Not Another Valentine Story
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Jen Cooper
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2.7M
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32
Chapter 1
LAUREN
Lauren Landon was always single on Valentine’s Day; it was her curse. A string of bad dates, useless fucks who were as bad at being faithful as they were at finding the G-spot, and the charging vibrator at home were testaments to that.
Sitting in a fancy restaurant, sipping red wine with her best dress and highest heels on, Lauren looked around at all the couples. All wore smiling faces, leaning over the tables to get closer to the person they were hoping was “the one.”
Lauren was starting to doubt that would ever be her.
She’d dated them all, every red flag, and every time, she’d found herself crying over Ben & Jerry’s in the bathtub with a bottle of wine. Her phone had so many blocked numbers—more than active ones by this point.
It was clear: her problem lay in her choice of men because otherwise, that meant she was unlovable, which just couldn’t be true. Even though she did seem to be the pit stop guys made on their way to their soulmates.
Swallowing the bitter Merlot in her third glass, she checked her phone for the fiftieth time in ten minutes. It was 7:30 p.m. She had been waiting for her date for half an hour, and if she wasn’t such a sucker, she might’ve taken the hint by now.
The waitress came over then, her mouth in a grim line as she eyed the empty chair opposite Lauren. “I’m really sorry, but I can only give you five more minutes to order before I’ll have to give your table away,” the woman said in a hushed voice, wringing her hands.
Lauren checked her phone and shook her head. “I won’t need five minutes, just the check, please.” She sighed, draining her glass and pulling out her purse. She was not wasting more of her time on a man who couldn’t be punctual.
Not when she could be finalizing event details for her client instead—a major client that she herself had landed, not one her dad had given to her. Building a name for herself apart from her dad’s was number one for Lauren.
“Of course. Here you go,” the waitress said.
Lauren paid the bill, slipping a generous tip in there before pulling her coat on and getting ready to brave the New York chill.
Her mind was already racing with her half-checked task list for the weekend’s fundraiser she was organizing. She did her coat buttons up then turned to leave, still going over the guest list and decor in her head when she walked straight into a wall of a man.
He towered above her, his broad body taking up the entire space between the two tables she was trying to navigate.
Lauren went to apologize for being so distracted, but the words stuck in her mouth when she looked up into bright-green eyes. They narrowed on her and were fixed on the face of someone who looked mildly irritated.
But she didn’t care. He was beautiful.
He had a sexy, chiseled jawline with the clean stubble that always had her swiping right on Tinder. He was a wall of muscle and expensive cologne that had her body excited in all the wrong ways for being in a crowded restaurant on Valentine’s Day.
Finally, she unstuck her tongue from her cheek and cleared her throat to speak. “I’m sorry, I—”
“Should learn to watch where you’re walking,” he said with a bite, his deep voice speaking to every carnal urge she’d ever had.
She suppressed a shiver and scowled back at him, refusing to let her libido win when she hadn’t meant to bump into him. He hadn’t watched where he was going either.
“So should you,” she snapped back, and one of his perfect brows rose on his unfairly handsome face. Looked like Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome didn’t like being argued with. Well tough, Lauren thought. She was great at it and was in enough of a mood to push the issue.
“I’ll walk where I want. This is my restaurant,” he said, sneering.
Lauren rolled her eyes. Oh, he’s one of those “that’s mine” guys. And he’s just saying it to throw it in my face. She was unimpressed.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Congrats,” she said. “Now I know the owner is a dick, I’ll be sure to leave behind my feedback at the front desk. What do you go by? Mr. Dick or Your Highness?”
One hand clenching her phone and the other her handbag strap, she forced herself not to use either as a weapon.
Instead of being angry, like she had expected, the man stepped forward. He moved quickly for a big guy, and she didn’t have a chance to escape his presence before he leaned down.
He put his face so close to hers that she could smell the whiskey on his breath and see the different shades of green in his eyes.
His hot breath brushed her ear as he spoke. “I prefer ‘Sir.’” He leaned back, the soft strands of his fade-cut dark-brown hair tickling her cheek as he moved.
She froze, her body a victim to his toxic, red-flag behavior, and the worst part? She liked it. At least her pussy did. It was soaked, weeping like a bitch in heat.
And he knew it too.
He smirked, his full lips pulling to the side in a flawlessly sexy yet cynical way. “Looks like you prefer it too.” He grinned and moved past her.
Lauren refused to let things end there and stormed after him. “You have no idea what I prefer.”
Ignoring her outburst, he continued to his table—the corner booth—and slid in, resting one arm along the back like the entire world was at his fingertips. And for a guy like him, it probably was.
She resented that.
“Then enlighten me,” he said in a patronizing tone.
His challenge caused her thoughts to race. Did she even know what she preferred when it came to men and sex? The truth was, not really. Her encounters in the past had been about letting them do their thing to get off. She wasn’t an active participant in bed—she was a starfish.
But for this guy? She’d consider watching every porn ever made to learn how to be the best damn lay he’d ever had. Not that she was offering, and not that he’d be interested if she was.
She would enlighten him, though, she decided.
It was Valentine’s Day, she’d been stood up, and she didn’t need some asshole being rude and condescending to her any more than she’d needed that third glass of wine.
So, she put both hands on his table, leaned forward, and took a breath to let him have it.
