Page 37 of The Mr. Right Checklist

“Yes, while I worked and went to graduate school and she started her career. After we got married, I had my nose to the grindstone with school, work, research, and trying to get published. I thought things were good.”

“But she wasn’t happy?”

“I guess not. She was a buyer for a high-end retail chain of department stores, and she traveled a lot for work. She met someone while she was traveling and had an affair.”

“Oh, Fletch.” She puts her hand on my leg for the millionth time. “That’s so hard.”

If your hand moves any higher, I will be, too.

I down my drink, hoping to drown out the desires she’s stirring. “It stung, but looking back, it’s clear we wanted different things all along.”

She steals a fry off my plate and takes a bite. “Like what?”

“Everything. I didn’t love living in the city, but she did, so we stayed, and on holidays she wanted to go on vacations, while I wanted to see my family. It was easier to do what she wanted than to fight, so . . .”

“You gave up holidays with your family?” She looks appalled. “What did they think about that?”

“They weren’t thrilled that I married her in the first place, so that just added to their concerns.”

“Whoa, slow down, Casanova. Did they tell you that?”

“My father tried, and Chuck came right out and said he thought I was making a mistake. But I thought I loved her, so they backed off. I should have listened.”

She sips her drink, brows knitted. “You said you’d never choose a woman over family, but you did?”

“Right, and I learned my lesson. I think I was just comfortable and happy enough that I didn’t need to go looking for more.”

“Golden retriever,” she says in a singsong voice, stirring her drink with her straw.

“Sure, okay. Maybe. But sometimes you don’t realize how wrong something is until you’re in too deep.”

“Or how right it is. It happens both ways.” She picks the cherries off the side of her glass and lowers one into her mouth. “Mm.”

That sound is just as torturous as it was the first time around.

She holds the other cherry out for me. “Want my cherry?”

A slow grin crawls across my face.

“Ryan Fletcher, you have a dirty mind.”

“Hey, you offered, but since we’re talking about fruit, I’d much rather watch you eat it.”

She flashes a sassy smile, holding my gaze as she places the cherry on her tongue, and then eats it with another alluring moan. Her hand lands on my thigh again, and she says, “Want to know a secret?”

Hell yeah, I want to know a secret, and even though I know I shouldn’t, I hope that secret is that she’d rather I eat her. “What do you think?”

She crooks her finger for me to come closer. I lean in, and her cheek brushes mine as she says, “Jackson Robby got my cherry.”

My protective urges claw at me. I put my hand over hers on my thigh, keeping her close, my eyes on hers. “Lucky bastard didn’t deserve it.”

She inhales raggedly and grips my thigh tighter, just as her name rings through the bar, announcing her turn at karaoke. For a second neither of us moves, but I’m not going to be the dick that steals her chance at doing something she loves on her big night. I force myself to let go of her hand. “That’s you, sunshine.”

“Yeah. Me. Okay.” She blinks several times without moving, and then, as if infused with energy, she jumps off her stool and says, “Wish me luck!” and rushes toward the stage.

Several guys turn to check her out in that sexy pink-and-white dress. I fight the urge to follow her to stake my claim and shut them down. But she’s a forever girl with a list a mile long of things she wants in a man, and I’m not that guy, so I shove that urge down deep and order another drink as she gets situated onstage.

Several guys whistle and clap, earning a smile that lights up the room as “I Love It” by Icona Pop comes on, blaring through the bar. The crowd cheers as Destiny struts across the stage like she owns it, scream-singing horribly off-key about crashing her car, watching it burn, and loving it. Every time she belts out that she doesn’t care, she faces the crowd and smacks her chest with her fist like the lyrics are torn from her heart. She has the audience eating out of the palm of her hand, clapping to the beat. She motions for everyone to sing with her, and they join in. As she sings about being on different roads, one grounded, one high in the sky, her beautiful eyes find mine, and her grin grows impossibly wider.