Parental Guidance (Ice Knights #1)(5)
Gemma smiled at the use of her grade-school nickname. “But you know I’m right, Biggie. Your dad’s a mess, but he’s a good guy. You can help him out, and who knows, this just might be the dream that comes true. Plus, you’ll get to meet Helene Carlyle and maybe even have some fun of the orgasmic variety.”
Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. Orgasms that she didn’t make happen herself—with or without a partner present—never happened. Literally. She had the world’s most shy clit ever that never responded to anything but her own fingers and vibe. Still, if she knew going in that it wouldn’t be love or climaxes, she’d at least be prepared. Plus, she was getting two things she really wanted: meeting Helene Carlyle and helping her dad get his SAG card.
“Fine.” Zara held out her hand, palm upward, knowing she’d been beat. “My phone.”
Dating was so far down her priority list that it came after cleaning the dust bunnies under her dresser and defrosting the freezer. However, if going out on five dates could get her what she really wanted and could make her dad happy and got her in to see Helene Carlyle? She’d suffer through listening to some guy ramble on and on about himself over never-ending breadsticks.
Gemma swiped the phone off the coffee table and gave it to her. Since she’d already filled out most of the personal information, all that was really up to Zara was to finish the introductory part. Thumbs hovering over the screen, she tried to figure out what to say. She wasn’t looking for love. She had no interest in finding forever. Gemma wasn’t wrong about the getting-laid part, though—it had been too long. Waaaaaaaaay too long.
However, the last thing she wanted was to play games or deal with someone who really was looking for Miss Right. She might be a workaholic, but she wasn’t a bitch, and she wouldn’t do that to someone. How in the world was she supposed to finesse that into an introduction?
And that’s when inspiration flicked her on the nose. If she was going to do this, she was going to be 100 percent honest.
Assholes Need Not Apply
I don’t believe fairy tales of happily ever after, but are a few not-self-made orgasms with a guy who makes my heart race and isn’t a total asshole really just a pipe dream??? I work hard and hardly play. Now I’m ready for a little—really, a lot of—fun with the kind of guy who isn’t a total lost cause and can clear out the cobwebs in my vagina. Too honest? Too bad. Life is too short for jerks who don’t know their way around a lady garden. Forget being Miss Right. I just want to be Miss Right for Five Dates.
She handed her phone over to Gemma, whose eyebrows went higher the more she read until they were completely hidden behind her bangs.
“If no one answers, Gemma”—and who would respond to that kind of ad—“you still have to take me as your plus-one.”
Her best friend nodded. “Deal.”
They sealed their agreement with a pinkie shake and another shot of tequila. And by the time Zara curled up in bed hours later, she had almost convinced herself she hadn’t just made a huge mistake.
Chapter Two
Tequila was dead to Zara. So was Anchovy. Okay, not really on that second one, but her Great Dane really needed to find a new favorite game that didn’t involve hiding one—and only one—of her shoes somewhere in the apartment.
“I buy you the good dog food and this is the thanks I get?”
The dog woofed, tilted his head, and—she’d swear to it on a Bible—grinned at her.
“This stupid date isn’t my idea of fun, either, but I gotta go, which means I need two shoes and you have to go get your leash.”
At that last word, Anchovy galloped past the couch, around the large kitchen island, and to the entryway hall tree, where he stuffed his face in the basket sitting on its bench seat and came out with his leash between his teeth. Then, as if the beast knew exactly what needed to happen next, he trotted over to the island, raised himself up on his hind legs, planted his front paws on the counter, and looked down into the sink.
“Of course.” Zara did the one-foot-in-a-four-inch-heel-and-one-not off-kilter walk to the island and grabbed her other shoe out of the sink. “Hiding my shoes is no way to deal with your separation anxiety, Anchovy.”
He just wagged his uncropped tail hard enough that the thump of it against her ass was like being spanked by a tree limb. The vet had warned her about Great Danes’ “happy tail” when she’d shown up at his office with Anchovy as an abandoned puppy, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to have the vet cut it short. That made her penchant for minimalist decorating at home even better because otherwise any knickknacks three feet off the ground would get whacked off the shelves.
“Come on, baby,” Zara said as she slipped her bare foot into her shoe. Her toes slid past a patch of wet. Ewwwwwww. Maybe she would be lucky for once and that was the result of a dripping faucet and not dog slobber. She glanced over at the sink, where there wasn’t a drop of water to be found. Gross. “You’re going to Aunty Gemma’s.”
More excited tail wagging that grew into full-body wiggles while she was trying to clip the leash to his collar. It took a few seconds, but she finally got it on. Then she and Anchovy were hustling out the door, into the building’s elevator, and out onto the sidewalk of her busy neighborhood. Gemma lived two blocks down in an apartment above a coffee shop. She met Zara and Anchovy at the side door that led to the stairwell to her place. Damn. Zara had been hoping to do a little gossip delay. That wasn’t going to happen, based on the do-not-fuck-with-the-timeline look on her bestie’s face.