emotional connection strong enough that any woman could have the power to screw him over. No, he wanted to find his Cinderella to work her out of his system. Like the way he sweated alcohol out with a long run after an epic night of drinking.
Ben struggled for a few seconds, then raised his arms in surrender. “Sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. You’ll never lock your dick up and hand the key to a single woman. In fact, I think the entire female population of Chicago would stage an intervention if you even considered it.”
Gib let him go, hiding his grin of triumph. Even after six months of putting Ben through his paces in the gym, he could still take him down. “Damn straight.”
“But do you have a plan? Aside from nagging my fiancée to death?”
As they finally hit the locker room, Gib tugged off his tie. “Social media. I can’t find her by myself, but in today’s world, I don’t have to. I can put out a plea on every single social media site—” A truly inspired thought pinged into his brain. “Why don’t we fire up that camera of yours? Tape my plea for help finding this wondrous woman. It could go viral by tonight. Someone out there must know who she is, have heard about the magical kiss she shared with a stranger on New Year’s Eve.” Because it had to have been as world-tippingly special for her, too. On his worst days, Gib could kiss a girl senseless. Not bragging, but mere fact. He liked to think it helped make up for his inability to make a commitment to a woman.
Ben tossed his jacket into a locker and began to stretch his quads. “You keep acting crazy like this, and we’re going to slap you silly. Or stick ice cubes down your shorts to snap you out of it.”
Why wouldn’t Ben help him? Since he’d locked Ivy’s heart up tight with a diamond ring, Gib had assumed Ben would be sympathetic to his quest, at the very least. “You don’t understand.”
“Really? I didn’t have any contact with Ivy after our first date for six weeks. I’d pretty well burned that bridge, of my volition. But I still thought about her, day and night. Wondered about her. Replayed the slide of her skin against mine, the sound of her laugh. Did I abandon all pride, cut off my balls and appeal to a worldwide audience to get her back? Hell, no.”
Gib twirled the dial on his teak locker. “My therapist would undoubtedly be proud enough to throw me a parade for—how did she put it? Treating women like disposable napkins. Why can’t you be?”
“Because, even though you don’t pay me by the hour, I’m more invested in your long-term happiness than some shrink. When this goes south—and it will, believe me—I’ll be here to pick up the pieces. You know, get you shit-faced at a strip joint.”
“No pieces,” Gib scoffed. “You pointed out that every time I walk away from a girl, she’s still smiling. And I never get seriously attached.” Or even semi-seriously attached. It would be like eating lobster ravioli every night. Delicious, but so boring after a week he’d want to claw his own tongue out. “There’s simply no downside to finding her.”
“Wrong. Have you thought about how this would reflect on you professionally? If you go viral with this plea, a news source will pick it up. You’re already this month’s cover of Windy City magazine. People know who you are. Dig a little deeper, and someone’s going to pop the lid on your title. The headline would be something like British Noble Crazy for Chicago’s Cinderella—Or Just Crazy? It’ll go more than viral. This story will be carried by the national press, and then British rags will get their hands on it.”
Christ. Wouldn’t that be a living nightmare. The negative publicity would undoubtedly make some women think twice about dating him. Gib had no desire for any obstacles that might inhibit his choice of bed partners. “I hadn’t thought about it that way.”
“Which is also totally out of character for you. You’ve
Ben struggled for a few seconds, then raised his arms in surrender. “Sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. You’ll never lock your dick up and hand the key to a single woman. In fact, I think the entire female population of Chicago would stage an intervention if you even considered it.”
Gib let him go, hiding his grin of triumph. Even after six months of putting Ben through his paces in the gym, he could still take him down. “Damn straight.”
“But do you have a plan? Aside from nagging my fiancée to death?”
As they finally hit the locker room, Gib tugged off his tie. “Social media. I can’t find her by myself, but in today’s world, I don’t have to. I can put out a plea on every single social media site—” A truly inspired thought pinged into his brain. “Why don’t we fire up that camera of yours? Tape my plea for help finding this wondrous woman. It could go viral by tonight. Someone out there must know who she is, have heard about the magical kiss she shared with a stranger on New Year’s Eve.” Because it had to have been as world-tippingly special for her, too. On his worst days, Gib could kiss a girl senseless. Not bragging, but mere fact. He liked to think it helped make up for his inability to make a commitment to a woman.
Ben tossed his jacket into a locker and began to stretch his quads. “You keep acting crazy like this, and we’re going to slap you silly. Or stick ice cubes down your shorts to snap you out of it.”
Why wouldn’t Ben help him? Since he’d locked Ivy’s heart up tight with a diamond ring, Gib had assumed Ben would be sympathetic to his quest, at the very least. “You don’t understand.”
“Really? I didn’t have any contact with Ivy after our first date for six weeks. I’d pretty well burned that bridge, of my volition. But I still thought about her, day and night. Wondered about her. Replayed the slide of her skin against mine, the sound of her laugh. Did I abandon all pride, cut off my balls and appeal to a worldwide audience to get her back? Hell, no.”
Gib twirled the dial on his teak locker. “My therapist would undoubtedly be proud enough to throw me a parade for—how did she put it? Treating women like disposable napkins. Why can’t you be?”
“Because, even though you don’t pay me by the hour, I’m more invested in your long-term happiness than some shrink. When this goes south—and it will, believe me—I’ll be here to pick up the pieces. You know, get you shit-faced at a strip joint.”
“No pieces,” Gib scoffed. “You pointed out that every time I walk away from a girl, she’s still smiling. And I never get seriously attached.” Or even semi-seriously attached. It would be like eating lobster ravioli every night. Delicious, but so boring after a week he’d want to claw his own tongue out. “There’s simply no downside to finding her.”
“Wrong. Have you thought about how this would reflect on you professionally? If you go viral with this plea, a news source will pick it up. You’re already this month’s cover of Windy City magazine. People know who you are. Dig a little deeper, and someone’s going to pop the lid on your title. The headline would be something like British Noble Crazy for Chicago’s Cinderella—Or Just Crazy? It’ll go more than viral. This story will be carried by the national press, and then British rags will get their hands on it.”
Christ. Wouldn’t that be a living nightmare. The negative publicity would undoubtedly make some women think twice about dating him. Gib had no desire for any obstacles that might inhibit his choice of bed partners. “I hadn’t thought about it that way.”
“Which is also totally out of character for you. You’ve
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