“Not a date, and he’s helping his grandma with her groceries.”
“That woman has the strength of ten men and you know it. The last thing she needs is help carrying a banana.” He smirked. “Get it? A banana? Because she held your bana—”
“Focus!” I snapped my fingers to regain his attention. “I have to be back on set and you need to get back to work.” Right, let’s call it work, so everyone feels better that he earns millions a year by staring out a damn window.
Sure helps me sleep at night.
“Fine.” Max cleared his throat. “Once you’ve secured said laughter or the date by using your crazy eyes . . .”
“Thanks.”
“Welcome.” He examined a french fry, his eyebrows narrowing as if he was counting the salt crystals. “You need to actually secure that date, which is harder than you think. I mean, have you seen the type of crays that walk the streets out there?” Why, yes, I have. I’m looking at one and for some reason taking his advice. But I digress. “How can this feminine creature trust you if she doesn’t know you? I’ve always learned it helps to call home.”
“Call . . . home?”
“I call Mom.”
“What?” I yelled, startling the pigeons as they swarmed away from our table. “You call our mother?”
Max grinned shamelessly. “She vouches for my awesomeness.”
“Is she drunk every time you call?”
Frowning, Max checked his phone, then answered. “I may send Dad a text just to make sure she’s had her nightly wine. I find she’s much more agreeable when she’s liquored up.”
I chose to ignore the fact that he used my alcohol-induced mother to get girls. “Fine, so you call Mom and she says what?”
“Well, sometimes she goes off script—”
“There’s a freaking script?”
“Dude, let me finish.”
I held up my hands in defense.
“‘My Max is the sweetest gentleman.’” Max spoke in a high-pitched, feminine voice that had pigeons sweeping in and landing near our table. “‘Why, he saved four little ducklings when they were just hatched! He’s a beautiful soul. Did you know he’s wanted to be president since he was four?’”
I rolled my eyes.
“And usually this gets the girl to engage more . . .” His voice returned to normal.
“Really? Why?”
“‘Well.’” Oh, good, the voice was back. Pigeons continued gathering, and I kicked them away. “‘I’ll never forget the moment he watched the news and said, “Mom, I want to change the world someday. Who makes those changes?” I said the president, and the very next day he wrote “President Max” on his door.’”
“You weren’t even potty trained until five!” I yelled.
“Details.” Max waved me off. “At any rate, the advice I’m giving is this: third-party references seal the deal at least ninety-nine percent of the time. It’s marketing genius. Think of dating as a lesson in business marketing. Don’t take my word for it, but this guy over here? The one with the kind smile and ‘I Love Kitties’ T-shirt? He just LOVES me—you should too! Oh, what? What was that? You need someone trustworthy? Shucks, I just helped him save an old lady from a tree! And that police officer over there accepting an award? My cousin. I shit you not!”
Mouth open, I simply nodded. “So, they trust you by association.”
Max rolled his eyes. “It’s all on my website. Have you seriously never read my book?”
“I thought you were joking.”
“It was a New York Times bestseller.”
“Now I know you’re joking.”
“Publishers Weekly called me a literary genius.”
“Were they high?”
“Please, like I’d drug my own reviewers.” His lips curled into a smile that I chose to ignore, for obvious reasons. “Okay, so once you have the date, it’s important to spend more time listening than talking.”
“Right.”
“You’re not listening!” Max slammed his fist against the picnic table, tears filling his eyes. “Are all men this dense?”
“Uh.” What the hell? Why was I panicking? It was Max! Not some crazy girl!
“Boo.” Two giant thumbs pointed downward. “Wrong. The first date is crucial, you are never right on the first date, you are never smarter than her, better looking, or funnier. You are simply honored to be sitting at the same table as her. When you pick her up, you get down on one knee and bow your head in humble adoration. Whatever the hell it takes to get her to get in the car without having to hit her over the head and drag her, caveman style.”
“Because if that doesn’t land you in prison . . .”
“Look!” Max stood. “I’m just trying to help our friend Jason. On second thought, I’ll just call him. It’s so hard explaining romance to simpleminded fellas.”
I think I was the fella to which he was referring. “Jason changed his number.”
“Did he?” Max’s eyes narrowed. “Without telling his best friend?”
“Colt’s his best friend.”
Max pulled out his cell.
“Wait!” I grabbed Max. “It wasn’t for Jason, it was for me.”
“And now you’re covering for him!” Max shouted.
“No.” Oh, shit, Jason was going to kill me. “You know what? I should go, and remember, you have that desk delivery don’t want to miss, right?”
Max’s eyes clouded. “It’s made of steel. Do you even know what I can do to that desk?”
“You mean on the desk. Please tell me you mean on the desk.”
He rolled his eyes. “Duh, I mean the other way around would be . . . well, there has to be a word for that. Sex with inanimate objects? Probably lands you in the cray-cray bin, am I right?”
“Go to work, Max.”
He saluted me and started walking off, then turned. “Hey, Reid?”
“Hmm?”
“You do realize that this won’t end well.”
“What won’t?”
“You and Jezebel.”
“Jordan?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Stay out of it, Max . . .”
He held up his hands. “Just don’t get too attached. She isn’t the type to stay around. She scares easy. Trust me.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Just trust.” He pounded his chest and walked off.
I checked my phone. In less than two hours I had to meet with Jordan and give her my relationship advice.
And all I had to go on was “Call my mom.”
I was screwed.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
JORDAN
He was late.
I promised Ren that we’d have the video up by six that night, and still no Reid. I tapped my phone, willing it to notify me with a text, a call—anything! It was nearing five thirty and I knew it would take a miracle to get everything done in under half an hour.
Finally, the door to the apartment burst open and a very crazed-looking Reid made his way over the threshold.
At least five books were stacked in his hands and his normally bright blue eyes looked tired.
“Study date go late?” I asked sweetly.
“Bite me. I was at the library.”
I blinked in confusion.
“Where there are books,” he said slowly.
“Right, but why were you there?”
He shoved the books onto the counter. One fell to the ground. I tilted my head to read the upside-down title—Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus.
“Shh!” Reid launched himself across the living room and covered my mouth with his hand. “He’ll hear you!”
“God?” I spoke against his fingers.
“Max,” he hissed. “The last thing he needs to know is that I went to the library and borrowed books, books on dating, books on dating advice, books that are supposed to help me get smarter.”
“Word of advice.” I pushed his hand away from my face. “You got
ta open them and read.”
“Oh, really?” Reid’s expression was one of complete dumbfounded awe. “Open book, then read book? Man don’t know how to do such things.” He pounded his chest and then winked one of his flashy eyes at me. Down, girl. Down. “You know, this is all your fault.”
“You keep saying that, but I’m not the one with Max as a brother.”
“Like I can control those things!”
I shrugged and opened my laptop. “Okay, let’s get down to business. We’ll record for around ten minutes. I’ll give three dating and relationship tips, you give three. We’ll discuss them as we go, and yeah, should be a piece of cake!”
“Great!” Reid jumped onto the couch and rubbed his hands together. “Oh, and by the way, I got all my dating advice from Max and library books, so . . .”
“So it should be good.” I patted his hand. “Great. Ready?”
“No.” Reid jogged over to the freezer, pulled out a bottle of vodka, grabbed two shot glasses, then returned, setting them on the table. “First we take a good luck shot.”
“Why?” I eyed the shots warily. Mixing alcohol and a video for the masses wasn’t smart—at all.
He didn’t answer, just filled both shot glasses to the rim and handed me one. “Don’t be a shrew, Sebastian, drink up!”
“Call me Sebastian one more time . . .”
“Someone’s a crab.”
“Ooh, funny.” I narrowed my eyes and took the shot. It went down hot. You know that feeling where the alcohol burns an actual hole through your esophagus because the last thing you ate just so happened to be a spicy taco at noon? Yeah, it felt like that.
Reid poured two more shots.
“What are you doing? We’re supposed to be working.”
“And you”—he handed me the shot—“are supposed to be letting me tame you. Let me do my job.”
“I’m not a job.”
“So drink.”
“Fine.” I threw it back, my tongue going completely numb, and then slammed the shot glass onto the table. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were nervous about this whole thing.”
“Me?” Reid snorted. “I don’t get nervous. Ever.” He licked his lips and poured another shot. “For luck,” he said, then tossed it back. Three shots? Maybe we should have done a list of don’ts for our video, starting with: don’t take three shots before your first date—chances are you’ll puke down her dress before you actually make it to the bar.
“Ready?” I asked.
“Yup.” Reid tilted his head, then licked his palm and patted the top of my hair. I let out a little growl.
“What? I’m trying to tame it, and we both know that the best kind of discipline is habitual. If I continually tell your hair to calm down, eventually it will.”
“Or it could just reject said discipline and take over the world.”
“That too.”
“Reid—”
“Fine.” He rubbed his hands together. “No stalling. Go.”
I forced a smile and hit the “Record” button on my MacBook Pro. My voice was all business. “Dating advice from one of Hollywood’s hottest stars—you girls ready? You guys have pens?”
“Jordan.” Reid shook his head. “Don’t use the fake voice. The fake voice sounds fake.”
“Fine.” I deleted and tried again, clearing my throat. “Hey, guys and gals, welcome to—”
Reid hit “Stop.” “What the hell was that?”
“What?” I pushed his hand away from the mouse pad. “I’m a business professional, not a cruise director! What do you want from me?”
“Smile!” He pointed at his own smile. “And don’t look so upset to be sitting next to me.”
I tucked my hair behind my ears and straightened in my seat.
Reid looked down. “Why the hell are you still wearing work clothes?”
“Because this”—I pointed to the computer—“this is work. This is my job. You’re my job.”
“Funny.” He leaned in, his lips inches from mine. “I thought I was the tamer . . .” His lips hovered as he reached around me and hit the “Record” button. Chest heaving, I waited for him to move away; instead he pressed his body against mine. “Boys, pay attention.” He didn’t look at the camera. “This, this right here is what you want. You want to be in a position where you’re stalking your prey.”
“Ha.” I snorted. “Girls, write this down—if a man calls you prey, run, very fast.”
“Do it.” Reid laughed, his lips tickling my neck. “Isn’t that right, men? What’s the fun in chasing if the antelope doesn’t even run?”
“So now we’re antelope?”
“I could have said you were a warthog.”
“Aw, so sweet.” I ignored the way Reid pinned himself over my body and glanced at the computer screen. “So apparently we’re doing a segment on what not to do on a date. Name calling? Probably a bad idea unless you want to get punched in the face.”
“You mean you don’t like it when I call you Muffin Butt?” Reid feigned a hurt expression. “You know the only reason I call you that is because you fed me muffins in bed after the first time we had sex.”
WHAT? I let out a self-conscious laugh. “We’ve never had sex.” I shook my head vigorously at the computer.
“You were there.” Reid nodded innocently. “I mean, I know I take you to places you’ve never been before, but like, not literally.” He winked.
“I’m going to kill you!” I shoved at his chest. “Take this seriously! I knew we shouldn’t have done shots!”
He quickly grabbed my hands and pinned me onto the couch. “Men, pay attention. This is my favorite part. Foreplay.”
“Touch me with any part of your body and I’m cutting it off!”
He ignored me. “Women are timid, like birds, and a lot of times they don’t mean what they say. Take, for example, the heavy breathing coming from my lady friend.”
“Not breathing heavy!” I lied and tried to hold my breath.
“Witty banter.” He shrugged. “A bit of violence.” He dipped his mouth to my neck. “And, oh, look, there it is.”
“What? Where’s what?”
“Your tell.”
“I have no tell. Get. Off!”
Reid’s cursed aqua eyes were like homing beacons. When this was over with, I was going to make him wear sunglasses over those laser beams. “You do.”
“Do not.” I bucked beneath him.
He cupped my chin, and my very treacherous body moved.
“There it is again.”
“I’m not doing anything!” I squeezed my eyes shut.
“The arch,” he said, then ran his hand down my side, his fingers moving to my back. “She arches . . . because no matter what insanity may be coming from that sexy little mouth of hers—her body still responds.”
He kissed my cheek.
I told my body not to react.
Arch.
“Stop it!”
He kissed me again.
And another arch. Freaking men! “Reid . . . this is . . . assault.”
He jumped off me and hit “Stop” on the camera. “So, I think that went well.”
“No,” I huffed. “Not well. We’re doing it again and sticking to the script I wrote out for both of us!”
“Script? That’s for movies—this is life.”
“The hell it is! This is my job!”
“Mine too!” His voice rose an octave. “And people will like this a hell of a lot better than the shit you write out.” He grabbed my notepad. “Tell him he looks nice.”
“Give me that!”
He held it high above his head. “Compliment his shoes?”
“It works!” I argued, still trying to grab the notepad away.
“If you’re gay!”
“Lots of straight men respond to that compliment!”
“Because they think if they say thank you they can get in your pants! Damn, are you really this dense?”
I finally
wrenched my notepad free and slapped him with it. “Are you really this childish?”
“I’m not the one doing the hitting.”
I hit him again. Because I could. “My relationship advice was to compliment the person you want to go out with. Not lick their hand, pat their hair down, call them names, then crush them with two hundred and twenty-five pounds of muscle until they nearly break in half!”
“Two ten,” he corrected.
I opened my mouth, then snapped it shut, slamming my notepad onto the table. “We’re doing it again. My way.”
Reid yawned.
“Oh, please.” I snorted, jerking my computer from the table. “You just don’t want to do it my way because you don’t know how to get a girl. Admit it!”
“Oh, yeah?”
“YES!”
“Want to know what my research taught me today?”
“How to read?”
His eyes narrowed as he tugged my computer away from me. “No. It taught me this. Be real. Be honest. And at least if you don’t secure a date you know it wasn’t you—but them.”
“Well.” I licked my lips and looked down. “As far as advice goes, that isn’t horrible.”
He handed me back my computer.
“And you didn’t even hit ‘Stop’ on the screen.”
“Yeah, I did.”
“No.” I tried sliding my finger over the mouse pad. “You didn’t, and somehow I just froze my computer.”
Reid frowned. “Let me see.”
“Fine.” Done arguing, I handed it over while he tapped a few keys, then tried to double-click the mouse.
“Stop clicking all over the screen, you’re just going to make it worse!”
“Stop looking over my shoulder like I’m looking at PORN so I can concentrate!”
I sat back and crossed my arms.
Reid’s eyebrows furrowed. “What the hell—”
“What?”
He paled.
“Reid?”
“Uh . . .”
“Reid. What. Did. You. Do?”
“You know the difference between a live feed and just recording a video, right?”
I clenched my hands into tiny balls, my nails digging into my palms. “Please, I know how to use a computer.”
“I know, but—”