The Neighborhood (Twin Estates #2)
Stylo Fantome
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DEDICATION
To laughter and big adventures and late nights and still not giving a fuck.
The Neighborhood
A Twin Estates Novel
1
Your First Date with an Eros Match! Rate On Our Scale of 1 to 10 To Unlock Other Potential Matches.
Katya Tocci stared across the table, not even bothering to hide the fact she wasn't paying attention to her date at all. If she bothered with the Eros dating site's rating system, she would've scored this gentleman in the negatives.
Maybe that was a bit harsh. He was clean and attractive, and hey, at least he was struggling to make it through the evening. Katya had given up two glasses of wine ago, so really, she should be given the negative rating.
I'll polish off this third glass and call it a night.
Mr. Henry “no relation, though boy, do I wish! HAHA” Ford really couldn't be found at fault for the awful encounter, she knew. Henry had shown up expecting a sex kitten who'd be down for a good time. What he'd gotten, though, was a bitter woman wearing too much makeup.
She never set out to be that way, though. Each time she found a match, she promised herself it would be the return of “new-Katya”. The sex kitten who'd been brazen enough to waltz into a sex club and have her wicked way with the owner. The saucy minx who'd brought a real estate tycoon to his knees. She would dress sexy, and she would flirt, and she would use these guys up like tissue paper. Just like a pair of boys had used her.
Unfortunately, new-Katya had gone into hibernation. Or died. In her place was a girl who looked the part – bold lipstick and heavy eyeliner, short dresses and plunging necklines – but could barely even break a smile. No, this new chick was most definitely a downer, and sex was the last thing on her mind.
God, I don't ever want to have sex again. Sex got me into this mess.
Katya shook her head and tried to focus. Thinking about sex was never good. Once she started thinking about it, she inevitably thought of Liam Edenhoff, and of course, Wulfric Stone. But she wasn't allowed to think about either of them. They were permanently on time-out from her brain. From her life.
They were in such deep shit, in fact, that she'd cut them out entirely. Hadn't spoken a word to either of them in two weeks. Two weeks of dealing with hurt and anger and no closure … it felt like several lifetimes. Lifetimes and sooooo many pints of ice cream.
Then on top of dropping them, just to prove to herself that she could be a modern, liberated, independent, sexually progressive woman without them, she'd reactivated her dating profile – the fake one her roommate had made for her.
One matching sexy profile pic later and Katya was making matches left and right. She managed to send flirty messages, and she put on sexy outfits, but every date she showed up for, she just couldn't muster the energy to seal the deal.
All the men were attractive. Some were even well spoken. But they all seemed … boring to her. Lackluster. Like she was talking to dolls. There was no spark, and as much as she hated to admit it, Katya needed that to be attracted to someone. Gone were the days of being with a guy just because he belonged to the right country clubs and had graduated from the right schools. She'd been spoiled – she needed someone who made her blood boil and her skin tingle. Unfortunately, it didn't seem like any of the men in San Francisco had that capability.
Well, technically that's not true – there were two who were very good at it.
Before she could chastise herself for letting that reminder sneak through, her date interrupted her thoughts.
“So, uh, wanna come back to my place for some coffee?” Henry Ford asked, complete with cheesy grin. Katya snorted. Was this guy for real? She'd barely looked at him twice – did he really think he had a chance?
“No thanks. Big day tomorrow,” she said, then swallowed the last of her wine and went to stand up.
“Oh yeah? Doing what? Anything I could help with?” he asked, standing as well while looking at her chest the whole time. She grabbed her purse off the back of her chair.
“Not even a little. Thanks for dinner. Sorry I wasted your time,” she said, struggling to pull her jacket on.
“What? No, you didn't waste my time. Besides, the night's still young, we can stop somewhere for a night cap,” he suggested.
“The night is over. I'm sorry, really.”
Politeness wasn't part of her nature anymore – Wulfric Stone had wrestled that trait to the ground, then Liam Edenhoff had shot it. She didn't particularly care that she was offending the poor guy. She ignored Henry Ford as she hurried out of the restaurant, cinching the belt of her jacket tight before heading out into the chilly night.
Summer was officially over and fall was making itself known in the port city. She shivered as she hurried down the sidewalk. Her date still had to pay the bill, so he couldn't really chase after her, but still. She wanted some distance between them before she called for a ride.