Page 36 of The Mr. Right Checklist

Rather not tell her? She’s the only person I’ve wanted to open up to since my divorce. Nothing about our situation makes sense. I haven’t spent this much time with a woman since I was married, much less wanted to. I like quiet, and her mouth moves faster than the Energizer Bunny. Still, there’s something about the sweet, sensitive, over-the-top beauty that reels me in and makes me want to do a hell of a lot more than talk.

But she thinks I’m some sort of grumpy Ken doll who’s good-looking for a blond, for fuck’s sake, and she’s trying to set me up with random women, so I know I’m alone in this.

She’s sucking down that cavity-sweet drink through a straw, wiggling her shoulders to the beat of the music as some guy sings off pitch. She’s masking her disappointment in my reluctance to spill my past well, which isn’t like her. But there’s no escaping it. It’s like a wall between us, and that breaks my restraint. I lean closer so she can hear me and say, “I’ve never felt that magical feeling you talk about.”

She sets down her drink, brows knitted. “You mean love?”

“Yeah. I thought I loved Elaina, but it never felt the way you describe it.”

“Not even at first?”

“We were twenty when we first started seeing each other. At that age, I don’t think I’d know something magical if it bit me in the ass.”

“Yes, you would.” She picks up a mozzarella stick and takes a bite, pointing the remainder at me. “It’s unavoidable, like that itch you get in the middle of your back and can’t scratch, but in the very best way.” She pops the rest of the cheese into her mouth and leans closer, adorably tipsy. “I guess there were no fireworks when you . . . you know.”

“You mean orgasms?”

“No. Fireworks, with lights and sounds and overwhelming sensations.”

I scoff.

“You act like you don’t believe it can happen.” She waggles her finger at me. “I’ll have you know that when you get down and dirty with your forever love, it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. There are definitely fireworks.”

“I thought you’ve never been in love.”

“I haven’t.”

“Then you know this because . . . ?”

“Ruby told me,” she says with a lift of her chin.

God, she’s cute. “Is that on your checklist, too?”

“Of course! I don’t want to miss out on good lovin’. Honestly, Ruby and I both thought sex was way overhyped. I mean, it doesn’t even last that long, and from what I’ve experienced, guys can’t help but get the good stuff, while I’m always left feeling like . . . Really? That’s it, then?”

I grit my teeth, wishing she hadn’t put the image of her with other guys in my head. “Sounds like you’ve been doing it with the wrong guys.”

“You’ve got that right. But let’s get back to you. There were no fireworks, and you still married her?”

“In all fairness, I didn’t know there could be fireworks, or I might have held out.”

“Now you know.” She pats my cheek. “But I don’t know if you’d’ve held out. I think you’re like a golden retriever. You know, loyal, golden.” She runs her fingers through the side of my hair.

“Did you just compare me to a dog?”

“Yup. But don’t fret,” she says, petting my scruff. “Lots of women love golden retrievers. I like pups like Molly.”

“Disobedient?”

“Rascally. But I do like the feel of your scruff.” She pulls me closer and rubs her cheek along mine, humming. “Mm. That’s nice.”

What did I do to deserve this torture?

She sits back, blinking at me expectantly. “So? Were you happy?”

My brain is busy conjuring the sexy hums and moans she’d make if she felt my scruff on her inner thighs. I clear my throat and take a drink, silently berating myself. “Happy enough. We were just kids, going to school and having fun in the Big Apple. We’d go out after studying, and stay up half the night having sex. What more could we want?”

She whispers, “Fireworks.” Then louder, “Did you live together before you got married?”