The Dating Intervention: Book 1 in the Intervention Series (2 page)

“That’s true,” Josie said. “Remember when you guys made me that little quiz to help me decide whether I should kiss Elijah Parker behind our seventh grade homeroom?”
 

“Minus one point for the pimple on his nose. Add one for his cute smile,” Josie said.
 

“He sealed the deal when he offered to carry your lunch to the cafeteria,” Summer said.
 

“Three points,” Delaney said. “Pushed him right into the ‘definitely should kiss him’ category.”

“Ah, those were the days,” Josie said.
 

“Anyway, Delaney,” Summer said, anxious to return to the subject at hand, “your love life is like our love life.”
 

Delaney looked at Summer and raised her eyebrows. Both Summer and Josie were married and Summer had a handful of kids. More than a handful. Their love lives were as much like Delaney’s as a Fairmont is like a Motel 6.

“Well, okay,” Summer said. “It’s not. Not exactly. But that’s what we want to talk about.”
 

Josie cleared her throat. “We want to try an experiment.”
 

“An experiment?” Delaney repeated.
 

“Yes,” Summer said, drawing out the word.
 

Josie inhaled deeply.

“Um, okay,” Delaney said. Was she actually feeling nervous? After the conversation they’d just had, it was no surprise. “What is it?”
 

“For the next six weeks,” Josie said, her dark eyes boring into Delaney’s, “you relinquish control of your dating life. Summer and I make all the decisions. You make none.”
 

“Wait. What? I make none of the decisions?”
 

“Well, you can decide what to eat for breakfast.”

It happened on Tuesday. The morning after Mark Monday. Delaney marched down the freshly salted sidewalk, relief and disappointment wielding swords at each other in her mind as angry tears blurred what should have been a picturesque snow-covered downtown Juniper.
 

Not twelve minutes earlier, she’d been cocooned in satin sheets and post-coital steam in Mark Cortez’s apartment.
 

“Oh, Delaney,” Mark said.
 

His caramel skin still warm from sex, he stretched his lithe, supple body alongside Delaney’s and ran a hand up her side to her shoulder. They’d woken up to the bright silence of snow. It was undoubtedly the last storm of the season, and through the window, the world sparkled.
 

The perfect setting for romance. Or, at least, great sex.

It was the sort of morning Delaney loved, the kind where she could lounge around for several hours before allowing responsibilities of the unpleasant kind to sneak in. In fact, eleven a.m. had just ticked by, which meant Mark still had time to make coffee and bring it to her in bed before showering. They’d just sneaked in one more round of luxurious lovemaking. Her two favorite things: coffee and sex with Mark. Beyond blissful, she thought.

“Hmmm,” Delaney responded, her eyes closed.
 

“You’re delicious.”
 

She chuckled.
 

“Look at me,” he said.
 

She turned over, forced her eyes open and was surprised by the intensity of his expression.
 

“Wow. You’ve never looked so serious in the whole seven months we’ve been together,” she murmured, although the warm and fuzzy sleepiness was quickly replaced by something she vaguely recognized as alarm.
 

“Yes,” he said slowly. “Well, this is a serious topic. And for serious topics, I need a serious face.”
 

Alarm gave way to panic, which set in with a swiftness that reminded Delaney of an avalanche—massive chunks of snow thundering down a mountainside. Her heart pumped adrenaline-spiked blood through her body. Her fingers tingled. She braced herself for disaster.

“Oh?” she managed. “Coffee? We haven’t even had coffee, yet.”

“I need to ask you something,” he said.
 

Her eyes flickered down to his bare chest, his muscular stomach.

He can’t do this
.
We agreed it wasn’t going to be serious. Is he really about to do this?
She wondered if he had a ring stashed somewhere. She hadn’t felt it on the bed any time during the past nine hours, since she arrived breathless with anticipation just after two a.m., having received Mark’s mouthwatering text.
 

I am waiting for you
.

At the time, the message shot a surge of heat right down to her center. Her carnal side looked forward to Monday nights more than any other night of the week. She almost always stopped by Mark’s house on her way home from work for a steamy session (or two) of healthy ravishing.

But this?
Had he planned to pop the question all along? If she’d known, she probably would have skipped last night. She had to get out. Delaney scrambled to her hands and knees, looking for her underwear.
 

“It’s on the blue chair,” Mark said, pointing to the side chair, which sat at least fifteen feet away in the living area of his studio apartment. Ah. There it was. She shivered, remembering what he’d done last night as he peeled it off and flung it aside.
 

“Just settle. I want to ask you something.”
 

She put her hands over her face.
 

“Hear me out, Delaney,” he said. “Sit still.”
 

“Fine.” She sat down on her knees. “What is it?”
 

“Don’t you think it’s time we both moved on?”
 

The sound of a record screeching to a halt.
 

Moved on
?
Does he mean move on together or apart
?

If it was even possible, her heart started to pound harder. Black swirls danced before her eyes. They often joked about how Mark misused American expressions. Was this one of those times? Or did he really want to break up?

“Move on?” she choked.
 

“Yes. Move on. Go our different ways. Stop seeing each other.”
 

Wow. He was definitely using
those
expressions correctly. This was so far from what she’d expected. Relief made a brief appearance, but indignation quickly yanked it offstage to step into the spotlight.
 

“So… let me get this straight. You let me come over, have sex with you, lay in bed naked with you … and you planned all along to break it off with me?”
 

“Don’t lift your voice.”
 

She leapt off the bed and stalked over to the blue chair. The shiny hardwood floor felt cold on the soles of her feet.

“Have you been planning this?” She finally untangled her panties and put them on, wobbling madly from one foot to the other.

“No. Delaney. It’s just that I–”
 

“You what? You wanted to knock boots one more time before you broke it off?” She found her shirt under the bed.

“I didn’t plan this, Delaney.”
 

“You just told me I was delicious.” She pulled her shirt roughly over her bare breasts.
 

“You
are
delicious,” he insisted. “So much so.”
 

“But you want to stop seeing me.”
 

Mark flopped onto his back, rubbed his hands over his face. Delaney nearly swooned as she took in the soft hair on his chest, his chiseled abs, his hipbones. The way the silky cream-colored sheets made his dark skin look so tan and smooth. She remembered the first time she saw him, last summer when he came into Rowdy’s after the first festival of the year on the courthouse square. He stood at at the bar, staring at a photo of horses drinking from a river, looking very much like he belonged in an advertisement for a couples’ resort. Or a phone sex hotline. At the same moment Delaney realized she was staring, he looked up and caught her. He grinned, walked over to her, and said, “I was just wishing for a beautiful woman to explain to me this art.”
 

Now, even though they were on the verge of being over, Delaney was tempted to have sex with him just one more time. Feel his broad, warm hands on her skin, his mouth on her neck…
 

“Delaney, do you want to hear my question? I wanted to ask you something. Remember?”
 

Reluctantly, she pulled herself out of the daydream. Realizing she’d frozen in place, one leg in her jeans and one leg still bare and planted on the floor, she gave herself a little shake and continued getting dressed. What was wrong with her, daydreaming about sex with someone who was trying to break up with her? What was wrong with him, trying to break up with her while she was still naked in his bed?

“You just asked me a question.”

“That wasn’t
the
question.”
 

“Fine. Fine, ask me your question. Ask me
the
question, Mark.”
 

“Are you ready to settle down?”
 

She stopped flouncing, pulled up her pants. He’d caught her off guard.
 

“What kind of question is
that
?”
 

Of course she wasn’t. Settling down ultimately meant heartbreak, she knew that. Which is why she wasn’t interested in settling down.

Shit. If I could guarantee myself that I’d never get my heart broken, I’d settle down right now. But I can’t.

“Delaney. When we first started dating, it was you who wanted to keep things light. You didn’t want to get serious. You’ve said that over and over since we’ve been together. I get it, I do. But I’m almost forty, Delaney. It’s time for me to find someone to marry. Someone who will have my children. Someone as delicious as you who also wants to be with me. Forever.”
 

He was right, of course. She
was
delicious. And she wasn’t ready to settle down.

“Besides,” he continued. “I saw your face when I first said I wanted to ask you a question. You should have seen it.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth. “You were totally freaking.”
 

She buttoned her jeans and sat on the edge of the bed. When she’d arrived at Mark’s the night before, she’d thought the storm clouds outside had made the room, with its cheerful fireplace, cozy. But that fire had died hours ago and now, it just felt gloomy.
 

“Why today, Mark? Why did you text me, seduce me, as always, let me stay over, and then break up with me?”
 

“I enjoy you, Delaney. I enjoy our time together, our conversation, our delicious–what did you call it–knocking shoes. I enjoy all of it very much. But last night and this morning, lying here with you, I started thinking, I could do this forever. Every night. Every day. With you. But you can’t do it with me. You’re not ready. It’s time for me to move on. I don’t want to change you. But I know you can’t be with me. And so, I must let you free.”

Twelve minutes had passed since that conversation. Delaney had put on her shoes and coat, kissed Mark good-bye and was now walking down the sidewalk.
 

She exhaled, relieved.
 

It wasn’t that she wouldn’t miss Mark. His glittering honey-colored eyes, his lean muscular body, his quick, witty sense of humor. When she thought of how he’d told her not to lift her voice this morning, she burst into tears, a full-on ugly cry, right there on the sidewalk. Out of all the guys she had dated recently, Mark had been her favorite. If some weird game show or end-of-the-world disaster scenario forced her to choose a man to be with exclusively, it would be him.
 

But he was right, she thought as she watched her breath turn to steam. She wasn’t ready to settle down, not really.
 

This is the whole reason you designed your fail-proof dating system–so you’d always have a backup. Look at it this way: You can now begin the hunt for another sex machine. Won’t that be fun?

The thought provided enough comfort that she was able to tamp down the sobs and continue walking, although a stray tear or two escaped every couple of minutes.
 

It’s not like you’ll be alone. Suck it up, Collins. You’ve always sworn crying over a guy was lame. Unless it was because he was so good in bed he made you weep.

She shook her head. She still had two more options. It was not quite noon, which meant it was early enough to salvage the day.
 

***

Delaney found Zachary while she was trawling a post-poetry-reading crowd for a philosophical, sensitive man to add to her dating roster. This morning, he answered on the first ring.

“Del! How are you?”

Yikes. I never noticed how high-pitched his voice is. Nothing like Mark’s.

“I’m great! Are you hungry? I was just calling to see if you wanted to grab some lunch.”
 

“Uh…yeah. Okay. Sure, let’s grab some lunch. I need some fuel.”
 

Had she imagined it, or did a slight hesitation precede his “yeah”? She was probably still sensitive from Mark’s breakup, that was all. Zachary adored her.

“I’ll pick you up,” she said.
 

During the five-minute, three-block stroll from Mark’s apartment to Zachary’s tiny cottage, Delaney smoothed her short blond hair into a ponytail, put on lip gloss and powder, and prayed that her cheeks weren’t still aglow from sex with Mark. Even if they were, she could attribute it to the cold. Despite it being almost noon, icicles still hung from the eaves of the little downtown shops. People walked the sidewalks bundled up in puffy jackets, scarves and hats, their rosy noses just peeking out. She remembered she wasn’t wearing a bra, and hoped Zachary wouldn’t notice. She poked herself in the side of the nose when she put on her mascara, and spent the rest of the walk licking her finger, rubbing her nose and hoping she’d gotten it all off.

It wasn’t that she’d told Zachary or Mark (or Xander, either) that they were exclusive. But it wasn’t like they knew about each other. It had worked this way for months now. She always had options, always had something going … all her needs were met. And until this morning, she’d thought all theirs were, too. Why tinker with a good thing?