Chapter 22

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

BLAKE

I really need to walk away from Molly and talk to other people. If not for my article, then for my sanity. Yet for obvious reasons, I don't want to leave her side. She's so darn lovely that I can't stand the thought of other guys hitting on her—ones who aren't good enough for her. As such, I decide to help her find the perfect guy. Then I'll be free to do my job.

As we approach the man she expressed interest in, I can't help but say, "He's short."

"Last night you suggested a man closer to my own height was the way to go." She sounds mad and I don't blame her.

"That was just Ronald. But now that I see how ill-suited the two of you are, I think you should set your sights higher. Literally."

Reaching the target, I announce a touch too loudly, "Hello! What's your name?"

The man takes a cautious step backward before answering, "Brian. What's yours?"

"I'm Blake," I tell him. "And this is my friend Molly. "

Molly rips her hand out of mine and extends it toward Brian. "Hi there."

His eyes shift nervously from me to her. "Um, hello?"

"What do you do, Brian?" I ask.

"I'm an engineer. What do you do?" Again, he looks at me and then Molly like he's not sure who he's talking to."

"I design hotel gift shops," Molly tells him at the same time I announce, "I'm a barista/ novelist."

Brian's eyebrows furrow before he asks, "Are you two a couple?"

"No!" Molly screams.

"We're good friends," I tell him.

"And you're here together?" he wants to know.

"No!" Again, from Molly.

"We met here," I tell him.

Molly steps in front of me as though trying to pretend that I'm not even here. "What kind of engineer are you?" she asks Brian. "Mechanical? Civil? Chemical?"

Brian responds, "Train."

"You design trains?" Molly asks.

"I drive them," Brian says.

I don't even try not to laugh at that and both Molly and Brian stare at me in horror. "I'm sorry," I tell him. "I didn't mean any offense. It's just that you don't meet many train drivers, do you?"

"I do." I bet you do, Brian .

Molly shakes her head and demands, "What is wrong with you, Blake?"

"I honestly don't know," I tell her. "I really didn't mean to be rude."

She shoos me away with her hand. "Go. Now."

I don't want to leave her here on her own, but I don't have any choice. "I'll meet you at the bar in thirty minutes," I tell her.

"No." She turns her back on me to talk to Brian. Meanwhile, I stand there like an extra pair of shoes until Trina comes over.

"Come with me, Blake," she says like she's going to personally escort me off the property. When we're several yards away, she stops and asks me, "What are you doing here, Blake?"

Oh, no. Did she find out who I am? I open and close my mouth repeatedly before answering, "Looking for love?"

"Are you, though?"

"Yes?"

"You don't sound very certain," she says. "You also appear to have a hard time leaving Molly alone."

"What if I'm interested in her?" I ask.

"Are you?"

Yes . "I like her."

Trina's eyes narrow. "Molly said you liked her as a friend and nothing else. And while I'm all for people making friends, that's not what this event is about."

"Are you telling me to stay away from Molly? Because I'm not sure that's your place." I sound like I'm gearing up for a fight.

Trina's dark hair swings back and forth as she shakes her head. "I'm not telling you to stay away from her. I'm suggesting that you let me introduce you to some nice women whom you might be interested in being more than friends with."

I can hardly say no to Trina offering me content for my articles, so I tell her, "That would be nice, thank you."

With a smile, she says, "It appears that you and Krista might already be making a connection."

"I think the connection is greater on her part than mine," I tell her.

"Oh?" I'm not surprised she's having a hard time believing this. After all, Krista is one of the more beautiful women in the room.

"What do you like in women, Blake?" Trina asks. "Do you have a physical type?"

"I like all kinds of women," I tell her honestly.

"But you don't go for the obviously beautiful ones," she decides.

"Why would you say that? "

Raising one finger in the air, she says, "Molly." Then she adds another. "Krista. They are both quite beautiful." She's got me there.

Before I can set her straight, not that I'm sure how I'd go about doing that, Trina takes my hand and leads me to the front of the ballroom. Once she's at the microphone, she announces, "I have a new game I'd like you all to play."

The chatter quiets as she continues, "I'd like you to walk away from the person you're talking to and tell the first member of the opposite sex that you see what kind of car you think they'd be."

She gestures to me and adds, "I'll go first. This is Blake and I think Blake would be a black sports car with a faulty starter."

Wait, what? Did she intend to be insulting? But before I can ask, she asks me, "What kind of car do you think I'd be, Blake?"

"A semi-truck speeding down the freeway about to run over a black sports car."

She snorts before telling the room, "You see how much fun this can be? Don't stop to talk to anyone until you've told ten people what kind of car you think they'd be."

When everyone gets busy doing what they were told to do, I ask Trina, "A faulty starter?"

"Definitely. The good news is that starters can be fixed. Now go. I want to see you talking to ten different women and they can't include Krista or Molly."

The first woman I see after Trina leaves my side is a short, no-nonsense-looking blonde. I stop in front of her and announce, "Volvo."

She tips her head to the side before saying, "Cadillac SUV."

I'm called a pickup, a Hummer, an Audi, and a Jeep before I find myself standing at the bar. "I need something strong," I tell the bartender.

He hands me a shot glass and a mug of beer. I watched my grandfather drink boilermakers for years, so I do it the same way he did. I drop the shot glass directly into the beer before taking a gulp. Then I tell the bartender, "Thank you. "

I decide to finish my drink and then seek refuge until this stupid game is over. But before I can, Molly walks over to me and laughs. "A faulty starter …"

"I've been instructed not to talk to you," I tell her.

"By whom?" she wants to know.

"By Trina. She doesn't want me talking to you or Krista."

"Really, why?" Molly seems truly perplexed.

"Because you told her that I only wanted to be your friend, and she says that's not why we're here."

Molly nods her head in agreement. "She's right."

Before I can say anything else, a guy in a suit walks over to Molly and says, "Aston Martin DBS Superleggera—in red."

"Don't be pretentious," I hiss at him.

His face contorts in disgust like he just ate a bad clam. "Dude, I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to the lady."

"You're being sleazy," I tell him.

"I was complimenting her."

"You were insulting her. Molly isn't a sports car."

"Really?" Molly has decided to join in, and she doesn't sound pleased.

"You're a Rolls Royce," I tell her. "You're a classic beauty that will look as beautiful in fifty years as you do now." That sounded way more seductive than I was going for, but it's the truth. Molly is pure class.

"Thank you, I guess," she decides.

I wait for her to tell me what kind of car I'd be, but she doesn't. Instead, she looks confused as she turns and walks away from me, leaving me feeling like a Tesla without its charger.