The What If Guy - Lauren Blakely Page 0,5

undeterred. “Nope. I want to hear about your pathetic love life, or lack thereof.”

I take a bite of my sandwich, set it down, then level with them. These guys and my sister are my closest friends, so there’s no need to beat around the bush. “Look, my lack thereof is the most appropriate way to refer to my love life ever since my divorce from Stacey. Hell, ever since the last few years of my marriage. But that’s fine. Amelia’s my priority, and I don’t need to date. And Amelia has a half-day at school, so I need to pick her up soon, since this lucky bastard has her for the whole weekend. Case closed.”

Summer steeples her fingers together and stares at me with I’m waiting in her eyes. “Then you have fifteen minutes to tell me the pathetic story.”

Fitz jumps in. The man cuts to the chase in conversations like he speeds through opposing players on the NHL ice—just goes straight at it. “Logan went to buy Amelia a Snoopy lunch box, locked fingers on the handle with a babe, and tragically failed to secure her digits.”

I wince at his summary, but my frustration is self-directed. I should have finished the conversation with the sexy brunette with the pouty lips and rapid-fire banter. I was this close to asking for what I wanted most in our negotiations—a way to contact her. She’s the first woman I’ve felt that kind of crazy spark with since my divorce.

And I could use a crazy spark.

Oh hell, could I ever.

But c’est la vie.

I shrug. “What can I do? Just move on. I’m rustier than a bike that’s been in the garage for a decade.”

“But some things are like riding a bike,” Fitz says, miming gripping the handlebars.

“Yeah, pretty sure I remember how to do yada, yada, yada. I was married, not celibate.”

He arches a playful brow. “Did I say sex? I meant asking out someone you dig.”

I hold up my hands. “Let’s view it as practice. Next time I’ll do better.”

“So next time when you suggest having drinks and she, ya know, wants to, you’ll remember what to say. Repeat after me: Can I have your number?”

“Can I have your number?” My friends repeat in a mocking Greek chorus.

“It was just one random encounter. No biggie. But yes—yes, I will next time.”

Summer clears her throat, a twinkle in her brown eyes. “Actually, rather than wait for next time, you could get on Made Connections this time to look for the Snoopy Lover.”

I jerk my gaze to her. “What’s that?”

“It’s this new app. It’s like Missed Connections on Craigslist. But now in app form. You post where you had a moment with someone and hope they post back.”

Oliver beams and squeezes Summer’s shoulder. “That’s brilliant. You are brilliant.” He drops a kiss onto her cheek, then points at me. “You have to do it. Mostly because I want to read the responses to your post. I’m sure they will be hilarious to everyone who isn’t you.”

“Thank you, asshole,” I say dryly.

“Go for it.” My sister’s encouragement is bright and cheery—that’s who she is when she’s not needling me. “Find the Snoopy Lover. It’ll be so great if you do.”

Fitz stabs the table playfully. “Do it, man. Do it.”

“Would you? If you were in my situation?” I ask him.

He scrubs a hand over his beard, humming thoughtfully. “Hard to say, because if I met a guy I liked over a lunch box, there’s no way I’d walk out without getting his number.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course. I forgot I was talking to the prince of hookups.”

Fitz scoffs. “King, if you please.” Then he takes a serious tone. “But look, you’re getting back into the swing of things. So you missed the first time. Take another swing. Use the app. You’ve got nothing to lose.”

I draw a deep breath, weighing the options. I have deals galore to handle. Partnerships to manage. A kid I adore.

But, hell, it has been a while. I’d love a good date with a woman I enjoyed talking to. A woman I sparked with.

And the Snoopy lunch box gal and I were on fire.

What’s the harm in testing out an app?

Especially since my friends are probably never going to let me live this down if I don’t.

I take another bite of the chicken sandwich, swipe a napkin across my mouth, and grab my phone. Fifteen minutes later, I hit post.

3

Bryn

On the way to the editorial meeting, I drop my new lunch