Chapter 10 #2
“So what do you suggest she do?” Drake asks, curiously.
Run. “My advice is that it’s time to walk away, and it has nothing to do with his family.”
He leans forward, focusing on me as if he has forgotten that a camera is aimed directly at us for the livestream. “You don’t advocate for a conversation?”
“There’s no conversation to be had. She tried.
He blew her off.” I shrug. “Let’s pretend this goes the distance and they get married.
The worst-case scenario is that she’s right and the parents start playing games to break them apart.
Then what? Her feelings are going to get bigger.
She’s going to be more panicked and in far too deep to extract herself easily.
Is he still going to think she’s just being dramatic?
If he’s not listening to her now, he’s not going to be more willing to answer just because she has a ring on her finger.
Conversely, he’ll probably want to listen to her even less. ”
“He’s not a bad guy,” Hannah says. “Really. He’s not. It’s his parents who are the problem.”
I hear it in her voice—the conundrum that is love.
She thinks she fell into this mess when, in reality, she made this choice.
She chose to love this guy, even though his family probably tolerates her at best. Yet she seems to forget that just because she made one choice doesn’t mean she can’t make another.
It doesn’t mean that she’s given up the fundamental right to make as many choices as she needs to be happy—and I hate that for her.
But that’s also why I’m here. Lucky for her.
“That might be true. They might be the root of the problem, but if your boyfriend isn’t willing to stop that root from growing, it’s going to invade your life—and you know it,” I say, wondering why I always have to be the bad guy. “It might be time to take an axe to that proverbial tree.”
Drake holds his palms to the ceiling like he doesn’t understand how we got here, like I hooked a left when we were turning right. “I still think you try to have a conversation before you go all lumberjack on the guy.”
“Nope,” I say. “Put on a flannel shirt and get to work.”
Francine holds her head in her hands. Sorry, Francine.
“Wow. I apologize that my friend here is crushing your dreams,” Drake says to Hannah. “Just know it’s not personal. She does this to everybody.”
Drake and I exchange a smile. Warmth flickers in my chest from the twinkle in his eye and the reference to his dream crusher nickname for me. Despite being watched by hundreds, maybe even thousands of people, it feels like it’s just us for the briefest moment. There’s something great about that.
He leans back, stretching his arms overhead. His shirt rides up just above his waistband, giving me a glimpse of the obliques that don’t appear to have lost any definition from his Legends days. Not that I’m looking.
“Regardless of what you choose to do, we wish you the very best,” Drake says, sitting upright again. “Thanks for calling.”
“Good luck, Hannah,” I say.
“Thanks for having me. I love you guys,” Hannah says before Francine disconnects the call.
I motion for Francine to hold all calls for the moment. If things get awkward, we can grab a question from the Social comments because the look on Drake’s face—pure amusement—needs exploring.
“What?” I ask, curious.
“You’re just so … ruthless.”
“Ruthless?” I burst out laughing. “Why am I ruthless?”
“You’re ready to end Hannah’s relationship without even knowing the guy’s side of the story. You don’t just walk away because of something that might happen. How can that be a dealbreaker?”
I smile. “Oh, Drake. Anything can be a dealbreaker. Dating is an interview at the end of the day. You’re essentially hiring a guy for a role. If they’re not exactly what you’re looking for or don’t check all the boxes, you remove them from contention and carry on with the search.”
He starts to speak but stops. Instead, he licks his lips and analyzes me. He doesn’t try to hide that he’s doing it, and I don’t hide that I’m aware of it.
Finally, he sighs. “You really don’t try to fight for relationships?”
“Not with guys. I’ll fight to the death for my girls. But when it comes to a guy and the ship starts to go down, I’m not putting on a life vest and hoping for the best. I’m jumping overboard and looking for a nice big … yacht.”
“That’s so fucked up,” he says, chuckling.
“At least we both know it when I do it, as opposed to most of the men who use another dinghy and don’t tell me about it.
” I blow out a breath. “Look, most women give men way too many passes. The guy ghosts them before their date? They accept his bullshit answer. He ‘forgets’ his wallet at home? They pay for dinner. They catch him on a dating site and believe him when he says that he hasn’t logged on in months.
” I snort, embarrassed that I’ve been guilty of the same crimes.
“Life is too short to mess around with unworthy men.”
“Who the hell are you dating?” he asks, laughing. “Do you intentionally search for assholes or what?”
“I have a type, okay?”
He snorts. “What? The feral, unemployed type?”
“Hey, I’m not judging you based on your women of choice,” I say, laughing, too, even though I have no idea what kind of women he sees.
“I would be more than happy to be judged based on how I treat women, thank you very fucking much.”
My lips twist to try to hide my grin.
“Let me ask you a question,” he says, resting his forearms on the table. “When you start dating a guy, do you expect it to last? Do you think you’re choosing qualified applicants for the job?”
My eyes stay on his for a beat longer than necessary as one corner of my mouth lifts. “What are you getting at?”
“How long was your longest relationship?”
What? I peer across the table at him, wondering where he’s going with this.
The look he gives me is innocent enough, but it feathers a flame in my stomach, nonetheless.
Maybe it’s the curiosity in his eyes. Perhaps it’s the sexy grin that accompanies it.
Either way, my instincts tell me to tread carefully. Despite the warning, I’m intrigued.
“Seven months,” I say. “His name was Calvin. He was an Aries.”
“What caused you to bail on him?”
“He was a prick, for one. For two, he was an Aries. And three, he didn’t check off enough boxes to warrant a life jacket, so to speak.”
Drake grins mischievously. “When you met him, you thought he was capable of passing the interview?”
“When I met him, I was three martinis in, and he was a six-foot-two security guard with curly blond hair and a very wicked tongue.”
“I’ll take that as a no,” he deadpans.
“You can take it however you want.” I certainly did.
Drake sits back slowly with his gaze trained on me. Like he’s getting comfortable. His blues twinkle, and I don’t know what to make of it. He’s plotting something, and whatever that is amuses him.
My heart races at the unknown. I finger the edge of my shirt under the table, fighting the urge to cut to an ad. I’ve lost control of this conversation, and it’s my damn podcast. Worst of all? I don’t know how to take it back—and that’s a position I’ve never found myself in before.
“I think the advice that you give comes from a history of dating the wrong kind of guy, and if you dated better men, you might have a different perspective.” He pauses, fighting a grin. “Maybe you need that kind of experience to round out your worldview. It might save some hearts.”
On the surface, it sounds casual—but the challenge is unmistakable.
“What are you getting at?” I ask. I may not fully understand the challenge, but I’m not backing down from it. “I like the guys that I like. I can’t help it.”
“You like being treated like shit?”
“I think you’re overgeneralizing.”
“Try me.” He smirks. “Let me prove you wrong.”
“Excuse me?” I ask, my brows pulling together.
He takes a breath. “Date me for six weeks.”
What the fuck? I lean away from him, processing his words. There’s no way that I heard him right.
“Date me for six weeks,” he repeats. “We can document it here for your fans. It’ll help your ratings if nothing else.” He shrugs like he knows he’s got this in the bag. “You can think of it like an experiment to make you a better podcaster.”
If a pin dropped in the room, it would sound like a bomb.
It takes a full five seconds for me to partially process what he’s saying. He wants to date me? I have so many questions and no idea where to start. So I jump right into the middle of it.
“You want to fake date me to get our ratings up?” I ask.
“No.” He grins. “I want to date you for real to prove that your one-size-fits-all approach to relationships doesn’t work.”
I’m vaguely aware of Francine reacting in the sound booth, and my phone lighting up like a Christmas tree. But I’m anchored in place, heart racing, and staring into the eyes of … my new boyfriend?
I’ve done much, much crazier things in the past with much, much lesser men than Drake.
Which is kind of his point, but I won’t admit that.
“Okay,” I say, wrapping my head around his proposition. “You want to date me. For real. For six weeks. All to prove that I need to expand my dating horizons so I can be a better podcaster?”
“Yeah. I mean, it won’t hurt that you’ll get to spend time with a nice guy for once. Hell, you might even like it.”
I laugh, and the sound is much more maniacal than I intend or expect. For some reason, this makes him smirk.
“You don’t think I’ll fall for you or anything, right?” I ask, smirking right back. “Because I won’t. You’re not my type.”
He snorts. “From what I’ve heard, I’m happy about that. I’d hate to be lumped in with that group.”
“Very funny.”
“I’m basically a public servant, trying to stop the destruction of dreams and futures. I’m just doing this as a public service. I’m not trying to make you fall in love with me.”
“Good. Because no man can make that happen.”
“You can’t make love happen, Gianna. It just does.”
Yeah, right.
The heat between us builds, clouding my head and making it hard to think clearly. I don’t know what this will entail or why he’s doing this, but it will help my podcast. I bet my viewership is setting new records today. And dating in this year of our lord comes with sex, doesn’t it?
As if he can read my mind, he winks at me.
Fuck it. What do I have to lose?
“Deal,” I say, smugly. “You have six weeks to broaden my horizons. We’ll update my followers each week on how it’s going. Cool?”
“Cool. And, if at the end of the six weeks, you realize that I’m right …”
“I won’t.”
Francine’s celebration from the sound booth reminds me that we’re live. Shit. I glance at the clock. We’re nearly done with this episode anyway.
“We’re going to wrap up today’s show a little early, friends. After all, I don’t know how much more excitement I can pack into one episode. So I will see you next week with hot takes and cold truths about …. my new boyfriend.” That sounds so weird. “See you guys later.”
“Goodbye,” Drake says as he gets to his feet.
The outro music begins to play, and I slide off my headphones. Drake follows suit. I have no idea what we do now, or if he was joking, or if this is some skit he wants to keep up for views. There are so many unanswered questions on the tip of my tongue.
“I’ll text you tonight,” he says, grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair.
“Okay …”
He gives me one final lingering smile. “This is going to be fun.”
“I …”
He’s out the door before my voice catches up with him.
I fall back into my seat and take a long breath, trying desperately to get my wits together.
What the hell just happened here?