Asking For a Friend (Boyfriend Material Book 1) Read online

  “You have a wife.”

  “I’m married, but I’m not dead. And trust me, if Paige were here, we’d both be checking out the redhead, because she’s a babe. But my wife is home taking care of our child so I can have dinner with my younger brother, who wants to chide me for pointing out an attractive woman,” she says, shaking her head in dismay.

  “And women wonder why men don’t understand women. I swear, women make no sense sometimes,” I say.

  “I’ll second that,” Tristan chimes in, then slaps some cocktail napkins down. “I was just telling my friend that women are wonderful and inscrutable.”

  The pretty redhead in question rolls her eyes. Something about her feels vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite place her. “Why do I come here to suffer this kind of abuse?”

  “I’ve been asking myself that for a long time,” Tristan says, then winks at her.

  “You’re the worst.”

  “I bet you say that to all the guys you’re friends with.” Tristan nods at her, then us, saying, “This is my friend Peyton. She’s a total pain in the ass.”

  Peyton gives him a sharp stare. “This is my friend Tristan. He’s a complete ballbuster.”

  “Ouch,” Tristan says, then doubles over as if she’s injured him. “Wound my pride a little more, woman.”

  Lisa extends her hand to Peyton. “I’m Lisa, and this is my brother, Linc. He just moved here from LA. He’s single, gainfully employed, and doesn’t live at home with his parents.”

  Peyton laughs. “These days, that’s about all a woman can hope for in a man.”

  Tristan clears his throat. “Hello. I own my own business and my own apartment.”

  Peyton smiles at him. “And on that note, I need to go to Dr. Insomnia’s.”

  “Are you seeing other restaurants now?”

  “It’s a coffee shop, silly. Also, I hung out with you for a full hour after my mom left. But I do have to meet Amy.”

  My senses go on high alert when she says that name.

  There’s no way she’s meeting my Amy, but even so, my mind immediately pictures the woman from the office.

  Amy, sexy, brainy, bright, clever Amy. Who likes pockets and thinks the book is always better than the movie.

  Wait.

  Shit. It’s Betty Boop who said that about books and movies.

  But I bet Amy feels the same way.

  And just like that, I’m thinking about the woman I was trying not to think about.

  I glance at the specials board, hoping it’ll get my mind off Amy, when out of the corner of my eye, I see Tristan watching Peyton leave.

  Something clicks in my head. He’s into her. I can tell by how he looks at the woman who’s just a friend.

  He seems to shake away some thought, then redirects his focus to my sister and me, gesturing to the napkins he slapped down when we arrived. “What can I get for you?”

  After we order drinks and he heads to the end of the bar to hunt for my sister’s wine, Lisa gives me a pointed “Well. . .”

  “Well, what?”

  My sister nods toward Tristan. “He seems to like the pretty redhead. What about you? Are you seeing anyone?”

  I give her a no way look, even though I want to tell her there’s sort of someone. “I just arrived in New York. I don’t have time to date.”

  “Earlier you were bragging about mastering our complex grid in days. I figured you’d have learned how to master dating too.”

  When she puts it like that . . . “There is this woman.”

  Her brown eyes sparkle. “Tell me.”

  There is nothing my sister loves more than stories of romance. I tell her how I got on Boyfriend Material and met someone I clicked with right away.

  She practically bounces on the bar stool. But then she adds, “Just make sure she’s not married, engaged, or a rabid liar before you fall in love with her.”

  “I’m not going to fall in love with her.”

  “You might,” she says, nudging my arm with her elbow. “You should meet her in person.”

  It’s not the first time the idea has occurred to me. It’s been occurring to me all day. Because Betty Boop is the first woman I’ve clicked with so quickly in a long time.

  Besides Amy.

  We clicked. We hit it off instantly. We had the same crazy chemistry.

  But Amy is against my rules. Hell, Amy is the reason I got on Boyfriend Material in the first place.

  Because I can’t pursue her. And if I can’t pursue her, there’s no reason I shouldn’t try with Betty.

  When Lisa excuses herself to call her wife and check on the baby, I grab my phone, open the app, and see Betty’s online. God bless the green dot.

  Dax Powers: Hey. How was the rest of your day? Mine was great. I’m at dinner with my sister and something has occurred to me. And that something is . . .

  I stare at the note in progress. Am I rolling this dice? Planning to meet someone I don’t know and can’t see an image of till the forty-eight-hour avatar-only window closes tomorrow night? It’s possible I won’t find her attractive. It’s equally possible she won’t dig my looks.

  But life is full of risks, and this doesn’t seem like such a big one, so I finish the note.

  Dax Powers: . . . I think it would be a good idea (i.e., the opposite of bananas, or the equivalent of banana bread) if we meet tomorrow night.

  But when I leave the restaurant, she hasn’t replied and that seems like answer enough.

  13

  Amy

  I waste no time. I’m not a hemmer or a hawer. I’m a confessor.

  I don’t even spare a second for the guy who runs this place to finish making my vanilla latte.

  Instead, the second my best friend walks into the café, I grab her arm, pull her close, and blurt it all out at the counter.

  “I made an online profile for you to get back into dating, and I was going to do all the vetting so I could present you with the cream of the crop, and that way you wouldn’t have to do it, because I know that part is misery for you, especially after the yoga incident.”

  She gives me a quizzical look, then says, “That’s sweet.”

  “It was, and you got a ton of responses because you’re so freaking awesome, and I didn’t even use your picture, but the way I described you was legendary, because you are legendary, so of course everyone wanted to meet you. But one guy stood out and I’ve been talking to him all day and . . . now I sound crazy,” I say, then gesture wildly to my mouth. “Like, as I hear the words pour forth from my piehole, they sound borderline insane. But we just clicked. And we’ve been talking all day, and he asked me if I want to meet tomorrow night, and I do, but, Peyton, he’s your potential boyfriend.”

  Her face is expressionless.

  Beautiful and stony.

  Meanwhile, Tommy stifles a laugh as he works the espresso machine.

  Or maybe fifty laughs.

  I shoot him a look. “Tommy. This is all in the vault. You can’t breathe a word of what you just overheard.”

  “Who would I tell? Do you really think anyone is coming in here demanding to know the secrets of my customers?”

  “One can’t ever be too careful.”

  He makes the monkey see-no-evil hear-no-evil gesture. Then whispers, “Go out with the guy.”

  I return to Peyton, taking a shaky breath. “I feel so guilty because I’m interested in your prospect. And I didn’t want to be interested in anyone, since I’m trying to only focus on work. Then I was doing this for you, and also trying to get ready for my sample pitch for the new job by getting experience talking to someone new and gaining confidence. But talking to this guy, he reminds me of someone, and he’s just so . . . dishy.”

  She laughs. “You don’t hear that word very often.”

  “I know, and that’s exactly the point. He makes me forget that I don’t want to get involved with anyone, and he especially makes me forget the guy at work who’s a total babe, and the hottest hot nerd I’ve ever se
en, and who is funny and sarcastic and gets me. But getting involved with someone from the office would be a massive mistake right now while I’m going after a promotion, and the field is even more competitive now because Madison Turnbell is also trying to win the job.”

  “You’ve mentioned her before. She’s Wonder Woman or something?”

  “She probably has a magical lasso too. And that’s yet another reason I shouldn’t get involved with the guy at work.”

  “True, though office guy sounds kind of perfect. But it’s probably best to avoid a workplace romance when you’re going for a promotion.”

  “And honestly, I shouldn’t get involved with anyone at all. But Dax Powers is so fun, and we hit it off and we connected.”

  “Dax Powers?” she asks, as Tommy slides our drinks to us. I pay and we take the drinks to a table.

  “That’s what I call him. It’s his avatar. From the TV show.”

  “I love that show. I always thought that character would be perfect for you.”

  “Yeah, me too. But I feel terrible, because cartoon Dax Powers is yours.”

  Peyton laughs. “Ames, I love you. But he’s not mine. I didn’t know a thing about him, or this, or anything till two minutes ago. But it’s hilarious to hear you spit it all out like it would bother me when obviously it doesn’t bother me at all.”

  “Are you sure? Because we received so many responses, and I’m sure you can meet Mr. Right. I can even turn over the profile to you and we can sort the other guys together.”

  She shakes her head. “I’m not ready. I thought I was, but I’m not. But I love that you did that for me. Of all your harebrained ideas, this is one of my favorites.”

  I let out a deep exhale. “Thank you.”

  Her eyes twinkle. “And my not-so-harebrained idea is this: I think you should meet this Dax fellow—at a safe location, obviously—and tell me in advance so I can bring reinforcements if you need me to. Message him now.”

  I breathe a heavy sigh of relief. But the guilt isn’t entirely gone.

  When I click open the app, I begin my second confession of the night.

  Betty Boop: I need to try the moment of truth again. Remember earlier when I said I was asking for a friend? I meant it. I know people say that when they’re really asking for themselves, but I truly did set up the profile for my friend. Her heart was broken, and she’s finally ready to start dating again, so I wanted to help her out by doing the legwork and finding some good guys for her. You seem to be one of those guys. You’re funny and clever and bright and adorable. At least, your cartoon self is adorable. In any case, I know it seemed tongue-in-cheek when I was saying I was asking for a friend, but I actually was.

  Dax Powers: Ah. So you meant it when you said you didn’t play badminton?

  Betty Boop: I don’t. My friend does. And I started talking to you for her. Except I’ve been having a blast talking to you. And, well, I don’t want to turn you over to someone else.

  Dax Powers: If I wasn’t morally opposed to the use of LOL, I’d write LOL right now.

  Betty Boop: Thank you. I think . . .

  Dax Powers: It was a compliment. That’s one of the funniest lines ever, and I’m glad that you want to keep me for yourself. I’m kind of honored.

  Betty Boop: I told her tonight what happened. How I started the profile but then enjoyed talking to you myself.

  Dax Powers: What did she say?

  Betty Boop: She said to go for it. To meet you tomorrow night.

  Dax Powers: And what do you think?

  Betty Boop: I think, if we’re still enjoying talking to each other tomorrow, that we should meet.

  Dax Powers: Sounds like a great idea.

  14

  Linc

  But the next morning when I see Amy in the break room, I’m not so sure it’s a good idea.

  “Hey, soap star. How was your weekend?” she asks.

  “It was good. Found out my father isn’t my real father, and that my brother is in fact my father, but hey, all in a day in Pine Crest View.” My reply is light, but a knot of guilt tightens in me. Why the hell do I feel guilty?

  Because of that smile. Those eyes.

  She looks dishy. Delectable. And so damn pretty in a blue-flowered dress with pockets.

  “How was your weekend?” I ask.

  “Not nearly as exciting. I worked on my promotion pitch and spent time with my dog,” she says, and her lips twitch at those words—my dog.

  I want to ask, Is his name Christian Grey? Though that’s impossible because I know her dog’s name. “How’s the Inspector?”

  “He’s a total ladies’ man. Yesterday at the park, he was trying to hit on a female Great Dane. What is he thinking? How is that going to work exactly for a min-pin?”

  When I laugh, I’m struck by a sharp awareness—this is exactly what it felt like to chat with Betty this weekend. It felt like talking to Amy. And that’s why I liked talking to Betty so much. She talks like Amy, sounds like Amy, acts like Amy.

  And for a split second—hell, for a minute—I’m wishing Betty were Amy.

  But that’s ridiculous, so I focus on the woman in front of me, the one who’s still chatting.

  “Oh, and Tiffany wants to talk to me tomorrow—give me pointers for the pitch—so that’s exciting.”

  “That’s fantastic news,” I say, smiling widely.

  “The only thing that’s potentially more exciting is—wait for it—I have to see the dentist today.”

  I arch a brow. “And that’s exciting?”

  “Yes. Can I confess something?”

  Tell me you’re Betty. Tell me you’re the woman I’m making plans with tonight. Tell me she’s you.

  “I was hoping you would,” I answer.

  “I love seeing the dentist. Most people don’t, but I do.”

  “You secretly love having your teeth cleaned,” I say in a knowing whisper.

  “Yes! Isn’t that weird? But I do. I love it. I love that super-squeaky-clean feel afterward, and I kind of spend the day running my tongue over my teeth. They feel great,” she says, shifting a little closer as she shares her secret. When she moves into my space, I catch a faint whiff of her shampoo. That peach scent drives me wild. It makes me want to ditch all my rules. It makes me forget I have them.

  “I love it too,” I say, offering my confession as well.

  With her hand on her heart, Amy exhales deeply, like she was getting something weighty off her chest. Her fingers fiddle with the neckline of her blouse as she tugs at a silver chain. She pulls out the necklace, running a hand over the pendant. “Well, when you see me again, I’ll be the girl running her tongue over her teeth.”

  And I’m the guy staring at her necklace. I can’t look away. Because I can’t believe my eyes.

  Her pendant is Betty Boop, holding a slice of cake, wearing pink boots.

  I blink in case I’m seeing things.

  Imagining things.

  But nope. It’s real. Her pendant is the avatar, and everything clicks.

  Amy is friends with Peyton from last night. Peyton looked familiar to me because she was with Amy the very first night at Gin Joint. Amy said that night her friend’s ex was a dick.

  Meanwhile, last night Betty Boop told me she was online-dating to help a friend who’d been heartbroken.

  Plus, Betty has a dog named after a famous literary character.

  So does Amy.

  Fine, her dog is Inspector Poirot, not Christian Grey, but it’s another piece of evidence.

  Betty loves to floss. Amy loves the dentist.

  And then, the necklace. Amy’s wearing the lesser-known Betty Boop image because . . . of course she is.

  My heart fox-trots with hope.

  “Nice necklace,” I say, my voice a little gravelly.

  She runs a finger across it absently. “Thanks. Got it on Etsy. Tracked down an artist to make it for me.”

  I fight like hell to stave off a grin, to resist smiling as wide as the sea and
saying I know.

  Instead, when she heads to her office, I head to mine.

  I shut the door.

  Stare out the window.

  Pinch the bridge of my nose. I need to remember why what I want to do next is a bad idea.

  Why I first laid down rules. What I promised myself.

  And I do. I’m keenly aware of every damn reason I have to kill this profile, ignore Amy, and forget I ever started to fall for her.

  I’m aware, too, that there’s that looming issue of “disclosure.”

  But fuck my rules.

  Against all my better judgment, all my experience telling me not to get involved with someone I work with, I send Betty a note.

  Dax Powers: I’ll be at Tristan’s at eight. I’ll be wearing Clark Kent glasses.

  15

  Amy

  As the hygienist scalpels my teeth, I think of Linc.

  I picture him in the break room.

  I replay our conversations over the last few weeks. I rewind the conversation from this morning.

  I return to the way he looked at me the night we met at Gin Joint.

  The way we talk.

  Our banter.

  Our chemistry.

  The zing I feel every time I see him.

  The zing he seems to feel too.

  “So how’s everything going at work? Acquire any new books?” the woman in the pink scrubs asks as she saws floss between my teeth. Why does the hygienist always ask me questions when she has tools in my mouth?

  “Mrfghtsmh,” I say.