“I haven’t even got to what happened after the date ditching.”
“Hold on”—Heather took a slug of coffee—I need to prepare myself. Especially since I’m the one who forced you to go out with him.” She sucked in a breath, released it. “Okay, go.”
“He called me a cow.”
The look on Heather’s face was scary, Kay had to give her friend that much. And it wasn’t even directed at her, so really, she hadn’t even witnessed the full potential of that glare.
“He. Did. What?”
Kay explained leaving the restaurant, the sexy—albeit awful—man who’d knocked into her, causing her to spill her purse, before overhearing the conversation and—
“Then he basically said only gross cows write romance novels and that he’d purposely come late because he didn’t want to be there in the first place.” Kay sipped her tea. “And so I walked over to him, slapped him in the chest with one of my books, and walked out.”
“You didn’t!” Heather gasped.
Kay nodded. “Fuck yes, I did.”
“That is amazing,” Heather said, and the slight awe in her tone smoothed over the ruffled edges of Kay’s temper. “You should have really slapped him though.”
Kay sighed and sat back. “As much as I wanted to, you know how I feel about actual violence.”
“You and your morals.”
“I know”—Kay’s lips twitched—“pesky standards.”
Heather’s phone buzzed, but she kept her eyes on Kay’s. “I’m really sorry. Garret mentioned to Clay that he was single and looking to settle down, but that he’d been struggling to find smart, talented woman, I thought, Who’s smarter and more talented than you?”
Aw.
Another buzz, which Heather ignored. “Obviously, I knew you fit the bill, but I didn’t know he’d be such a douche. Next time—”
“There will be no next time, Heather O’Keith.” Kay narrowed her eyes.
Heather’s phone buzzed for a third time, and she sighed. “I need to go.”
“Not until you promise no more blind dates.”
Avoiding Kay’s eyes, she stood up, tossed her purse over one shoulder and turned to leave. “It was good to meet up. I can’t wait for your next book!”
“No more new books unless you agree to no more blind dates.”
Heather winced. “You’re mean.”
“I’m practical. That was torture, and I’m old enough to only want to do things that I want to do.” All well and good in words, but Kay had serious pushover tendencies, which Heather certainly knew . . . and would probably exploit if the chips were on the table.
“It’s for your own good,” Heather began.
See?
“I’m happy with my life,” she told her. “Would I turn the right man away if he dropped into my lap? Hell no. But I’m not actively looking for a relationship, and I’m totally fine with that.”
“But you’re a romance writer,” Heather said. “You create stories that make people happy, and you deserve to have some of that happy for yourself.”
Kay smiled and pushed to her feet. “Thank you for caring.” She hugged Heather. “But I am happy and if you read some of my reviews, you’d see that I make plenty of people miserable.” Her smile widened to a grin. “Plus, consider this whole horrible event fodder for my new book. I’ll name someone Garret, kill him off, and then move on with my life in blissful abandon.”
Heather considered that for a few seconds. “Okay, fine.” She finally glanced down at her cell and made at face at what she saw on the screen. “I just don’t understand how he transformed from Mr. Nice Guy into Sir Asshole.”
“Either way,” Kay said. “He’s not Mr. Right. So”—and she wanted to make this crystal clear because Heather was a master negotiator and had a penchant for finding workarounds and loopholes—“repeat after me: No more blind dates.”