Take Three (The Jilted Bride #2)(27)

After him, there was a brief fling with Ashton Kutcher: He invited me out to dinner in Los Angeles, and we spent the night discussing our lives. He said he didn’t want to be intimate until we knew each other better, and I thought that meant he really cared and wanted to build something special with me.

We jetted across the country to secretly see each other for weeks, and after another night of talking on the phone, I decided to surprise him. I flew out to the set of his TV show and slipped inside his trailer, catching him in a make out session with another actress.

I crossed my arms and expected an explanation, an apology, a full-fledged “I was lonely and I’ll never do this again if you take me back” plea, but all I got was, “Isn’t it Tuesday? You and me only hang out on Thursday and Friday. You haven’t figured that out?”

And then there was Phillip Hartford—the older, supposedly more mature guy who splurged on me everywhere we went, professed his love after a mere month, and swore that I would be his wife one day.

I couldn’t bear another disappointment, especially from someone I didn’t know anything about. I needed to remember why I fled to Fayetteville in the first place, and I needed to continue working on myself.

I examined the check again and saw that he’d scrawled his phone number across the back. I dialed the number and waited a few seconds before calling.

He picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Hello. Is this Ethan Reynolds?”

“Yes. May I ask who this is?” his voice was so sexy it almost made me change my mind.

“This is Selena Ross. Are you busy?”

“Not at all. How are you doing today Selena? Are you alright?”

Stop thinking about his voice and focus!

“Um…I’m okay…I’m actually calling because I don’t think me going out with you tomorrow is a good idea. I’m going through some things right now and I don’t need a distraction. I need to take things really slow for myself. Maybe we can go out… some other time?”

“Errr sure,” he sounded confused.

“Okay. See you around,” I hung up.

Chapter 12

Ethan

I’d never been rejected like that. A woman calling me and telling me she didn’t want to date me because she was “going through some things”? The day before?

This was the second time she’d rejected me within a week, and it really bothered me for some reason. Women hardly ever rejected me. Twice.

I felt silly for actually looking forward to our date, for allowing her to be the only thing I thought about at work.

I guessed I didn’t have as much of an effect on her as I thought I did. She was an “actress” after all—her incessant blushing could have been her defense mechanism against embarrassed-for-me-laughter.

Nonetheless, I’d wanted our first date to be special and I wasn’t sure why.

I usually let the woman pick the location of the first date because it gave me a clue as to how she thought and let me know how she ranked against the requirements on my checklist. But this time, I didn’t even ask Selena what she enjoyed. I just wanted to spend time with her, to get to know her better.

I considered using my private jet or having my yacht shipped down for a full night getaway, but my real name was engraved on all the seats, and I’d have to do some major explaining and possibly blow my cover.

I decided to stay local and paid the Botanical Gardens two hundred thousand dollars to ensure that we would have the place to ourselves. I made arrangements to fly in a chef and two staff members from Boston’s best restaurant—Oleana, and arranged for us to be chauffeured around for a night on the town right after.

My checklist clearly stated that I shouldn’t waste my time since she didn’t make any immediate plans to reschedule, but I didn’t want to let her get away. Part of it was an intense sexual attraction—I’d fantasized about her ever since we first met, but I couldn’t figure out what the other part was.

For the first time, in as long as I could remember, I wanted to pursue someone again.

I went to Sweet Seasons every day, but she purposely avoided me each time: She always made another waitress take my order, refused to look in my direction, and on the rare occasion that our eyes met, she turned away.

I scribbled notes on napkins—“Are you okay?” “Was it something I said?” “So, we can’t just be friends?” “Can we talk about it?” “Did you really mean we could go out some other time?”—and asked the other waitresses to give them to her but I wasn’t sure if she ever received them.

The one time that she had no other choice but to take my order since I came right at closing, she stuck to the Sweet Seasons’ script. Once she brought me my pie boxes, I asked her why she was ignoring me and she said, “I’m sorry. That’s not on our menu. Have a great night, sir.”

I was convinced she wouldn’t answer my texts or phone calls, but I hoped she would eventually call to reschedule our date.

Several days passed and she never did.

“Today is the day, team!” Lola stood atop a table. “Today we are going to the university’s opening game and we are going to seduce them with our pumpkin spice latte, our delectable hot chocolate, and our rich and creamy deluxe coffee!”

The team members clapped loudly and cheered. Lola doled out instructions for transporting the coffee machines and cups, and handed me a stack of flyers.