Dating Mr. Right: A Collection: Four Standalone Romantic Comedies Read online

  I sneer, not liking this direction. “With men?”

  She scoffs then laughs as she pats my hand. “Don’t be silly. I meant good luck in life. And listen, I don’t think you were hexed, and I also don’t think you need to love Valentine’s Day, but I hope you’ll realize it’s truly just a day to celebrate friendship and love. You should embrace it a little bit.”

  Friendship. There’s that word again. Is that all she wants? Or does she want the latter?

  “Even if I get another broken nose?”

  She glances around. “Who’s going to break your nose? Tommy?”

  “Let’s hope not.”

  She studies my nose as she curls her hands around her mug of tea. Softly, she says, “I like your crooked nose.”

  “You do?”

  She nods, swallowing. “I like your whole face.”

  My body hums with excitement, with the thrill of a compliment from the woman I adore. “I like yours too.” Holy shit. Did that just happen? Did I just compliment her in a way that makes it patently obvious how I feel? Maybe I did, and maybe it works. The woman is smiling like she has a secret.

  “How should I embrace it?”

  “Well, you did get me a heart-covered latte earlier. I’d say that’s a start.”

  But yet, I know there are other ways I should embrace the day. By talking to her, getting to know her even better, understanding her. “Tell me why you love it.”

  A brightness seems to stretch across her whole being. “I love friends and family and celebration. I’ve loved telling people I care about that I love them. That’s what I think birthdays and holidays are all about. Showing people you love that you care.”

  The way she says that touches into the dark, jaded, cursed part of my heart and makes it lighter. “You’re good at that.”

  “When I was younger, I made cards for everyone. Friends, family. I would tell them all the things I loved about them.”

  “That’s a cool thing to do.”

  She shrugs like this is all second nature to her, and I suppose it is. “If you care about someone, you should let them know. I know you might think I love holidays because I’m a cornball and a former cheerleader and generally an extrovert.”

  I smile. “You are definitely an extrovert.”

  “And you’re an introvert.”

  “I am?”

  “You spend your evenings reading books.”

  “Hey, I work out too and go to sporting events.”

  “But that’s the only thing you get excited about. The rest you keep inside.”

  “What do you think I’m keeping inside?”

  “It’s not what I think you’re keeping inside. It’s what I hope.”

  I’m warm everywhere, buzzing and hoping and wanting. “What do you hope for?”

  But before she can answer, my phone rings. It’s my sister. “Are you still near the rehearsal space? I left my laptop there.”

  “I’ll head over and check.” I hang up.

  Macy stands up. “I’ll go with you.”

  “Yeah?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Why is that a surprise?”

  “I don’t know. You always do nice things. It shouldn’t be a surprise.”

  “I like spending time with you, Kirby.”

  My skin heats to August in New York levels. “I like spending time with you too. I like it a lot. And if this is part of you having ways, then you can keep having your way.”

  She raises an eyebrow in appreciation.

  It sure feels like we’re speeding out of the friend zone. And maybe that’s not the worst thing in the world.

  7

  Kirby

  On the hunt for my sister’s laptop, we head to the building where we record. We step into the elevator, shooting up to the sixth floor.

  A red sign in the elevator reads Happy Valentine’s Day. Yesterday, I might have scowled at it. Today, though, thanks to talking to Macy, I consider that maybe I’m wrong. What if I’ve been wrong about everything? What if I’ve been wrong about curses? Besides, tomorrow is Valentine’s Day. Today is still just a day.

  I hit the stop button. Take a chance. “You want to know how much I like spending time with you?”

  Her eyes widen, and her breathing seems to quicken. “I do.”

  I reach for her hand and bring her close. “For a long time, I’ve thought Valentine’s Day sucked. I’ve considered it a social construct. I’m not saying it’s my favorite day, but you’re making me rethink a lot of things. Including something I’d like right now.”

  “What’s that?”

  “To kiss you in an elevator.” Her eyes sparkle and say yes. I pull her against me and I kiss her hard and breathlessly. So hard I wonder why we’ve waited this long, but of course, I know all the reasons why we’ve waited this long.

  Because I’ve waited.

  Because I’ve been afraid.

  Because I’ve had so much bad luck, I didn’t believe I could have good luck.

  I cup her cheek and sweep my thumb over her jaw, trying to erase the bad luck. To make our own new luck. She shudders in my arms and we kiss feverishly, like we’ve both been waiting years for this.

  She moves closer, loops her arms around my neck, and threads her fingers in my hair. I kiss her more deeply—she’s so damn soft and she tastes so damn sweet, and all I want is to take her home and have her and tell her. Tell her I’m not such a curmudgeon, I’m not such a grump. That if I could have her forever, she’d feel like the best luck.

  She breaks the kiss and looks up at me, hazy-eyed. “I’ve been hoping you would do that.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I’ve been wanting it for a long, long time.”

  Go for it. Go all the way in. Don’t hold back. “Then I think we should do it for longer, like maybe all night.”

  Her grin is my yes, then she gives it to me in words. “I’d like that too.”

  I hit the button so we resume the pace, get off at the sixth floor, grab the laptop, and return to the elevator. Once inside, I grab her face and kiss her again, softer this time, slow and lingering, savoring her. When the elevator arrives at the lobby and the doors open, my sister is waiting on the other side.

  8

  Kirby

  I don’t embarrass easily.

  But here in the building, with my sister staring slack-jawed at me, I’m pretty sure my face is approximating a tomato.

  It’s probably not my best look, and I’m also certain I’m in big trouble. “Ally, sorry. Let me explain.”

  She holds up her hands, shaking her head. “There’s nothing to explain.”

  I grab Ally’s shoulder. Worry cartwheels through me. “But let me try.”

  “There’s no need. I couldn’t be happier you two were making out.”

  “For real?” I scratch my jaw, processing this new intel.

  “For real. Now gimme my laptop and go forth and fornicate.”

  Macy laughs, shaking her head. “Gee, thanks, Ally.”

  “Admit it. It’s a good idea,” Ally adds.

  I couldn’t agree more. “Have I mentioned you’re the best sister ever?”

  She waves, backing up. “Go for it—finally.”

  Then she’s gone, and I turn to Macy and do precisely that. I do what I should have done every single day since I met her. “Hey, you and I should be a thing.”

  She smiles like I’ve given her the keys to the world. “Are you saying you kind of want me to be your valentine?”

  I groan, but it’s a playful one. I tug her close, plant a kiss on her lips, and whisper, “Be mine.”

  Softly, she answers me. “I’m yours.” She takes a beat and murmurs, “But I want you to know why I love Valentine’s Day.”

  “For the hearts and stuff?” I ask carefully, since I might not be a Vrooge, but I’m not ready to don a Valentine’s Day ugly sweater. Do they even make those? I bet they do.

  But Macy doesn't seem to be thinking of ugly sweaters. A naughty glint crosses he
r eyes. “Yes, and for many other things. I also like it for the spicy side.” Her tone is so damn sultry and inviting.

  I slide a hand around her waist. “Is that so?”

  Ever so innocently, she smiles, then seems to confess, “I have a bit of a naughty side.”

  I curl my fingers tighter around her. And my luck is officially changed. “I want to get to know that side.”

  “You didn’t think I had a naughty side?”

  “I had no idea.”

  “Why do you think I mentioned cinnamon?”

  “Was I supposed to understand something about a cinnamon comment?”

  “Cinnamon is spicy. It’s not sweet.”

  I groan. “Are you telling me you’re spicy instead of sweet?”

  She dots a kiss to my nose. “I’m telling you I’m both. Do you want both tonight?”

  9

  Kirby

  On the streets of New York, she tugs her shirt down her shoulder and shows me the red strap of her bra. I’m a goner.

  Lust cascades in my body. As soon as my brain works again, I call an Uber and get her to my place ASAP.

  In my building, we step into the lift and don’t even bother to wait. “There’s just something about elevators,” I say as I kiss her again.

  “They’re not sweet and innocent. They’re naughty and dirty.”

  “Are you naughty and dirty, Macy?”

  “I want to be with you.”

  Holy shit. This is too much. This is a dream. A crazy, fevered dream because Macy wants the same things I do.

  Macy’s eyes light up. “Would you want to be like that with me?”

  Lust sizzles through my body and I rasp out, “Yes.”

  We make it to my apartment, and before the door slams shut, I kiss her harder and more passionately than before. My hands find their way up her shirt, where I cup the red satin of her bra.

  I lift her shirt and tug it off, and holy cupid. “You’re so fucking sexy.”

  She nibbles on her lip. “I bought it for you. I wore it for you. It’s all for you.”

  I slide a hand between her legs, cupping her through her jeans. I can feel the heat. I undo the zipper and slide my hand inside.

  “That’s why I like Valentine’s Day.” She trembles as I touch her where she wants. “Because it’s sexy. Because it’s hot. Because I don’t just like you.” She stares at me with lust in her irises. “I want you to fuck me, Kirby. I want you to fuck me today and tomorrow and the next day. I want you to do all sorts of crazy things to me.”

  Hallelujah. This is absolutely the best day ever.

  I admire the red lingerie. “I no longer hate red,” I say.

  “I’m glad because I have all sorts of pretty lingerie. Red, pink, white, all those colors you think you don’t like.”

  “Oh, I love them now,” I tell her as her hands dart out to tug at my shirt and pull it over my head, and then to unfasten the zipper on my jeans.

  I strip off her jeans and push her against the door. “So you like it spicy,” I say in her ear. “Want me to fuck you up against the wall?”

  “Please, yes.”

  I find a condom from my wallet as she shoves down my boxer briefs and grabs my cock. I shudder as she grips me, her fist sliding up and down my flesh. I roll the protection on, hitch up her leg, and slide inside.

  It’s incredible. It’s intoxicating. It’s mind-bending as pleasure rolls through me at the feel of being inside this woman—the woman I’ve been lusting after, liking, crushing on, wanting for the last few years.

  As I take her against the door, she wraps her arms around my neck, tugging me as close as possible, whispering in my ear, “I love it like this. I want it like this. Do it harder.”

  And I do, listening to her every request and fulfilling them as I go deeper and she starts to lose control, shaking and shuddering, murmuring in my ear, groaning my name, and then soon enough, she’s coming on my cock.

  Pleasure spirals in me, coils tighter, until I follow her to the other side of pleasure.

  After a glass of wine, Macy’s ready for another round.

  I back her up against the kitchen counter. “I bet you’re wet and hot again,” I whisper.

  She trembles. “Find out.”

  I dip my hand between her legs, feeling her slick heat. “Look at you. So hot for the bad luck guy.”

  “It’s not bad luck anymore.”

  I glide my fingers across her core, and she shudders, pushing against me. “Does the sweet dirty girl want to be fucked with my fingers?”

  “I do,” she says on a pant.

  She’s so fucking wet, so slippery against my hand as I slide a finger inside, then another. She grinds down, and I push deeper, hooking my fingers just so.

  “Oh God,” she says.

  The way she lets go, the way she owns her pleasure, is the most erotic thing. I’m no longer finger-fucking her. She’s fucking my hand. She’s grinding down on me, her breath uneven, her lids squeezed shut, her lips parted, as she shamelessly chases her pleasure.

  “Fuck, Macy. You’re so sexy.”

  “More. Give me more.”

  I slide my finger toward her ass, and she groans wildly. I press against her, and she cries out. “You like that, dirty girl?”

  She nods savagely. She can’t form words.

  But she doesn’t need to. Her body makes her wishes clear. My sweet Macy likes ass play. And I’d like to play with her ass. With two fingers in her pussy, I push one more against her ass.

  A little more.

  A little farther.

  She yelps, but it turns into a carnal, guttural moan as I slide my finger into her. And she goes wild, fucking and humping and coming like a goddamn rock star.

  When she comes down from her high, I ease out of her, step to the sink, and wash my hands. Picking her up, I toss her over my shoulder and carry her to my bedroom.

  I lower her to the bed where she smiles woozily at me as I press a kiss to her belly button. Then her hip. Then the top of her mound.

  “Oh God, are you going to do more to me?”

  “If you want me to.”

  She reaches for my face. “I want you to go down on me, but I want something else first.”

  “Name it,” I say, thinking I hit the fucking jackpot with this woman. Friendship, feelings, and a big bedroom appetite.

  “Can I suck your cock first?”

  Like I’m saying no to that. “Fuck yeah.” My dick throbs, a drop of liquid forming at the tip just from her question.

  “But there’s something I want you to do.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Don’t be gentle.”

  Lust seizes every cell of my body. “Jesus, woman. You are fiery.”

  “Too fiery?”

  “There’s no such thing.”

  “Then I want something else too.”

  “Anything.”

  She smiles coyly, slides to the floor, and gets down on her knees. She links her hands behind her back, restraining her own wrists. “Fuck my mouth.”

  And I’m on fire. Hot, dirty desire rattles through my bones as I do as asked, controlling the best blow job of my life, fucking her mouth, filling her, racing to the edge.

  When I reach it, I see stars. They flicker behind my eyes as pleasure speeds white-hot through me as I release in her throat.

  Later, she’s curled up next to me, and I stroke her hair. “I had no idea you were so wild.”

  “Because you were afraid.”

  I nod, accepting that assessment. “I’m not afraid anymore. That’s because of you.” I cup her chin. “Because you were bold. Because you took a chance on me. Because you looked past my . . . Vrooge-ness.”

  She cuddles against me. “I knew there was more to you. I’ve always seen it. I just wanted you to move a little outside your comfort zone.”

  I run a hand along her flesh. “I like all these zones with you.”

  Worry crosses her eyes. “Do you only like me because I want
it rough and dirty?”

  I shake my head, laughing. “No, sweetheart. I like the sex, but it’s always been you. The fact that you tell me what you want makes you even sexier. Because you ask for it.”

  She sighs happily, her fingers trailing along the ink on my arms. “I want to keep asking for it.”

  I pull her close. “I want you to keep asking for it. I want to keep giving it to you. And I want to give you more than sex, Macy. You know that, right?”

  She nods, a wicked grin on her face. A grin of happiness. “I do know that, but I like hearing it.”

  “We can be friends and lovers. We can be everything.” Suddenly, it’s not hard to say how I feel. It’s the easiest thing in the world, because she’s given me confidence. She’s changed all my luck.

  “I want that.”

  “Good, because you’re mine.”

  “I like being yours.”

  I glance at the clock. It’s past midnight. It’s the day I used to hate. But this woman brought me around, with her enthusiasm and her huge heart that I’m falling madly in love with. “Hey, Macy. Will you be my valentine?”

  “Always.”

  10

  From the texts of Ally & Miller

  Ally: You will never believe what happened.

  Miller: Tell me.

  Ally: My brother. And Macy. In the elevator.

  Miller: Were they doing the Macarena? The hula? Wait, a luau.

  Ally: Stop. They were all over each other.

  Miller: This is getting good. But define “all over.”

  Ally: Please. You know what I mean.

  Miller: Yeah, but spell it out because it’s more entertaining that way.

  Ally: You want me to entertain you now with stories?

  Miller: Don’t I always want you to entertain me with stories?