Page 21 of Micah

Meanwhile, I haven't had my hair professionally done in almost a year.

Can't remember my last pedicure.

The calluses on my hands would make a rancher proud.

And as for my love life?

Well...

Let's just say it's about as busy as the bar on a Tuesday afternoon.

The last real date I went on?

I honestly can't remember.

College, maybe.

Back then it wasn't really dating, anyway.

It was frat parties, cheap beer, loud music, and boys more interested in getting me into bed than getting to know me.

The couple of times I let myself believe one of them might be different?

Let's just say disappointment comes in many forms.

Nowadays, if Miley Cyrus starts singing Flowers over the speakers, I laugh because the woman's got a point.

I can buy my own flowers.

Take myself to dinner.

Hell, thanks to my trusty little Pebble tucked safely away in my nightstand drawer, I don't exactly need a man for certain things.

The thought makes me snort as I wipe down the bar.

Pathetic?

Maybe.

Practical?

Definitely.

Still, there's a difference between being lonely and being alone.

I don't miss sex nearly as much as I miss having someone.

Someone to come home to after a fourteen-hour shift.

Someone who'd wrap their arms around me while I smell like fryer oil, barbecue smoke, spilled beer, and exhaustion.

Someone who'd tell me I look beautiful even with my hair shoved into a messy bun and flour dusting my shirt.

Someone who'd choose me.

Not because I own a business.

Not because I can cook.