?”
“Was your date fun?”
Fun? I wrinkled my nose. That wasn’t exactly how I’d put it. Though kneeing that guy in his privates was pretty entertaining. “Um, it was okay.”
“Was he a good kisser?”
I almost gagged, remembering. “His technique was good, but his lips ...”
“Then don’t waste your time. You know how you are about kisses.”
I frowned. “How am I?”
“Particular.”
My frown deepened. “I am not.”
“Are too.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.” He chuckled. “But don’t worry. I think it’s because Barry and the half-dozen guys before him weren’t right for you.”
Oh. Yeah, that was true. For a second I thought Matt was saying it was my fault their kisses sucked. Kind of like Barry saying I was boring in bed. (Yeah, that still loomed large in my mind.)
“Once you find a guy that’s right for you, you’ll like his kisses,” Matt said sagely.
“Do you find kissing women repulsive?”
He snorted. “Hell, no.”
“So you think I shouldn’t go out with Johnny again?” He’d been a good candidate, except for his kiss. And his car. Oh, and his job.
“I think you should come to my soccer game today.”
I pursed my lips. “Are there going to be single men there?”
“Dozens of them.”
“Okay.”
An hour later I was showered and dressed in a pair of old Levi’s, a wife-beater, and my red Diesel tennis shoes. Hair in a ponytail and a swipe of lip gloss and I was good to go.
Because of the continuing gorgeous weather, I went down to sit on my stoop while I waited. I couldn’t waste more time on Johnny. Matt was the one to say it: I had to
like
the guy I took home. If I didn’t, my parents would be able to tell.
I didn’t think I’d be able to like Johnny enough to fool my parents. His kisses just ... Shudder.
So, sitting there, I compiled a mental list of options.
1.
Find the love of my life (might be somewhat difficult given the time constraints)
2.
Find someone I was in lust with (if I was hot enough for a guy it might fool my parents into thinking I was in love)
3.
Pretend to like someone (unfeasible—I can’t act)
4.
Take acting lessons (hmm, definite possibility)
5.
Track down Richard Dean Anderson and convince him we were fated to be together
Of all my options, E seemed the most viable solution.
Matt arrived late. Not surprising. I was impressed he remembered to pick me up.
I hopped down the steps and jumped into his car. “Hey.”
He smiled. “Hey, yourself. Ready?”
“Yeah. Guess what?”
“What?” he asked, checking his blind spot before pulling out into the street.
“Magda left a note for me that she was going to be out of town for the next week. Just an FYI.”
He glanced at me. “Where do you think she went?”
“A sex worker convention,” I replied instantly.
“Do you think they have seminars at those kinds of conventions?”
I pursed my lips in thought. “If they do, I bet Magda conducts one.”
Matt smirked. “
How to Give Your John the Most for His Money
?”
“Or
It’s Not About the Size
.”
“
What to Expect When You’re Hooking
?”
“
You and Your Whip: Forming a Mutually Fulfilling Relationship
.”
“
Improving Your Oral Skills
.” He glanced over, daring me to top that one.
It took me a moment, but I got it right as we arrived. “
Thriving Under Pressure: What to Do When They’re Just Too Big
.”
We parked, and I got out and went around to his side of the car to wait for him. He was rooting around in the back seat, God knows for what. I took the time to look around (never know who might be hanging out in the parking lot).
“Here. Make yourself useful.” Matt shoved a bag at me.
I lifted it experimentally. It was small but surprisingly heavy. “What’s in here?”
“Lunch.” He grabbed his gym bag and closed the door. “Come on. The game’s starting any minute.”
I wanted to point out I wasn’t the one who was running late, but I didn’t want to antagonize my ride. And I was looking forward to meeting one or two of his teammates (guys who played soccer had great legs).
I followed Matt to the field. There were two groups of players on either side along with the friends and families who’d come to cheer. We headed toward the motlier bunch of people.
“Matt, quick,” I whispered. “Point out which guys are single.”
He glanced down at me. “Tell me you aren’t serious about this.”
“Hell, yeah, I’m serious. We’ve already had this conversation.” I studied the men in the lineup. There were a surprising number of women playing on Matt’s team too, and for a moment I entertained the idea of adding 6)
Give up men and find a lesbian lover
to my list. But kissing a woman? I wouldn’t want someone else’s lipstick smeared on me.
So I pain-punched Matt in the ribs. “Just point out the ones who are especially successful.”
“Ow! Doc—”
“And who don’t drive gas-guzzlers.” I shrugged at his frown. “You know how environmentally conscious Mom and Dad are.”
“Oh, well then, that makes the choice easy,” he said facetiously, rubbing his side. “You want Ian.”
I followed the jerk of his chin to two guys who stood on the fringe of the group, talking quietly. One was tall and fairly good-looking with blondish hair and a lanky body. The other had glasses and unkempt hair that looked like it needed a good stylist.
I focused all my attention on the blond. “Ian’s cute.”
“Ian’s the one with the glasses.”
“Oh.”
“Ian owns a software company that does a lot of pro bono work for education. And he drives a Prius.”
“
Oh
.” I studied Ian again. He didn’t look so bad. He didn’t have striking looks, but he seemed like he had an okay body at least (it was hard to tell with his baggy sweats). If he played soccer, he had to be in decent shape.
“I didn’t know you had this mercenary streak in you,” Matt said.
I scowled at him. “I don’t.”
He just stared at me.
“I don’t.” But I winced internally. He was right. Heartless, that’s what I was. And shallow. I picked Johnny based on his looks and see how that turned out? Maybe Ian was just the kind of guy I needed. A socially conscious programmer. I bet we’d have a lot in common. Maybe that’s why I hadn’t met my soulmate yet, because I was picking the wrong sort of guys.
Not this time. I took a deep breath and opened myself to the possibilities.
Fortunately, Matt didn’t say another word because we’d joined the group. He did a quick round of introductions (like I was going to remember everyone’s names) and then deposited me next to Ian. That’s what a great friend Matt is. He supports me even when he doesn’t agree with my methods.
Ian blinked owlishly at me, like I’d suddenly materialized into the space next to him.
No problem. I didn’t mind being the forward one. I held out my hand. “Hi. I’m Mena.”
“Yeah, that’s what Matt said.” He reluctantly took my hand, shook it once, and dropped it.
I tried not to frown. “Do you play soccer often?”
“Yeah.”
“You must be good.”
Shoulder shrug.
“Have you played long?”
Another shrug.
Huh. I stared at him. Maybe he wasn’t interested.
No—he was a guy. He had to be interested. Unless he was gay.
I studied him some more. He didn’t look gay.
Then he took off his glasses and stowed them in their case. Underneath the Coke-bottle lenses he was actually decent-looking. Certainly not in the same caliber as Barry or Johnny—and not even close to Rio—but definitely interesting.
So I tried with renewed enthusiasm. “I was wondering if sometime you’d like to get together for a drink or coffee or something.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. Whether it was in suspicion or because he couldn’t see me, I didn’t know. “Why?”
I guess I had my answer. I pursed my lips and tried to come up with a truthful answer. “You looked interesting.”
Not bad, Philomena Donovan. Not bad.
He watched me suspiciously for at least another twenty seconds (while I tried to look fetching) before he said, “Fine. Drinks. Tuesday. Seven o’clock.”
“Great.” I smiled.
He grunted and joined his team out on the field.
I went to where Matt dropped his stuff and sat on the ground by his bag to watch the game. I couldn’t keep the satisfied smile off my face. I had a good feeling about Ian. Sure, he was kind of terse, but that was understandable. He was probably just shy; a lot of computer nerds were. Matt was (except around me, but I didn’t count because we’d known each other forever).
Once I got a drink into him I was sure Ian would loosen up. And if he didn’t, no biggie. I didn’t mind a man of few words. I perked up and grinned. There could be advantages to that.
“Hey.”
I glanced up and blinked. “Rio?”
He grinned. “I was running and noticed you over here so I thought I’d say hi.”
It was like one of my in-the-dark-of-the-night fantasies come to life. He wore shorts, a loose tank top that did little to cover his chest, and a glistening layer of sweat that showed off the definition of all his muscles.

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