Pickup Lessons (Awkward Arrangements Book 3) Read online

  My friend consults his phone. “The Elysian Immortal IPA.”

  Beside me, Eden practically squirms with mirth. “I still can’t believe you have a list.”

  I rest my elbows on the bar as Matt grabs our drinks. “Sometimes to do great things, you need a plan.”

  She leans forward to mirror my pose, and from this close, I can catch a whiff of her perfume, the wine on her breath. It’s a combination that makes the room spin a little, this spot of warmth in the middle of the early spring chill. The Hole bustles with its Saturday night rush, couples and groups of friends drifting around the room, but the bar feels like a bubble, and Eden’s elbow brushes against mine, heating not just my body but the air between us, too.

  “See, now that sounds like something out of an upwardly-mobile lifestyle blog that happens to feature self-improvement content,” she says.

  “Is that so?”

  She nods eagerly, her eyes bright. “I’m all about actionable strategies that can empower you to live your best life. Which is why I know I’m right.”

  Damn. Eden Ellis is persistent when she wants to be. Too bad we’re gonna have to agree to disagree.

  “What’s Eden think she’s right about?” Matt asks, rejoining the conversation to hand us our drinks.

  “Everything,” Titus mutters under his breath.

  “Titus!” she grumbles, wrinkling her nose in a way that’s too cute for my own good. She turns back to Matt with a gleam in her eye. “You see a lot of relationships go down in this room. Help us settle a bet.”

  “Eden, no.” I shake my head and push off the bar, straightening to my full height. When I was a stuttering teenager, being six-two made me seem that much more awkward. Twenty pounds of muscle and years of speech therapy later, I’ve settled into my skin. And I like the way my height makes Eden tilt her head back to look at me.

  “Oh, yes.” Something warm catches in my chest as she holds my eyes, and I know that whatever’s happening, there’s no stopping her now. “Tell us, Matt,” she breathes, breaking eye contact to glance at our friend, “if you’re trying to pick up a date, is it better to be one hundred percent yourself, awkwardness and all, or does having the right words and approach help you increase your chances?”

  Matt cocks his head. “It’s kind of subjective, isn’t it?”

  Eden’s forehead furrows. “What do you mean? Either something works or it doesn’t.”

  “Well,” he says with a shrug. “It’s one thing to catch someone’s attention for a single night, but can you keep it?”

  “Of course I can,” she sputters as if his hypothetical question was an earnest assessment of her track record.

  I drop my voice to a whisper, spurred on by the intoxicating blush spreading over her cheeks. “They’re very different things, Eden Ellis. And you’ve been single for a while.”

  “Hey!” she protests, but she refuses to look me in the eye. For all her talk, maybe dating’s a sore spot for her too. After all, she runs a blog about ruling the world, but she hasn’t found someone to rock hers.

  It’s a damn shame.

  Still, Eden calling me out is bull. Because I’m right that if a relationship’s not authentic, it’s not going to count. I don’t think following tips from her blog like “Top three ways to land a date” or “Act confident until you make it” or some other lines are going to help me be sincere.

  She grips her wineglass so hard I worry the stem might snap in her hands.

  Matt steeples his fingers under his chin, darting a glance between us. “You know, I think there’s only one way to settle this.”

  “What’s that?” Eden asks.

  “I propose a wager.” Matt’s not even trying to hide his amusement, and already I feel my stomach sinking. He probably thinks we’re both going to make asses of ourselves, and he’ll get the pleasure of watching. “First of you to score three dates with the same person wins, proving that you can both grab someone’s attention and keep it.” Matt points to Titus and himself. “We’ll hold you two accountable.”

  Titus groans. “I am not participating in this spectacle.”

  Eden, though, seems intrigued by the prospect, too competitive to say no. “What does the winner get?”

  “Bragging rights?” I suggest. If Eden wins, I’ll never hear the end of it, but I need to prove to Eden that love’s worth being your real self.

  Shit.

  Am I really considering this?

  Matt rubs his hands together, a wicked gleam in his eye. “I know!” He taps a finger to his lips. “The loser has to tend bar for me on St. Patty’s Day. Wearing a toga.”

  What the fuck?

  “That makes no sense, Matt,” Eden says, and I want to agree. But while her protest seems perfectly reasonable, it’s exactly the reason it’s the only possible outcome. On the surface, Eden may be put together and poised, but this experiment needs to test both of us.

  If I’m going outside of my comfort zone, she is too.

  “It’s perfect,” I say, and Eden glares at me like a traitor.

  “St. Patty’s Day is too soon,” she says.

  I shrug. “Then April Fool’s Day. That’s like a month away.”

  “How will we know it’s legit?” she bites back.

  I grin at her. “Rules of the game.” I spin to the group. “All dates must at some point be witnessed by one of the four parties present here.”

  Titus frowns at us. “Fuck that. I’m not watching my sister go on dates.”

  “Matt?”

  “I’m in.” He rubs his hands together and smiles beatifically. “This is going to be great.”

  “Of course it is,” I say, energy flooding my body.

  Eden bites her lip, and for a second, I want her to call the whole thing off. To say maybe she was wrong and she doesn’t want to us date other people. But then she groans and reaches out her hand to shake on it, and I know where I stand.

  Right now, winning this bet is exactly what I need. I’m going to prove I’m not hopeless, and maybe along the way some mystery woman will help remind me to focus on what I can have, rather than who I can’t. And if Eden finds someone? Well, we’re not gonna think about that all.

  This is going to work just fine.

  It has to.

  3

  Eden

  Why is this so hard?

  I glare at my computer screen at lunchtime, a half-eaten salad resting by my elbow as I hunch over the keyboard to fill out a profile for an online dating service.

  No time to waste, right?

  There’s no way I’m going to let Dash win this bet—if not to show him I can keep a relationship going, thank you very much, then to save myself from the humiliation of a stint as a toga-clad bartender. Dash might see me as just his best friend’s little sister, but that doesn’t mean that other men will overlook me the way he has. But first, I need to find them.

  If I’m going to make this work, I need to increase my odds of meeting the right person, so I’m planning a combo of in-person bar time and a little online connection. It’s the online part, though, that’s proving to be a challenge. In long-form essays and blog posts, I’m great. But how do you distill who you are into a tiny profile and a handful of pictures?

  Name? Eden.

  Age? Twenty-four.

  Occupation? Writer, blogger, tech enthusiast.

  It sort of breaks down after there. I may have been overconfident.

  “What are you doing?” My friend-slash-coworker’s sweet voice sings over my shoulder, and I jump.

  Greer drops into the empty seat next to me, and I slam my laptop closed and whirl to face her, my heart racing at a guilty pitch.

  “Nothing.”

  Not at all making a dating profile during my lunch break at work.

  Greer pushes a strand of her long blond hair behind her ear and frowns at me. “That’s not a nothing face, E.”

  I’ve been friends and coworkers with Greer ever since she joined WanderWell a little over a year ago
to round out our three-person writing team. I blog about our products and new features, Greer shapes the voice of Wanda, our digital chatbot, and Locke writes the words in the products. Or, at least, he did.

  Locke earned a well-deserved promotion at the end of last year, and he’s technically now my boss. While I worried for half a second that it would derail our easy banter, I’ve been pleased that nothing much has changed. Other than how he’s working double-time to cover the UX writing while searching for his own replacement. It’s hard to run a team and also do the day-to-day work.

  Either way, Locke and Greer had mad I-love-you vibes between them but were clearly too scared to ruin their friendship with something as complicated as love. I was all too happy to give them a nudge in the right direction, and today they’re living together and being gross and cute in how much they freaking care about each other. They’re one of the success stories I shared with Titus and Dash this past weekend, so I know my instincts are good when it comes to relationships.

  Too bad those instincts are failing me when it comes to the website in front of me. All the confidence I felt when accepting the bet this weekend has completely evaporated.

  “Eden,” Greer presses.

  I break with a sigh. “Fine. I’m setting up a dating profile.”

  Her delighted squeal makes me dart a glance around the room. WanderWell’s third-floor office is an open space, with rows of desks arranged to give everyone breathing room but to foster an inclusive, collaborative environment. It also means that if you’re not careful, your business is everyone’s business.

  Luckily, everyone other than me and Greer has left the room for lunch.

  “I’m so happy for you,” Greer crows. “You totally deserve to find someone as badass as you.”

  She’s so genuine that my stomach hurts. “It’s for a bet,” I mutter.

  Her eyebrows lift, and an intrigued smile darts across her lips. “Tell me more.”

  I groan inwardly. How much do I confess about me and Dash and why this absolutely has to work?

  Greer’s scrutiny makes me spill. “Dash and I have a wager going. First of us to three dates with the same person wins.”

  She squinches up her face. “Your brother’s friend? The one from yoga?”

  I nod.

  In January, I dragged Titus and Dash to the grand opening of our friend Molly’s yoga studio. Greer and Locke were there, and though the proportion of guys who’d never done yoga was silly high, it was all about supporting our girl. Even when Titus bailed after a bit, Dash hung out with me for hours, practicing yoga and eating the food Molly’s now-fiancé had brought in to commemorate the occasion.

  “So, it’s about dating other people?” Greer asks, dragging my mind away from the distracting image of Dash’s strong arms holding him in up dog. For someone who mostly stays indoors, his body was surprisingly ripped.

  I nod.

  “Huh. I thought Dash…” Greer breaks off and seems to think better of whatever she was going to say. She shakes her head and purses her lips. “That’s interesting,” she finishes. “Whose idea was this?”

  I rest my elbows on the edge of my desk. “Our friend Matt’s.” I shrug. “I offered the helpful advice that maybe Dash shouldn’t use horrendous pickup lines, and instead of agreeing with me, Matt suggested we make it into a challenge.”

  Greer leans back, and her desk chair spins a little with the motion. “Do you want that?”

  No.

  Yes.

  I want the one man who’s oblivious to my attention.

  “Sure,” I muster, but my voice sounds watery even to me. The idea of Dash seriously pursuing other women makes my stomach turn, but maybe that’s just the price I have to pay. I try again. “Yep.”

  “Okay,” she says, and her voice brightens. “Then let’s make this profile awesome. Show me what you have.”

  “How’s it looking?” Greer calls, padding out of her bedroom in a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt that looks suspiciously like something Locke would wear on a casual Friday.

  At the end of the workday she invited me to her place to finish the profile, insisting she wasn’t going to be able to sleep until we’d accomplished our mission to share my amazingness with the world. Which, thanks, Greer. I appreciate the confidence.

  Her first order of business once she’d settled me on her couch with my laptop in hand? Ditch her pencil skirt and blouse for something more comfortable. I love that she’s so unapologetically herself, and I love that Locke loves her for it.

  See? Real love’s worth pushing through the scary feelings.

  A pang of something like longing sharpens in my chest. I do want the right person. I just don’t know if this experiment’s going to help me find him.

  I shrug in response to Greer’s question. “I have no idea anymore if this is good or not. You tell me.”

  She flops onto the couch next to me and peers over my shoulder at the screen, blinking through her glasses. “You look cute in this pic,” she says, stabbing her finger at a photograph of me laughing on a boat in Lake Union last summer. In the shot, all you can see is my wide smile, with the water and the skyline behind me, but on the other side of the camera, Dash is egging me on with horrible jokes, while Titus lays on his back on one of the benches, staring up at the sky. It was a really good day.

  My throat feels thick with the memory as I whisper, “Thank you.”

  The front door scrapes open, and we both jump.

  “Ladies,” Locke says, dropping his keys in a bowl by the front door. “What’s happening?”

  “Not much,” I say, but the laptop poised on my lap says otherwise. As does Greer.

  “We’re setting up a dating profile for Eden!” she crows. “We started at lunch.”

  Locke’s mouth twitches in a grin. “Tell me you haven’t been working on this all day.”

  My cheeks heat. “Nope. Strictly on my lunch break. And, um, the last hour.”

  Locke laughs, low and warm. “Can I see?”

  Oh my god. Seriously?

  “Glad my love life’s so amusing to everyone,” I mutter.

  “Come on,” Greer urges. “We can use a male perspective.”

  I groan and spin the laptop to face Locke. He strides across the room and inspects the screen, his brown eyes lighting with inspiration.

  “Can I offer a suggestion?”

  My stomach feels prickly with nerves. “Sure.”

  “First, change out your job title.”

  My mouth falls open. “But I’m a blogger, Locke. At work and at home.”

  He nods and flashes me an apologetic look. “You are. But in today’s world, ‘blogger’ says ‘high-maintenance.’ Every guy who reads this is going to wonder if he’s going to be turned into an Instagram boyfriend who’s only there to take pictures of you.”

  I blink at him, landing somewhere between impressed and indignant. “How do you know all these things?” I sputter.

  He grins. “Just say you shape social and promotional outreach and report on emerging technologies.”

  I lean back and whistle. “I’m impressed.”

  He nods. “Thanks. And also, you should make your profile into a game.”

  I arch an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “Yeah.” He waves a hand at my laptop. “I don’t spend time on these sites, but I’m gonna guess most of them look the same. But dating is a game, right? So make people want to reach out to you by gamifying it. Make a quiz or something.”

  I laugh. “I feel like you should just do this for me, oh word guru.”

  “Don’t appeal to his ego,” Greer groans, but her pale skin is flush with pride and love.

  God, what would it feel like to be so comfortably secure with someone? To love someone enough that it’s written on your face, even when you’re braless and in sweatpants on your couch?

  Locke grins and reaches for my computer. “Hand it over.”

  Half an hour later, he looks up from the laptop and strokes a hand o
ver the stubble on his jaw. “I think we’ve got something here.”

  I take the computer and read through my profile. It still showcases me—my interests, my spirit, my photos—but he’s transformed it into a game that makes you want to reach out and play.

  Well done, Locke, well done. I feel lame not having come up with the idea myself.

  “Should we put it out there?” Greer asks.

  This wager isn’t just about beating Dash or finding a way to distract me from thinking about him. It’s about proving that all the ideas that I’ve built my career on—the power of words, communication as connection—mean something. Starting here, with this online profile, is the first step, even if Locke did the heavy lifting.

  My hand hovers over the publish button, and I blow out a deep breath. If I’m going to win this bet, I’ve gotta cast my net wide. I imagine what I’d tell my readers—take chances, believe in yourself, it’s all going to work out fine.

  “There’s only one way to find out,” I say.

  Then, before I can second-guess myself, I click publish and send my dating profile out into the world.

  4

  Dash

  The coffee shop hums around me mid-morning on Tuesday, a bustle of people rubbing sleep from their eyes, ordering their caffeine to go, and shuffling off to work. I sit in one of the worn, leather chairs in the corner of the room and watch everyone spin by, content with having no place to be other than here.

  Creating my own business with Titus was one of the best things I could have done for myself. It gives me the luxury of a flexible schedule, a way to stretch my design muscles, and room to work on my own art, too. Plus, it’s good to have a partner to tether you. Someone to make you crawl out of your house and get out into the world. Hell, half the reason I dreamed up our tasting tour of local Seattle beers is that finding them all forces me to leave the comfort of my apartment. It’s been an exercise in putting myself out there.

  Today Titus and I are slated for one of our regular state-of-business meetings, but I’m fifteen minutes early. While I wait for him to arrive, I uncap my pen and lean over the small sketchbook I carry almost everywhere.