12 steps to finding Mr. Right, composed by dating coach extraordinaire Savannah Gamble
1: Admit to being powerless over your attraction to the wrong type of guy. (Like Lincoln Wells, who broke your heart after an unforgettable one-night stand.)
2: Believe Mr. Right is out there.
3: Take inventory of past mistakes. (See step #1.)
4: Make a list of qualities you want in a man. (Avoid charming baseball players/reason you made these rules in the first place)
5: Take charge of your own life.
6: Learn to love yourself.
7: Sort the hookup guys from the relationship guys. (Avoid a painful brushoff after an amazing night together.)
8: Never, ever settle. (Even if the chemistry is off-the-charts.)
9: Don’t believe you can change a guy. (Once a commitment-phobe, always a commitment-phobe)
10: Communicate your needs.
11: Open your heart & love fully. (Still working on this one…)
12: Don’t ever, ever stray from the steps.
I rolled it into a ball between my fingers and flicked it at the empty cartons. “Yours is better than both of mine combined.”
“You can have it, then.”
I shook my head. “That’s not how fortunes work.”
“Then I guess you’ll just have to tie your future to mine.” He placed his hand on my knee, and despite the thick denim, heat radiated from his touch, spreading farther and farther the longer he kept it there. “We can take a risk together.”
I looked into his eyes, thinking he couldn’t possibly mean it—not the risk that my mind automatically went to. But then he brushed his thumb across my knee, and my breath came out in a shallow whoosh of air.
Add several shots of alcohol and we were in the same position we’d been in right before he’d kissed me in college.
With no dating prospects in front of me and a dry spell behind me, the idea of blurring the lines with him called to me. This time I’d know it was just sex. I could enjoy his mouth against mine, the caress of his fingers.
Heat built, firing hotter and hotter and threatening to burn out of control.
My body screamed do it, while my brain grasped for the reins and reminded me how badly it ended last time. People often said that you couldn’t help who you fell in love with, but I call BS. You can stop it before it starts.
It might be too late to completely stop my attachment to Linc, but I could pull back before I lost my mind.
I stood and blurted out the first thing that came to mind—well, the second, after images of us kissing our way to the bedroom, like we’d done all those years ago. “Did you want a sweet tea? I could use some sweet tea.”
Linc slowly exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. “Sure.”
I strode over to the fridge. I might not make pies or biscuits from scratch, but I had a pitcher of sweet tea at the ready. Thanks to my brother, I also had a working ice machine.
As I filled two glasses, I thought of the bottle of Southern Comfort in the cabinet that Ivy and I occasionally used to spike our tea. I spun around to grab it, then froze with my hand halfway to the cabinet door.
Crap. Didn’t I just think that alcohol was the only thing missing to turn this into a repeat performance? Last time we were super drunk, though, and I couldn’t hold my alcohol back then. Now I held it better, but mostly I knew my limits.
Then again, there was nothing like getting tipsy to forget your limits, and I often cautioned my clients to abstain if it’d impair their judgment or lead them to do something they might regret.
I glanced toward the couch and found Lincoln looking right back at me. My heart thumped, thumped, thumped. I’m not sure regret is the right word…
No. Bad thoughts, Savannah. Bad, delicious, naked thoughts. The trouble with trouble was it started out as fun, and I knew just how fun his kind of trouble could be.