“Dammit!” I looked down at my shoes buried in the sopping wet towels and wobbled my ankle. I’d just snapped my damn heel.
I raced around to switch pairs and then gave my cat Gizmo a stern talking to for probably the twentieth time. I dumped the drenched towels into the washer, replacing them with drop cloths to soak up what seemed like endless water. Gizmo hopped on the coffee table, unrepentantly washing his face.
Many puddles remained because I only had a few drop cloths. I’d recently painted the place, but it was only a one-bedroom. Not to mention that obviously sink drainage was a concern, because I’d only been gone six hours this afternoon for a real estate convention.
It shouldn’t have flooded to that extent. Something was clearly afoot with the pipes. It was an old building—yes, it had been extensively renovated, but it was old, nonetheless.
And was that my problem? No, it was not. So, yes, Gizmo was a little hooligan, but our share of the blame was only so much. I intended to state that very fact to the office when we finally spoke.
In between begging them not to toss my very cute miscreant out on his furry ear.
I skipped the elevator because knowing my luck today, I’d get trapped in there. Luckily, I was only on the second floor. Thanks the chaos of my life, and in my head, I forgot my umbrella. It was just a quick trip across the street, anyway. The girls wouldn’t care if my hair got a little frizzy from the rain.
Davis, the building’s maintenance man, called just as I was rushing across Kensington Boulevard to the bachelorette party—because, of course, he would. I paused under the canopy of trees in the median for a little reprieve from the rain. Kensington Boulevard had a lovely walking path between the four-lane roadway. Juggling my bags, I was about to answer when my attention was diverted by a couple enthusiastically playing tongue hockey a few feet away near a hulking silver truck parked in front of Lonegan’s.
Must be nice. The last time I’d been kissed like that had been…over a year ago. It had been a surprise for a mortgage consultant to have that much game. Unfortunately, his personality traits had been lacking, as well as his ability to return a text message. We’d fizzled about as quickly as we’d began. I frowned as I realized the man with dark hair currently groping the blond he was kissing was…
Oh hell no.
It was Derek, the guy I’d just gone on two dates with last week. We’d met on the new dating app, HEA, and I thought we’d had an okay time getting to know one another. No sparks, true, but it was early yet. I’d thought there was still time for some sort of magic to happen.
Perhaps he was going to find his HEA, but clearly, it wasn’t going to be with me.
Thanks for the heads up, jackass. Granted, we hadn’t talked about exclusivity, but part of the perks of the not cheap dating app was finding your true match. Not just a hookup. There were other apps for that sort of thing.
What if I’d had sex with him? He’d definitely tried, but I’d shut that down quick. I wasn’t a hookup on the first couple dates sort-of-chick unless the chemistry was unreal. And while Derek looked great on paper—or his profile—the sparks had been decidedly lacking.
Based on that level of tongue activity, the blond didn’t feel the same. Jeez.
Guess I didn’t need to find a cute dress for our date next Friday, after all.
I prepared to stalk across the street to blast him good so the woman he was feeling up would know exactly the kind of man she was dealing with, but they were already on the move. Talking. Laughing. Having an awesome time while my phone buzzed, letting me know Davis had left me a message.
With a sigh, I glanced down at the transcript coming through on my iPhone. Said transcript indicated Davis was not the least bit understanding about my overflowing sink or my cat situation.
The maintenance team—which we all knew was mostly just Davis—wouldn’t be able to fix the mess until at least tomorrow since the flooding on the first floor was priority. And we’d have to discuss my illegal building occupant.
Blah, blah. What part of no pets had I not understood on the lease I’d willingly signed?
And then he hung up, because Davis was great at the maintenance portion of his job, but niceties definitely weren’t a part of his genetic makeup.
In short, I was out of luck. In about five different ways at once.
Then I glanced over to the sidewalk in front of Lonegan’s, only to see Derek reaching down to palm his date’s ass under her clingy red minidress—right there in the open. She giggled and looked upward as the sky opened up once more with a loud crack of thunder as Derek went to work on her neck with a hell of a lot more passion than he’d shown me.
In fact, his kisses in my direction had been quite lackluster. He’d been just as rambunctious when it came to the ass grabbing, however.
My ass was one of my biggest assets, true. I should get something for my gelato addiction, right?
I was still fuming about the pawing and the unspoken threat to my beloved Gizmo’s residence in Davis’s voicemail when I spotted the hulking silver truck that had to be Derek’s. It looked just like the one he’d picked me up in last week. I stalked toward it, ignoring the current deluge of rain, as the gifts for Shelby—a fancy bottle of champagne and pink fuzzy handcuffs for use with it—banged against my leg.
Her husband-to-be, Dexter, was hot as hell so I wasn’t jealous at all.
Nope.
And I was going to send a strongly worded email to the administrator of HEA’s customer service as soon as the party ended later this evening.
What kind of vetting system did they have there? So much for a supposed guaranteed happily ever after if you were matched through the site. Right. It hadn’t even been two weeks since I’d been alerted to my perfect match. Sure thing. If I didn’t mind a dude who also was being happily matched with other females while he was hooking up with me.
At least I hadn’t been dumb enough to take Mr. Ass Grab for a spin.
Granted, my current dry spell was making me less picky than I’d once been. The mortgage guy had been the last one to see my very nice Brooklinen sheets. I’d gotten a little too used to taking care of my own needs.
My vibrator didn’t talk back—although it could, if I’d sprung for the optional voice-operated commands option. It even had a selection for different voices and accents. Like a British one, similar to that of Harry Styles, might have hit the spot at certain opportune moments.
Maybe I’d get an upgraded one as a self-care gift.
Fuck men.
Fuck HEAs.
I was happy on my own.
My gaze narrowed on the gleaming silver paint of his truck. I glanced down at my bag and spotted the fuzzy pink handcuffs. I jumped a little as thunder cracked overhead and bright lightning split the dark, threatening sky.
I needed to make a run for the bar. Right about then, I wished I had some rain gear. It had been a very wet spring already and it was just early May. Perhaps a cute pink rain slicker like my neighbor, Naomi, was always wearing. If you had to wear outerwear, at least it should be fun.
A text came through my phone, still in my hand. Scowling, I swiped away the wetness and my eyebrows shot up.
