14. Stand Down, Dragon

Monroe

In hindsight, I should have realized why I rushed out for a run on Dogwood Lane, why I hit the weights with a guest pass at a gym, and why I kept busy with chores at the house.

It wasn't to avoid my father's Want to play golf Wednesday?text.

I was wound up waiting for Juliet's answer. Hoping she'd say yes.

Now that she has, I'm not going to kick back. I'm going to make damn sure I can deliver for my friend and colleague.

Who's pretty handy, it turns out. I'm learning all sorts of things about Juliet during our stay in this house.

How much she cares about her parents' happiness.

How open-minded she is to new ideas.

And how well she knows her way around a toolbox. Right now, she's kneeling on the hardwood floor in the poker room, plucking screws from a compartment while she uses a Phillips head to emphasize her points.

"I've got this whole dating coach thing mapped out," she begins, and I'm damn eager to hear her plans. Hell, I'm thrilled she's devised some already. "So, I'll pick three men from Date Night. We'll go on three dates."

Rather than stand here like a sloth, I join her on the hunt for screws. "Sure, that makes sense. Have you used that app before?" I ask as I kneel next to her, looking for the right size in the toolbox to fix this table.

She rolls her eyes. "Yes, only a few thousand times, and I've picked badly. Though, in my defense, the single men of the world are pretty skilled at hiding their toxic traits long enough to lure you in."

Shit. I don't want her to think I was judging or blaming her for her dates not being worthy of her. "Completely understood," I say. I look up from the toolbox, meet her gaze, and speak from the heart. "Honestly, I think what you're doing is totally brave. It takes a lot of guts to put yourself out there."

"You do?" It comes out gentle, curious. Like my opinion matters.

"I truly do."

"Thanks," she says, dipping her face for a few seconds. Then she looks up, her expression soft. "I appreciate you saying that and your encouragement. It is a little scary. But I think I'm excited."

"Me too," I say without any sarcasm either.

She holds my gaze for a beat longer than I'd expect, and the look in her green eyes makes my pulse spike. But that's just how things go when I'm near her. I'm used to my body's reaction when we get close.

She breaks eye contact and pokes around in the toolbox some more. When she finds the screw she's looking for, she brandishes it theatrically. "And to answer your question, yes, I used Date Night when I went out with Ludwig a few weeks ago."

"Was he as douchey as the name implies?"

"If by douchey you mean did he like to quote famous women like Maya Angelou and Ruth Bader Ginsburg and Marie Curie, and choke up while quoting them, then yes. And if you want to know why he cried, it was because he was, quote, so moved by the accomplishments of women he had to share."

I cringe. "Like I said, bad boy. But that's the worst kind of bad boy. Because he thinks he's a good guy."

"He was convinced he was an inspiration to women everywhere," Juliet says as she lines up the screw in the joint of the leg where it meets the table.

My palms are itching to do something. I feel a little useless right now, and I hate it. "Can I help?"

She flashes a smile. "Yes, you can help by listening to my rules."

Fair enough. I comply.

"Anyway, I'll use Date Night to find the men I would like to date," she says, and my eye twitches.

My nose crinkles.

My chest burns.

The dragon is disturbed. But I remind myself she won't really be dating those guys. She won't be dating anyone for real this week.

Except me, for all intents and purposes.

Stand down, dragon.

"That makes sense. But I've got a rule of my own," I say, holding my ground. This matters.

"Okay," she says cautiously.

"No picking for shock value. We want this experiment to work."

Her glossy lips part in an exaggerated O. "You mean don't pick a twenty-two-year-old who lives at home, doesn't vote, and says he only wants a girl who's not like other girls?"

"Well, yeah."

"Though, it would be fun to see you try to role-play an apolitical, sexist jerk," she says, returning to her normal voice. I can spot the compliment in there and I like it. But I won't make too much of it.

"Iknowyou're tempted to do that for the pure entertainment value," I say.

"Soooo tempted," she says as she turns the screwdriver. "But I'll behave and select legitimate potential matches only. And then you'll familiarize yourself with the guys…and choose the date activity?"

That all sounds reasonable, like a well thought out dating experiment. I only have one question. "When do you want to start?"

Shit. Did that sound too eager? Nah. I'm good at playing it cool.

But she takes her time fixing the loose table leg. Just when I'm about to give in and say, Well, when, Juliet, when? she sets down the screwdriver.

"Now?" she asks.

The dragon thumps his chest. Yes. I can absolutely take her out tonight.

That's a discovery—I can't wait for this not-date this evening.

To help her of course. That's it. That's all.

I sort of believe my own lie.

That afternoon, Juliet stretches out in the sitting room on a rose-color satin chaise lounge—which is not tempting at all—testing whether she wants to keep it for her San Francisco apartment, while she selects the first dude. His name is Jared, his dark hair is perfectly trimmed, he's in real estate a few towns over, and I hate him on principle.

But I can't let on. Instead, I put on my shrink hat as I review his profile on her phone while she shifts around on the unfairly sexy piece of furniture.

It's unfair, too, that she looks so damn good lounging on her side, dressed in simple leggings and an oversized T-shirt that reveals a collarbone I want to kiss.

I'm careful as I sit next to her on a small patch of satin real estate. Careful not to accidentally touch her, because I'd probably groan. Or growl. I focus on my job as her dating coach, studying this dude in detail even if Jared makes me grind my teeth, especially when he uses those irritatingly trendy terms. But if this is who she likes then this is who she likes. I suck down all the negativity since I need insight into her preferences if I'm going to do this dating coach thing right. "Tell me why you picked him," I say.

She sits up straight, her chestnut hair swishing as she rises, then catching on her lip gloss.

"Oops," she says, swiping at the strands with her free hand and brushing a finger against her pretty lips.

My gaze zeroes in on those lips. Soft, lush, full. The first time I tasted her lips was eight years ago, down by the beach a few miles away after our first date. We'd gone to the retro arcade and hogged the Frogger machine all night, trading off low scores because we were both that bad at the game. When we left, I took her hand in mine, thrilling at how good—how arousing—holding her hand was. We wandered down to the dunes where the waves lapped the shore peacefully and, like when I'd asked her out, I didn't waste a second. I tugged her close, then said, "I have a confession."

"Tell me."

"I can't stop thinking about kissing you. I've wanted to since the second I saw you at the store."

She nibbled on the corner of her red lips, then said in the flirtiest, most inviting tone I'd ever heard, "Then stop thinking."

I cupped her cheeks, dropped my mouth to hers, and kissed her deeply, the kind of kiss that blotted out the world. Or maybe the world narrowed to her and me and the soft lull of the waves under the moonlight.

I got lost in that kiss.

I get a little lost in the memory now too, until I blink at the sound of her shifting around on the satin chaise, mere inches from me. It roots me back to the present. To my reality. To a world where I'm the guy who helps others. That's my specialty—teaching romance, not doing romance.

She's answering my question, telling me why she picked Jared. "He's in real estate, so he's not afraid of commitment," she says.

Huh? "What?" It comes out a little incredulous. Or maybe a lot.

She heaves an amused sigh. "A mortgage is a commitment, Monroe. So if he's in real estate, he's used to mortgages. Hello!"

Oh. Wow. This is harder than I thought. "Okaaaaaay," I say.

"What? You don't agree?"

I mean, maybe. I rent. But that's not the point. I need to get more intel ahead of this date. "What else drew you to him?"

"He goes to the gym, so he cares about his health. That's good. I like to do my functional fitness videos and yoga so I can feel capable and healthy and strong, so that's another thing we both like."

"That's important to you—having those sorts of things in common?"

"Well, yeah. Isn't it to you?"

"Core values are important to me. If health is a core value, then sure," I say.

"And he said lately he's really into slow dating," she adds, lifting her phone and waggling his stupid profile at me. I mean, his profile.

Yeah, I hadn't heard that term before I read it in his bio, but I can figure it out. "And you like to take things slow?"

She shrugs noncommittally. "It's more that slow dating means he's open to the real thing. To slowing things down and getting to know someone. You know, the opposite of swipe thumb."

I nod, taking that all in, developing my plan for this guy. "Got it."

She frowns. "What is it? You think I made a mistake picking him?"

My heart aches for her even though she'll never meet him in real life. And yet, I want to punch Jared through the screen. "I think you picked who you liked," I say, evenly.

"So you'll be Jared?"

"I will definitely, absolutely be Jared."

A sigh of relief comes from her. Then, she goes thoughtful. "But we should have a safe word."

My eyebrows rise in excitement. Another part starts to rise too. "What kind of safe word?" I ask, laying on the gruff tone for fun.

She slugs my arm. That's not the turn-off she thinks it is. "I mean, a safe word if I need you to be you," she says.

"Ah, so like when you want to summon me?"

"Yes, like in a game of Jumanji," she says, dryly.

"Then Jumanji will be our safe word."

"Jumanji it is."

I check the time on my phone. "I need to take off, but I'll text you the date plan," I say, then share a few more details on how I want to meet up with her.

"Sounds like a plan, dating coach," she says, and she sounds excited about tonight.

That makes two of us. I leave the sitting room but stop in the doorway, turning back to look at her one more time as she lounges on the pink satin. "You should keep that chaise. It suits you."

Then, I leave and head to a men's store a few towns away.

Well, I need a suit. Jared would definitely wear a suit on a date. I'm going to look so much better in one than Jared ever would.