Chronicles of a Serial Dater - Book 3: A New Adult Romantic Comedy by Adele Huxley, Savan Robbins Page B
Authors: Adele Huxley, Savan Robbins
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are actually kind of reading it!”
“Will you share it with me? I’d love to read it.”
I snorted at the thought of him reading about all my past dates. Between Mr. Chompy, The Ball Gag, and everyone else, I did my best not to laugh. “I’m not sure it’s something you’d be really interested in, but maybe someday.”
“I can’t wait,” he said as he slowed to a stop. I could see the subway entrance across the street and knew the date was coming to an end. My stomach flip-flopped at the thought of our first kiss. Devon pulled me against the side of a building, out of the flow of foot traffic.
“I had a great time,” I breathed, looking up into his penetrating eyes.
He brushed a strand of hair behind my ear and smiled tenderly. “Me too. You did so well tonight.”
I was nearly leaning in for a kiss when I stopped short. Like a looping video, his last sentence played again in my head. “At shuffleboard you mean?”
“Just… with everything,” he whispered, dipping his head low to my level.
I pulled my head back and squinted at him questioningly. “What do you mean?”
“You passed all the tests, with flying colors I might add.” He took a step forward as if I were playing coy in dodging his advances.
“Tests?” I couldn’t conceal the real edge to my voice now.
Devon groaned and leaned against the building, as if loath to describe it in detail. “You were cool with the wheelchair thing, which, you know . You picked shuffleboard, which means you’re adventurous. When I offered to buy a drink, you chose something on the cheap side with a low alcohol percentage. And just now when I asked for you to tell me something no one else knows… we really connected.”
I was going to be physically sick. We were at the end of one of the best first dates of my life. It’d felt effortless and natural. For a few brief moments, I hoped it might have the potential to actually turn into something real. Like, you know, a second fucking date for once! And to find out he’d spent the entire time testing me, rating my decisions on some arbitrary scale so he could determine my dateability
We’d gone from record scratches to ringing alarm bells, which were sounding more like loud-ass cymbals crashing in my head. On a scale of one to crazy, this dating stuff was starting to look like Tom Cruise jumping on Oprah’s sofa.
“Yeah, no,” I said taking a big step away from him. “Seems you didn’t pass my asshole test.”
Devon’s expression tightened, his nose crinkling. “But I canceled my 11 p.m. for you.”
My eyes went round as I realized that even that seemingly playful comment earlier had been for real. How could I have read this guy so wrong? All I could do was shake my head in disbelief.
“Wow,” I muttered as I walked away without another word.
“You really shouldn’t do that, you know,” I warned Zach as I approached the front steps.
He tapped the ash from the glowing end of his cigarette off to the side and patted the step beside him. “Eh, you gotta go somehow.”
“E-cigs, gum, patches, whatever you want. I’ll pay for it as long as you quit.”
He nudged my shoulder, a waft of his cologne and scent smelled surprisingly good. “But then what will you have to nag me about?”
“True.”
When I first moved to the city, I wondered why so many people hung out in front of their buildings. I can’t speak for everyone in Manhattan, but I started to for my own reasons. Equal parts socializing with your neighbors and avoiding the stifling heat of the building upstairs.
“You had a date tonight, right?”
“Don’t ask.”
“Didn’t go well?” I could hear the smile in his voice.
Loose strands of hair stuck to my neck and face as I shook my head. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “I thought so, at first.”
“Right,” Zach declared as he jumped to his feet. He flicked the burning cherry off his cigarette, the bright light arcing through the air and
“Will you share it with me? I’d love to read it.”
I snorted at the thought of him reading about all my past dates. Between Mr. Chompy, The Ball Gag, and everyone else, I did my best not to laugh. “I’m not sure it’s something you’d be really interested in, but maybe someday.”
“I can’t wait,” he said as he slowed to a stop. I could see the subway entrance across the street and knew the date was coming to an end. My stomach flip-flopped at the thought of our first kiss. Devon pulled me against the side of a building, out of the flow of foot traffic.
“I had a great time,” I breathed, looking up into his penetrating eyes.
He brushed a strand of hair behind my ear and smiled tenderly. “Me too. You did so well tonight.”
I was nearly leaning in for a kiss when I stopped short. Like a looping video, his last sentence played again in my head. “At shuffleboard you mean?”
“Just… with everything,” he whispered, dipping his head low to my level.
I pulled my head back and squinted at him questioningly. “What do you mean?”
“You passed all the tests, with flying colors I might add.” He took a step forward as if I were playing coy in dodging his advances.
“Tests?” I couldn’t conceal the real edge to my voice now.
Devon groaned and leaned against the building, as if loath to describe it in detail. “You were cool with the wheelchair thing, which, you know . You picked shuffleboard, which means you’re adventurous. When I offered to buy a drink, you chose something on the cheap side with a low alcohol percentage. And just now when I asked for you to tell me something no one else knows… we really connected.”
I was going to be physically sick. We were at the end of one of the best first dates of my life. It’d felt effortless and natural. For a few brief moments, I hoped it might have the potential to actually turn into something real. Like, you know, a second fucking date for once! And to find out he’d spent the entire time testing me, rating my decisions on some arbitrary scale so he could determine my dateability
We’d gone from record scratches to ringing alarm bells, which were sounding more like loud-ass cymbals crashing in my head. On a scale of one to crazy, this dating stuff was starting to look like Tom Cruise jumping on Oprah’s sofa.
“Yeah, no,” I said taking a big step away from him. “Seems you didn’t pass my asshole test.”
Devon’s expression tightened, his nose crinkling. “But I canceled my 11 p.m. for you.”
My eyes went round as I realized that even that seemingly playful comment earlier had been for real. How could I have read this guy so wrong? All I could do was shake my head in disbelief.
“Wow,” I muttered as I walked away without another word.
“You really shouldn’t do that, you know,” I warned Zach as I approached the front steps.
He tapped the ash from the glowing end of his cigarette off to the side and patted the step beside him. “Eh, you gotta go somehow.”
“E-cigs, gum, patches, whatever you want. I’ll pay for it as long as you quit.”
He nudged my shoulder, a waft of his cologne and scent smelled surprisingly good. “But then what will you have to nag me about?”
“True.”
When I first moved to the city, I wondered why so many people hung out in front of their buildings. I can’t speak for everyone in Manhattan, but I started to for my own reasons. Equal parts socializing with your neighbors and avoiding the stifling heat of the building upstairs.
“You had a date tonight, right?”
“Don’t ask.”
“Didn’t go well?” I could hear the smile in his voice.
Loose strands of hair stuck to my neck and face as I shook my head. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “I thought so, at first.”
“Right,” Zach declared as he jumped to his feet. He flicked the burning cherry off his cigarette, the bright light arcing through the air and
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