The Boyfriend List (Love in L.A. #2)

1. Prologue

Prologue

“ I ’m never dating again.” I throw my phone across the room.

It lands in the lap of my friend, former lab partner, and current coworker, London Young.

He’s sprawled on the beanbag chair in our law firm’s break room, eating fried rice and scanning a report on his laptop.

I’m a corporate lawyer while he’s a tax lawyer, so we’re both pretty busy.

But only he would work during his lunch break.

London picks up my phone after arching an eyebrow at my declaration. “Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?”

He glances at my phone, which is open to the dating profile of a man named Jeb.

We’ve been talking for three months but have never met.

Every time we picked a date to go out, he had an illness, a family emergency, or a last-minute work meeting.

I thought he’d run out of grandparents’ funerals to attend.

Until today, when he admitted he was on Bumble to get over his ex-girlfriend, but she had just hit him up again. So adios , Jeb, who “loves tacos, sarcasm, and women who don’t take themselves too seriously.”

London scans the messages between us with a grimace. “He sounds like a loser. ”

“You’re right. What was I thinking, trying to date a guy named Jeb ?” I frown. “Do you think Jeb is short for Jebediah?”

“I thought it was short for Jeberemiah.” London cracks a smile that makes his brown eyes crinkle behind his black-framed glasses.

He has an earnest, puppy-dog like face, and he usually wears oversized button-down Oxford shirts or even sweater vests.

I think he tries to look unattractive on purpose.

It isn’t working, because for as long as I’ve known him, he’s had many short-term relationships.

And we met in our first year of college eight years ago.

London puts aside his laptop and starts typing on my phone.

“Hey! What are you sending to Jebob?”

“Jebob?” London snort-laughs, nearly choking on a mouthful of fried rice. He doesn’t actually choke, which I’m grateful for since it prevents him from spraying food all over my phone screen. “What kind of name is Jebob ?”

“You know, like Jacob, or kabob. Jebob .“ The text he’s typed sends with a whoosh . Groaning, I take my phone from him and read the messages.

Jeb

Sorry, but I don’t think this is going to work between us. I thought I was over my ex, but she just texted me again and said she wants to work things out. Peace out and I hope you’re day goes well.

Gloria

She definitely can’t fix your habit of stringing people along, since you guys seem to have that in common. But maybe she can teach you the difference between your and you’re.

“You know what, that actually makes me feel slightly better. Thanks, Manchester.” I delete the conversation and block Jeb .

London rolls his eyes at the nickname. Ever since I found out he and all his siblings were named after geographical locations, I’ve started calling him random British cities instead of his actual name.

Being friends with him has expanded my knowledge of geography.

“Maybe your problem with dating is that you’re approaching it all wrong. ”

I eye him. “Says the guy who’s never had a long-term relationship for as long as I’ve known him.”

“I’m just saying, in the rest of your life, you’re so organized. You colour-code your calendar and your client files. But when it comes to dating, you throw spaghetti at the wall and hope it sticks.”

“What is the spaghetti in this analogy?”

London ignores me, continuing. “I mean, did you really think things were going to work out between you and a guy who ‘dreams of moving to Nicaragua and owning a pitbull’?”

I cringe as he reads the prompt off Jeb’s profile. “Maybe! I could learn to like pitbulls.”

“Gloria, you own pet fish.”

I am so not a pitbull owner.

“Which you so kindly got for me!” I point out. Five years ago, he got me a tank after I had mentioned that rosy barbs were my favorite tropical fish.

“I just don’t think you’re going into this with any plan of what you want.”

An idea percolates in my mind as I check my watch. “I should get back to work so I can leave early.”

I have a coffee date after work with another guy, then I have to get ready for my best friend’s birthday party and baby shower tomorrow at a winery. It might seem like a strange place to hold a baby shower, but the winery is her husband’s.

My best friend, Raina, is married to Prince Kostas, the second in line to the throne of Dorapolis. Since she got married a few years ago, we haven’t been as close as we were when we lived together, but I still love her to pieces and cherish every moment we spend together.

London doesn’t protest. As I finish up my workday, doing research for the client I’ll be representing in court next month, his words linger in my mind.

I don’t think you’re going into this with any plan of what you want.

Maybe that’s what I need. A plan.

Relaxing in a royal airplane was the perfect ending to my awful week. I was grateful that Raina and Kostas were kind enough to send a private jet for me to get here. Enduring the ten-hour long flight in coach would’ve been brutal.

But not as brutal as my brief date after work.

I had to leave early to make it to the airport anyways.

After grabbing Raina’s present and touching up my makeup, I changed out of my work clothes and into a cotton sundress to avoid sweating up a storm in the Dorapolis heat.

The jet landed with just enough time for me to finish applying a coat of lipstick before climbing off the plane and into the waiting limo, the driver following behind with my luggage.

I’ll be staying at the Dorapolis palace tonight in one of the guest rooms, then leaving two days from now.

Rows of lush green grapevines stretch as far as the eye can see, surrounding the winery.

It’s built with sandstone that reminds me of a fairytale castle with grand, arched windows giving a view of the vineyard outside.

Other guests are milling about in brightly coloured summer clothes, some I recognize like Kostas’ grandmother, and Helen, Raina’s mother-in-law.

Most of the guests in attendance are unfamiliar, aside from Raina’s immediate family .

As I enter Penelope’s Winery, I watch Raina Vasileiou (formerly Aguilar) stride through the room like a queen.

Okay, maybe more like a princess, which is technically her title.

She’s wearing a breezy white linen dress that cascades over her second-trimester baby bump, and a smile that’s as radiant as the sun shining outside.

I make my way over to Raina and we catch up. When it comes to the topic of our wildly disparate love lives, though, that’s when the conversation turns into an interrogation.

“I know there’s a guy,” Raina says, her brown eyes sparkling as she leans forward slightly, cradling a glass of sparkling apple juice in one hand and her baby bump with the other.

“The date I just had was definitely not the guy you’re thinking of,” I say.

“You went on a date this weekend?” Her brows shoot up. “What did he do?”

“He told me he worked in the energy industry. But he was a gas station attendant.”

Raina blinks before bursting out laughing. “Props for being creative.”

“Did you mean the guy who keeps trying to steal my clients and gun for my job? That guy?” The mention of Henry McFayden—a corporate lawyer who’s my former work nemesis—makes me roll my eyes.

“Yes! You have all the ingredients for a workplace rivals romance…”

I shake my head. Raina has been reading too many romance books, because she’s finding too many romcom tropes in real life. “Yes, except he’s married. And I wouldn’t want to have a workplace rivals romance with him anyways. He’s a jerk.”

Henry fortunately traded his corporate law job at our office for a legal position at another firm. He gloated about how much better his new job was on LinkedIn for days .

“What about… What’s his face?” I know Raina is talking about London, but I can’t broach the topic of dating him with a ten-foot pole without having my heart obliterated.

So, I play dumb, hoping she’ll drop it. Though, there’s a bigger chance of the cast of Toddlers in Tiaras playing tackle football than Raina dropping a topic once she’s sunk her teeth into it.

”Believe it or not, Rain, I can only read your mind ninety-seven percent of the time and this time is one of those three percent instances.

I don’t actually know who you’re talking about. ”

“The guy you made friends with in university. The one who got you the tank of tropical fish?” She nudges me. “Come on, I know you know who I’m talking about.”

“Oh. Him.” Deep down, I know London Young is more than just a friend. He just doesn’t feel the same way about me. “I just told you, he’s my friend. We’d never date.”

“Sure.” She totally doesn’t believe me.

Trying to change the subject, I compliment the wine that Kostas gave me a few minutes ago. It’s from the winery—of course—and it’s delicious. I down my glass and wave my hand for a waiter to bring me another, based on Raina’s recommendation.

Raina still won’t give up the topic of dating, though, so I give her a lead. “I’m sick of the dates I’ve been on lately. I just had the worst date of my life before I got here so now I’m making a list.”

“A list ?”

“A boyfriend list.” It’s an idea that became fully formed thanks to London’s suggestion earlier.

Maybe finding the ideal man based on my boyfriend list will finally put to bed any ideas Raina—or my heart—has about me dating London.

“I’m not dating until I meet a guy who can check off everything on my boyfriend list. ”

We spend the next half hour compiling the most absurd compendium of qualities for one man to fulfill.

The Boyfriend List

He should be well-mannered and punctual.

He must always use correct grammar and know the difference between “there, their, and they’re.”

He should own know how to ride a horse —Raina

He should have a good relationship with his family.

He should never wear ripped or skinny jeans

He should have a stable career, preferably in a field my parents would approve of.

He has to take you to your favourite band’s concert!!!

He has to know how to sing. ( So he can serenade you!)

He must have a favourite ice cream flavour that is NOT vanilla. (Boring!!!)

He has to know how to cook.

He must have an exciting hobby, like skydiving!

He should be a good driver. ( Not you asking the police for his driving record lol ???)

If he has pets, they can’t be smelly or messy LIKE GUINEA PIGS . ( NOTHING is wrong with Biscuit!)

He has to know how to dance.

He has to want marriage and a family within five years.

He must have a collection of something random, like pet rocks, baseball caps, or energy drinks.

He must floss regularly and have good dental hygiene.

He must be able to do some kind of water sport, such as water skiing, surfing, or paddle-boarding.

“Now sign it,” Raina orders, shoving the pen back toward me. “It’s not official until you sign it.”

“It’s a list, not a contract,” I retort, but I sign it anyway at her behest. “Are you going to stamp it with a royal seal?”

“No, but that’s a good idea.” She looks crestfallen as her husband walks past. “Did you bring the royal seal?”

He looks utterly befuddled. “No…? Was I supposed to?”

I sigh as I look between the two of them. “Thanks for helping me, Raina. Though I highly doubt I’ll meet a guy who knows how to ride a horse in Los Angeles.”

I squeeze her in a tight hug, savouring this moment with my best friend.

I have a list. A plan.

All I need now is to meet a guy who fulfills every single one of my boyfriend list qualities.

How hard could it be?