Scandalous Lover (Off-Limits Lovers #4)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Naomi

Naomi: I know, I know. It’s stupid. But apparently you can’t get by just making fun of online dating anymore. Women want real solutions to the problems of loneliness in the city. So, off I go.

Angela: Well, message me when you’re done and let me know how it goes. Who knows, maybe you’ll meet someone.

M y current Instagram bestie is supportive, but not exactly able to commiserate. She found her way into a clean eating niche early on in her career, therefore missing most of the humiliating stunts we lifestyle influencers have to put ourselves through.

I laugh out loud into my phone screen, attracting the attention of a group of men standing together near the front door of the bar. Avoiding eye contact, I quickly type my reply.

Naomi: Don’t count on it .

Slipping my phone into my purse, I inhale and exhale trying to bring my confidence back up to normal levels, which has been getting harder and harder these days. Back in my twenties, I could walk into any room and own the damn place. I suppose I still look like I own most rooms—and I better with how long it takes me to get ready—but I don’t feel it anymore.

I just have to get through this month.

A few more long weeks of chasing content and likes, and then my big launch will be here, and I’ll be set. I’m almost giddy dreaming about all the accounts and licensing deals I’ll be eligible for once I pull off this epic content for PassionFly. It’s a career maker, and I’m lucky to be the one they chose. I’m sure there were a ton of other mid-level influencers like me vying for the chance.

A deal like this will give me all the visibility I could ever dream of and all the perks that come with it. Not that I’ve been doing terribly…but it’s a bit of an uphill battle for market corners these days, and it’s getting harder with every birthday.

The dating event I’m attending tonight, while pretty much guaranteeing me fantastic views and engagement, is hitting a bit close to home. It was one thing to walk my followers through the process of setting up online profiles and screening out potential first dates—none of which I went on. It’s quite another to be out here in person, throwing myself to the god of mingling singles.

Especially when I’ve resigned myself to being one forever.

One more month. Just one more month.

I pull open the heavy wooden door before I can talk myself out of it. The place is cheerfully lit, with yellow walls and dark wood tables. In true Austin style, the tables are long and communal with benches on both sides.

Perfect. Not only do I have to lower myself to speed dating like some kind of 90’s sitcom character, I have to do it sitting at the same table as all the other losers.

I shake off the thought.

I’m not like them. I’m here for research. To get a story and some cute pics of myself having the time of my life for my channel.

I approach the bar with swagger I’ve learned to fake like a pro and order myself a margarita. Might as well have some fun while I’m here. I snap my first selfie with the cute cocktail—the little pink paper umbrella contrasting nicely with the yellow walls. I give a big smile for the camera before ditching the flimsy paper atrocity in the closest trash can before it can leach red 40 into my drink.

“Five minutes everyone. Please come make yourself a name tag. If this is your first time, let me know, and I’ll give you a rundown of the rules.”

Booze in hand, I make my way over to the organizer’s table. “Hello, I’m Naomi. I emailed about doing a piece on this event for my channel.”

The woman in charge—Bev or Barb or something—I can’t read the cursive on her name tag—matches my dazzling smile. “Of course, welcome. Is this your first time at a speed dating event?”

I laugh mid-sip and cough. “Yes. I wasn't sure it would be my scene, or my followers’ scene, but there are quite a few people in the right age group. Now we’ll just see if they’re the quality my channel will be looking for.”

Barb or whatever gives me a knowing smile, like she’s heard it all before. “You’re going to have a great time. If you’re a little nervous, just know it’s normal, and all the guys are nervous as well.”

I narrow my eyes at her as she deftly sidesteps my whole comment about how I'm not here for myself and offers me advice as if I’m going to be searching for the love of my life in this cheesy, western-themed bar.

I respond with a tight-lipped smile that I hope displays all my annoyance and more, and set down my drink to write my name on a red and white sticker name tag.

“Perfect. Now, I recommend sticking it to…” she trails off as I peel off the plastic backing and stick the paper to my left boob.

I look up to find her grimacing. “Most women feel more comfortable with their tag stuck somewhere besides…you know.”

I look down at the red and white rectangle perched on the tip of my perky left tit and back up at the woman, giving her a shrug. “I think I’ll be okay.”

Bless her heart, she just plows right on with her welcome spiel. “The dates last for five minutes. Everyone will have a chance to chat with everyone, so don’t worry about where you sit when you start. This event is specifically for men seeking women and women seeking men, so we separate the group by gender. When the first buzzer goes off, the ladies will sit down on the bench facing the bar. When the second buzzer sounds, the guys come out in alphabetical order and sit down in front of the ladies. After five minutes, you’ll hear another buzzer, and the guys slide down. You’ll stay in the same place for the whole event.”

She shuffles through her bag and produces a thin notebook and a pen with the name of the event on it, passing them to me. “You can take notes on the guys you like, and you’re welcome to take any numbers you want. The guys know not to ask for phone numbers and we ask that you don’t offer yours. Just take their number and decide later if you want to shoot them a text.”

“Well, I’m not really here for that, so I guess…” I trail off as I see her face. She thinks I’m completely full of shit. I clench my teeth and gesture with the notebook and pen. “Thanks. I’ll just go find a seat.”

Her pageant queen smile is back in full force. “Perfect. We’re getting started in two minutes.”

I set my drink down at the very end of the long table and pose for another pic with the notebook and branded pen before finally allowing myself to glance around at the people. The women all look as tired and over it as I feel—and I’m not even here for a date.

The guys, however, are just plain adorable.

I can see the optimism in their eyes and smell their longing from here. It makes me hope they find someone willing to take their number tonight. I vow to take every single one even though there is zero chance I’ll be calling anyone.

I’m lost thinking about if it would be better to take their number and never call or refuse their number and not get their hopes up when the first timer dings.

Here goes nothing.

I slide onto the bench in front of my cocktail and set my notebook down, only to be tapped on the shoulder by a prim, type-A-looking woman with flat, straight hair and glasses.

“First time?” she asks, not in the friendliest tone.

I nod and smile.

“Scoot on down. We can’t all climb over you.”

“Oh,” I say as I look down the table at the entirely empty bench. It seems like it would be easy enough for them to step over it and get seated, but drill sergeant Barbie over here is waiting impatiently, with other women lining up behind her, so I scoot. Women are scooting in from the other side too, so before long I’m stuck in the very center of the table, with one sweater clad hopeful smashed into me on either side.

Fantastic.

I snap another selfie, trying to get the shoulder proximity in the frame.

It’s not my intention to hit the internet and make fun of the event—at least not entirely—but I do want to give a proper representation for my followers. Who knows, maybe I'll inspire the organizers to opt for private tables in the future.

The second buzzer sounds, and the guys start sliding down the bench. I try not to make eye contact as they go by, which is awkward and not like me at all, but this whole thing has me a bit off kilter. Jammed in here with too many bench mates has my oxygen levels waning and the heat rising. I haven't even started my first date yet, and I’m already starting to sweat.

I decide to occupy myself by jotting down a little intro in my notebook.

9/23-Saturday-The Swing Inn-Downtown Austin.

Speed dating event set up by The Hopeful Howdy

First impressions: should have single tables rather than cram us onto this bench.

After all the men are seated, the buzzer goes off, signaling the start of our first date.

I look up and straight into a familiar pair of baby blues.