onto my living room sofa, and groaned. “How could this happen to me?”
“Seriously.” Mel sat next me, staring at the picture on her phone. “So not like you to spider down a building and I really didn’t picture Brian Burnside as your type. Is he a good kisser at least?”
Remembering the feel of Paul’s lips on mine ignited a fire in my belly. “I did not kiss Brian Burnside.”
Mel glanced from the picture to me. “Um . . .”
“The guy in the photo is the bartender from the Geoffries hotel. I can’t believe our kiss is on the Internet.” I buried my face in my hands. “I’m so mortified.”
“And I’m so confused.”
I straightened my spine. “Brian won tickets to rappel down the Geoffries hotel but he freaked out and refused to go down.”
“Yeah, that sounds more like the Brian I met. All talk and no action.” Mel patted my thigh. “So glad this wasn’t Brian, but how did you end up rappelling down with a bartender? One with a fabulous physique, no less. And, uh, how did you two end up in a lip-lock? A bartender doesn’t seem like your type either.”
Hearing her say Paul wasn’t my type caused a knot to form in my belly and my forehead wrinkled. “Why isn’t he my type?”
Mel held her palms up. “Don’t get in a tizzy. You seem like you’d go for someone more like—”
“Paul DeWitt?” I said, cringing at the sound of my ex’s name.
“Well, yeah.” Mel shrugged. “White-collar businessman. Country club member. Minus the whole cheating part.”
I leaned back against the couch, pulled one of the decorative couch pillows onto my lap, and threw my hand in the air. “Who knows what my type is? I didn’t even want to date in the first place.”
“Are you and the bartender dating?”
“His name is Paul and no.” Although, maybe I could ask him on a date. We had kissed, after all. And the kiss had been amazing.
Mel rubbed her hand against her temple. “Let me get this straight. You don’t want to date, but you’re going on five dates so Kristen and Ginger will help you paint. And you’re not interested in any of the guys you’re dating, but you kissed the only guy you’re not dating and his name is Paul. Is that right?”
“Yes,” I said, having a hard time believing the chaos resulting from two dates. All I’d wanted was to make my new home a relaxing oasis.
“Please tell me the bartender’s last name isn’t DeWitt.”
I racked my brain. “I have no idea what his last name is. I don’t even know him.”
Yet, I couldn’t stop thinking about him.
Mel spread her fingers across her cell phone screen then held it up to show me the zoomed-in photo of Paul kissing me. “Looks like you know part of him up close and personal. Woo-baby, that is hot!”
Mel was right. The photo was hot. His hands gripping my waist. My hand speared through that thick tousled hair pulling him closer. And our mouths devouring each other. . . .
Staring at our personal moment plastered on the Internet made me feel exposed. Like that camera had exposed me to all of Sacramento, which it had. Sigh. “My mom’s going to freak when she sees this.”
Mel tilted her head thoughtfully. “Not if she thinks you’re smooching Brian Burnside.”
“But I’m not going out with Brian again. Ever.” I squeezed the pillow in my lap. “When we finished rappelling, we landed in the Geoffries’ garden patio—which was free of reporters, thankfully—and Brian was waiting for me so I had to join him for our free four-star dinner.”
Mel’s brows quirked. “Don’t look for sympathy here. I had mac and cheese tonight.”
“But I wanted to have dinner with Paul,” I said, finding it hard to believe I’d just admitted that aloud.
“The new Paul?”
“Exactly.”
Mel nodded. “Just making sure.”
“But I can’t fall for a flirty bartender. I won’t. That would be like begging for a broken heart.” I shook my head. “No, it’s much safer remodeling my
“Seriously.” Mel sat next me, staring at the picture on her phone. “So not like you to spider down a building and I really didn’t picture Brian Burnside as your type. Is he a good kisser at least?”
Remembering the feel of Paul’s lips on mine ignited a fire in my belly. “I did not kiss Brian Burnside.”
Mel glanced from the picture to me. “Um . . .”
“The guy in the photo is the bartender from the Geoffries hotel. I can’t believe our kiss is on the Internet.” I buried my face in my hands. “I’m so mortified.”
“And I’m so confused.”
I straightened my spine. “Brian won tickets to rappel down the Geoffries hotel but he freaked out and refused to go down.”
“Yeah, that sounds more like the Brian I met. All talk and no action.” Mel patted my thigh. “So glad this wasn’t Brian, but how did you end up rappelling down with a bartender? One with a fabulous physique, no less. And, uh, how did you two end up in a lip-lock? A bartender doesn’t seem like your type either.”
Hearing her say Paul wasn’t my type caused a knot to form in my belly and my forehead wrinkled. “Why isn’t he my type?”
Mel held her palms up. “Don’t get in a tizzy. You seem like you’d go for someone more like—”
“Paul DeWitt?” I said, cringing at the sound of my ex’s name.
“Well, yeah.” Mel shrugged. “White-collar businessman. Country club member. Minus the whole cheating part.”
I leaned back against the couch, pulled one of the decorative couch pillows onto my lap, and threw my hand in the air. “Who knows what my type is? I didn’t even want to date in the first place.”
“Are you and the bartender dating?”
“His name is Paul and no.” Although, maybe I could ask him on a date. We had kissed, after all. And the kiss had been amazing.
Mel rubbed her hand against her temple. “Let me get this straight. You don’t want to date, but you’re going on five dates so Kristen and Ginger will help you paint. And you’re not interested in any of the guys you’re dating, but you kissed the only guy you’re not dating and his name is Paul. Is that right?”
“Yes,” I said, having a hard time believing the chaos resulting from two dates. All I’d wanted was to make my new home a relaxing oasis.
“Please tell me the bartender’s last name isn’t DeWitt.”
I racked my brain. “I have no idea what his last name is. I don’t even know him.”
Yet, I couldn’t stop thinking about him.
Mel spread her fingers across her cell phone screen then held it up to show me the zoomed-in photo of Paul kissing me. “Looks like you know part of him up close and personal. Woo-baby, that is hot!”
Mel was right. The photo was hot. His hands gripping my waist. My hand speared through that thick tousled hair pulling him closer. And our mouths devouring each other. . . .
Staring at our personal moment plastered on the Internet made me feel exposed. Like that camera had exposed me to all of Sacramento, which it had. Sigh. “My mom’s going to freak when she sees this.”
Mel tilted her head thoughtfully. “Not if she thinks you’re smooching Brian Burnside.”
“But I’m not going out with Brian again. Ever.” I squeezed the pillow in my lap. “When we finished rappelling, we landed in the Geoffries’ garden patio—which was free of reporters, thankfully—and Brian was waiting for me so I had to join him for our free four-star dinner.”
Mel’s brows quirked. “Don’t look for sympathy here. I had mac and cheese tonight.”
“But I wanted to have dinner with Paul,” I said, finding it hard to believe I’d just admitted that aloud.
“The new Paul?”
“Exactly.”
Mel nodded. “Just making sure.”
“But I can’t fall for a flirty bartender. I won’t. That would be like begging for a broken heart.” I shook my head. “No, it’s much safer remodeling my
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