Chapter Three

Madison

Dating sucks.

I can’t believe I rushed home after work to fix my hair in a sexy up-do and change into jeans and a cute off-the-shoulder top for this.

“…I’m not gonna lie. Women think it’s hot that I’ve won so many competitions. After the Tough Mudder, one chick wanted to do it in the mud.” My date’s eyes dip to my chest. “If she had a rack like yours, I might have been tempted. Most athletic girls have small tits.”

Meaning I’m not athletic?

I’m not. But it isn’t because of my breast size.

And yes, his crass remark about my boobs is bothersome, but it’s the third time he’s mentioned them. I’m over it.

“The 10K I ran last weekend, I took first in my age group without even trying. In college I…”

I tune him out. Is it illegal to stab someone with a fork if he’s so full of himself he needs to be deflated? He’s talked nonstop about his “impressive successes,” pausing only long enough to take bites of his fillet. At least the food is good in the trendy Beverly Hills restaurant he chose to meet at. I finish off my delicious panko-crusted salmon and sautéed spinach. I’ve had plenty of time to enjoy it since Sir Brags-A-Lot is monopolizing the conversation.

“Has anyone ever told you, you have the most beautiful blue eyes?”

I’m about to say thanks, when I realize he’s not speaking to me.

Our waitress bats her eyelashes. “No one as handsome as you.” She flirts back.

Hello? Am I invisible? Does no one but me know this is a date? And news flash: he already knows he’s handsome, no need to fuel his overinflated ego any further. He won baby beauty pageants. I know this because he’s told me about every single one of his trophies. He didn’t say so, but I’m guessing his mom has turned his bedroom into a shrine.

“Would you like another drink, Allison?” he asks.

For a second I have no idea who he’s talking to. It can’t be me.

“Allison?”

Or it can. “My name is Madison.”

“Shit. That’s right. Allison was my date last night.” A smarmy smile tilts the corners of his mouth.

Suddenly, I have a horrible taste in the back of my throat. His expression tells me more than I want to know. Does he have dates lined up every night of the week in hopes of getting laid with a different girl each time?

It’s not cheating, but it is disgusting, and whenever I meet a slimeball, I’m reminded of Henry.

Henry, who is engaged again—a mere eight months after our failed wedding day. Does she know he’s a lying, cheating bastard? Probably not. For the first few years we were together, I didn’t. Then I caught him with one of my sorority sisters. He apologized, told me he loved me. Said it was a mistake that would never happen again. His promise meant nothing if I was to believe the rumors that continued, so I chose to believe in him. Us.

He was my first love. The only guy I’ve ever slept with. He was my everything.

Until I finally—finally—realized I wasn’t his. I shocked everyone when on our wedding day I ran down (or is that up) the aisle, out the hotel front door, and straight into a cab. No one could believe prim-and-proper Madison Hastings was capable of such a horrible thing. Yes, that’s right. I was the bad person. Not the unfaithful groom.

“Just some water, please. And the check?” I say to the waitress, hoping she hurries. I’m ready to pay my half and rush out of here. I’ve learned my lesson, though, I’m ashamed to admit it took a while. I ignored my gut for a long time because I didn’t want to be alone. Deep down, I knew Henry was cheating—there were obvious signs. But he’d always say something sweet or bring me flowers to chase away my hurt. He loved me. I know he did. He just didn’t love monogamy. It’s that reasoning that has helped me start dating. Not all guys are cheaters. But if I have doubts for even a split second, it’s over. I’ll never neglect myself again.

Watch out for the Dick Sticks, Harper told me when I started dating for the first time in seven years. Meaning guys who only want to stick their dicks in as many holes as possible.

Not to be confused with delfies. I’ve gotten two of those. At the very least, a guy with balls big enough to send a selfie of his dick should have a big dick.

“I love that you’re anxious to get out of here, babe. I am, too.” He pushes his plate to the side to lean his elbows on the table. “Dessert at my place or yours?”

“I’m not—”

“Because what I’m serving is finger-licking good.”

I throw up in my mouth.

“I’ve also got this for you.” He hands me a tiny clear bag with some kind of large pill inside it. Holy smokes. Please don’t let me be on a date with a drug dealer.

“What is this?”

“It’s an intimacy capsule.” He licks his lips. Gross. “I had a feeling this would be your first time.”

“First time for what?”

“Coming with candy-scented sparkles.”

I am so uncomfortable right now it’s not even funny. This guy is a sex lunatic! I’m obviously using the wrong messaging technique on my dating app. “You want me to put this capsule inside my…”

“I do, babe. It dissolves inside you and when we have sex, glitter dust goes everywhere. It’s like you’re a fucking princess.”

I burst out laughing. Is this guy for real? I didn’t think I could sit across from anyone worse than the jerk last week, but boy was I wrong. “I’m not going anywhere with you to have sex.”

He lifts his eyebrows. “Rather get it on here? No problem. You walk to the bathroom first, and I’ll follow.”

I’m completely dumbstruck. He can’t be this dense. “You’re misunderstanding me. I’m not interested. Thanks for dinner, but—”

“Here you go.” The waitress puts the check down on our table.

“Thanks, gorgeous. Hey, what time are you off tonight?”

What the ever-loving hell? I turn him down, so he immediately asks another girl out right in front of me? This King of Jerks takes offensive behavior to a whole new level.

“Nine.”

He checks his iPhone sitting on the table. “That’s fifteen minutes.” He looks at me. “You don’t mind, do you?”

I shrug because words completely and utterly fail me. I think about giving our waitress a warning, but nope. She’s as bad as he is when it comes to good manners. Never in a million years would I flirt with a guy on a date with another girl.

“Great.” He reaches into his pants pocket while our waitress saunters off. With a frown, he pats his other pocket. “I must have left my wallet in the car. I’ll be right back.”

I’m tempted to tell him not to worry about it and pay for both of us. But then I remember the budget I’ve put myself on so I can move into my own apartment. My mom and dad mean well, but they’re making decisions for me, treating me with kid gloves because of my failed wedding. I’m beyond eager to put distance between us. In order to do that, I need to watch what I spend. And spending even a penny on the guy across from me makes me sick to my stomach.

“Okay.”

He steps away, then turns around. “Can I have that back?”

Since I have no plans to ever add glitter to my vagina, I put the wrapped capsule in his hand. He walks away without another word or backward glance. A minute passes. Then two. A busboy comes by and clears our dishes. The waitress flits around her other tables, seemingly over the exchange with my date.

Five minutes pass.

I get a sinking feeling. He’s not coming back. The douchebag skipped out on me. “Asshole,” I say under my breath.

“Excuse me?” a woman says to my right.

I turn my head to the table where three expensively dressed women around my mom’s age have been eating dinner. I noticed them when I sat down earlier because they were laughing and having a great time.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry, but we couldn’t help but overhear you and your date. He didn’t really leave you with the bill, did he?”

“Looks like.”

“Can we join you? We have sons about his age and well…” Without waiting for an answer, the Mom Squad surrounds me.

“If this is an intervention, you’re a little late,” I say with a smile.

“I cannot believe the things he said to you,” the same woman says, her voice both sweet and surprised.

“Me, either.”

“So not all your dates talk like that?”

“Well…”

The woman holds up her hand. “Wait.” She and the other two women introduce themselves. I do, too. They’ve been friends since their sons met in elementary school, and even though the boys don’t keep in touch anymore, the moms have maintained their close friendship and get together every few months to catch up.

Boys. Their sons are all twenty-five, a year older than me.

I tell them about a few of my dating catastrophes, and how hard it’s been to meet a nice, normal guy. When it slips out I left my fiancé at the altar because he cheated on me, they do what all kind, warmhearted moms should: order us a round of shots.

“I sincerely hope Liam treats his dates with the manners I taught him.”

“I’ll throttle Jesse if he’s disrespectful to the girls he takes out.”

“If I found out Brooks offered a glitter capsule to a girl, I’d be mortified.”

“Your son’s name is Brooks?” I ask. “That’s a nice name.”

Brooks’s mom smiles at me before turning her attention to her friends. “I have an idea.”

“She’s our idea woman,” Jesse’s mom says.

“Let’s hire Madison to date our sons.”

I put my water glass down and choke out a “what?”

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” she says, keeping her focus on her girlfriends. “We’ve raised our sons to be good, upstanding young men, but we have no idea how they act when we’re not around. What if Madison goes out with each of them and reports back to us how the date went? Were they polite? Did they say please and thank you? Pull out her chair? Speak respectfully? I’m mortified by what I heard tonight and have this burning desire to know my son isn’t like that.”

“That’s a brilliant idea,” Liam’s mom says. “I need to know, too.”

“I second the brilliance,” Jesse’s mom says.

The three women look at me with a mix of hope and excitement.

“You want to pay me to go out with your sons,” I say, even though no clarification is really necessary. This is the weirdest night I’ve ever had.

“Yes,” they say in unison.

“I’m pretty sure that makes me a—”

“Oh God. You’re right,” Brooks’s mom says. “This came out all wrong.” She gives my arm a quick squeeze. “What I’m trying to say is you seem like an intelligent, kind, sweet young woman and we want your help. You’d be like a PI, investigating our sons’ dating behaviors and sharing what you find out. You absolutely do not need to engage in any physical interaction with them.”

“Unless you want to,” Jesse’s mom says. “What? Madison could hit it off with one of our boys. You never know.”

You never know. Those three words have me seriously considering this crazy plan. I want to meet someone special and maybe it’s Brooks or Liam or Jesse.

Or Elliot.

Whoa. Where did that insane idea come from? Yes, I saw a whole new side to him today. And no, I’m not talking about his ass. Not only talking about it. I kind of can’t stop picturing it. Anyway, no matter how attractive or smart he is, he’s my boss and I really liked working with him today.

That over the years I’ve noticed Elliot before today does not mean anything. With his olive-toned skin, wavy black hair, sparkling, know-it-all blue eyes, and full bottom lip, every girl notices him.

“Isn’t this kind of deceitful?” I ask, focusing back on the current discussion.

“Let’s call it sneaky,” Jesse’s mom says. “We don’t want you to mislead our sons. Just go on a date, get to know them, and report back.”

“What if they find out?”

“They won’t.” Brooks’s mom pulls a small notepad out of her Gucci purse. “We’ll correspond via email.” She writes down her email address, then passes the pad to her friends like this is a done deal. “But we should pay you in cash so there’s no paper trail.”

I smile. This is ridiculous, but kind of fun. I’ve led a sheltered, boring life and the past eight months since my breakup have been especially dull and stifling with my parents, so some undercover dating sounds exciting. So unlike me. It may even call for three new outfits.

“How much do you want to pay me?” New clothes aren’t in my current budget. And honestly, I’m not comfortable with being paid to go on a date, but if I keep it in the same perspective as these nice ladies, then I’m doing a public service, right?

Brooks’s mom writes something down on her cocktail napkin, then slides it to me. She’s really enjoying this clandestine dating operation.

$500

“Oh no, that’s—”

“Each,” she interrupts.

Each? Holy crap. I was about to tell her that was too much for all three.

“Madison,” she says sincerely, “this truly is a favor to us, nothing else. And you should not feel bad about it in any way. This is a job we curious and well-meaning moms have hired you for, so please don’t look so scandalized.”

I close my dropped jaw. Fifteen hundred helps me reach my move-out goal sooner rather than later.

My phone pings inside my small purse. The unique sound is my dating app telling me I have a message.

The chime reminds me of one very important factor we’ve forgotten about. “That is very generous of you, but I just realized something. How am I going to connect with your sons?”

“She’s right,” Liam’s mom says.

“Aren’t all you young people on dating sites?” This from Jesse’s mom.

“I’m on one, yes, but what if your sons aren’t?”

“Can you check?”

Why not? We’ve come this far. “Sure.” I grab my phone and open the app. “What are your last names?”

One by one we discover that all three guys are on the site with me. It seems fate has brought me to these ladies. “There’s still one more issue. There’s no guarantee they’ll want to go out with me.”

“Message them, or do whatever you do to make contact, and let us know. We’ll go from there. Sound good?”

Three dates. And one of them could turn out to be just the guy I’m looking for. “Yes.”

I slip the piece of paper with their email addresses into my purse.

“Love that handbag,” Brooks’s mom says as she picks up the check my date left me with.

“Thank you, and I can get that.”

“No woman on a date should pay for dinner. Make sure to let us know if our boys pick up the check or not.”

“Okay, thanks again.” My phone, still in my hand, chimes with a text. I glance down. It’s from Elliot. You like chocolate croissants?

I smile. “Excuse me a minute?”

My new employers nod.

I do, I text back.

Three tiny dots immediately dance on my screen at the same time unfamiliar quivers bounce around inside my stomach. Can I lure you into the office a little early tomorrow if I have one waiting for you?

My smile grows. You can.

Excellent.

You’re not still at the office, are you?

Leaving now.

That is a seriously long day. He’s got to be exhausted. I hear you have a new assistant who can help make sure you don’t work crazy hours.

I can’t scare her off too soon.

She doesn’t scare easily.

Good to know. Good night, Madison.

Good night, Elliot.

I look up to find the Mom Squad halfway across the restaurant on their way out. Before I stand to follow, I reread my exchange with Elliot. It’s more friendly than boss-y and I feel myself blush. He’s got me twisted up, feeling differently toward him than I’m used to, and depending on how things go, there’s the potential for a long-term relationship. Working relationship, I remind myself. Not anything more.