“Excuse me?” She looked a bit confused.
“Dating apps? Social groups? Church? Work?”
“Not dating apps. I tried it once.” She shook her head. “The people I met all seemed like they were waiting for something better to show up. The Swipe Right culture.”
“How did you meet your ex-fiancé?”
“At work. He coaches high school basketball.”
“That must be tough. Having to see him every day after he dumped you.”
“He doesn’t work there anymore.”
“That’s good for your healing, I suppose.”
“Definitely.”
“So what do you see as the essential problem with your dating life?” Tom steepled his fingers and felt professorial. Was he giving off a Henry Higgins vibe? Is that why she was asking him to help her date other men?
“I don’t want anything serious right now, but I’ve never been one for casual relationships. I believe you can tell from the first date if someone is boyfriend material or not.”
Am I boyfriend material? he wondered.
Tom eyed her, taking in those soft cheeks, rounded chin, and perky smile. He got that she was built for commitment. “Attracting men isn’t your problem—picking the best one is.”
Her smiled slipped away and a frown took its place, creasing her forehead. “If you say one word about my mistake with Jaxon—”
“He’s ancient history.” He held out his hands in a gesture of surrender and was relieved when she stopped scowling. “But you’re still holding on to the memory of what he did to you like it’s a security blanket.”
“I am?”
“That’s how it looks from where I’m sitting.”
She gave that some thought, stroking her chin with a thumb and forefinger. “What are you saying?”
“You’re letting a man who walked away from you judge how you should be in the world. You’re giving him too much control. And you’re doing the same with other people’s opinions too. For instance, this new guy you’re attracted to who you believe thinks you are too nice. Don’t change yourself for him. Be you. If he doesn’t like you, his loss. Not everyone is going to like you and that’s okay.”
A sadness came into her eyes. “But I want everyone to like me.”
“And that, dear woman, is where you’re tripping yourself up. Your problem isn’t that you’re not wild enough.”
“It’s not?”
“No.”
“What is my problem?”
“You care too much about what other people think.”
She looked as if he’s just thrown a dart at a huge target and hit it dead center of the bullseye. “You might be right.”
“That’s not niceness. That’s being a doormat.”
“Hey!”
“The truth hurts just as it sets you free. You sure you’re ready to go down this road?”
She nodded. Vigorously. “Okay, let’s start fresh. Can you teach me how to stop caring about what other people think?”
“I could put you on the right path, but only you can walk it.”
“Okay.” She bobbed her head. “Let’s do this thing.”
“Grab your coat.”
“Now?”
“You have something better to do?”
“No.”
He stood up, felt his pulse quicken. Darn but he loved a challenge.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Why?”
“I’d like to know how to dress for the occasion.”
“You look fine just as you are.”
“No way, these are my lying around on the couch clothes.”
“Are you worried people will whisper behind your back about the woman who wears comfy clothes in public?” He snorted.
“No.” Her chin jutted up defiantly, but her tone said she was lying.“It’s for me, not them.”
“Okay, if it makes you feel any better, put on a pair of jeans and some lipstick, and let’s hit the road.”
7
Knowing Tom was far righter than she wanted him to be, Jude slipped into her bedroom and locked the door behind her. There was one area where he was wrong though; he hadn’t realized she was trying to tell him that he was the man she was interested in.
That’s because she wasn’t his type.
Last night at the wedding, she’d talked to Tom’s aunts and mother. They’d all shaken their heads over the fact that Tom couldn’t seem to settle down.
“He likes the girls who keep it light,” Tom’s mom had shaken her head. “The fast ones.”
“Women,” one of the aunts had corrected. “When they’re over eighteen, these days, they like to be called women.”
“That’s because they are girls,” another aunt chimed in. “Just wait until someone calls them ma’am.”
“No offense,” Tom’s mother apologized to Jude.
“None taken,” she’d answered, but she’d thought, Tom likes fast women. Be faster.
Jude shimmied out of her leggings in the time it took to haul in a deep breath. She was going for the fastest clothes change world record, fearful he’d come to his senses and decide to just take off.
She dove into a pair of black slacks that she wore to work and exchanged the old sweater for a button-down blouse, her heart beating just a little too fast for her own good. She felt…well, excited.
Chillax, Bailey.
The important thing to remember was that this wasn’t a date and primping of any kind was strictly uncalled for. She took down her ponytail and ran a brush through her wavy hair. Staring at herself in the mirror, she realized that looked far too sexy and pulled her hair back into the ponytail.
Much safer.
No self-respecting nice woman would dream of accepting a date from a drop-in. But a fast woman would. She liked the idea of being fast. It was less intimidating than the word “wild.” Wild had connotations of reckless that scared her. Fast just meant being quick on the draw.
Stop rationalizing a last-minute date. He’s waiting.
She allowed herself a quick dab of lipstick. Quick was casual; quick was imperative. No overdoing it. No dressing to impress.
Even if she wanted to impress him.
Jude met the eyes of her reflection. He hadn’t picked up on the fact that he was the one she was interested. Not Dirk. Not any of the other guys she’d danced with at the wedding. Tom was who she wanted. What did she have to do to get him to see that?
Just tell him.
No. She couldn’t come right out and tell him she wanted a casual hookup. It wasn’t her M.O. But maybe by hanging out together he’d figure it out on his own.
That was her game plan anyway.
And if it fell apart, then she would have learned something valuable in the process. Honestly, a total win-win.
“Have fun,” she told her reflection, then drew in her breath and added, “and dare to be just a little bit wilder.”
Holy mackerel.
Did Jude have any idea that the male imagination kicked into overdrive as soon as a woman put a closed door between her and the man aching to remove her clothing?