Page 1 of The Trouble with Runaway Brides

One

LANCE

I’m peacefully sleeping in my bed when I’m awoken by a huge chunk of hair being sucked into my mouth. I struggle to breathe, then my hands swat to get it out.

Blonde.

They’re almost always blonde when I can manage it. Anything opposite of Kenzie’s dark hair, courtesy of her Filipino heritage, as I can get.

“Ouch!” someone shouts beside me.

Oh yeah, I completely forgot the woman from last night insisted on spending the night.

She sits up and stares at me as if I’m a monster. In her defense, I did just pull her hair like a child.

“Sorry,” I mumble. “You have to be careful where you whip that when you’re in bed with someone else.”

“Your bed is so uncomfortable. I tossed and turned all night.”

I bite my tongue to keep from reminding her that she had the option to go home. I was willing to call her a car to make sure she got there safely, but she’s one of the many women who want to secure a permanent spot in my bed and could not be swayed.

I push the comforter off me and sit with my feet on the floor, rubbing my head before standing.

She plasters herself to my back, her soft tits pressing into me. “Come back to bed. We can order some food and make a little breakfast picnic.”

I grab my phone off my nightstand and get up. Her body falls forward, her arms hanging off the mattress. “I need to go to work.”

Does she think the money that bought this impressive condo doesn’t come from hard work? Well, in truth, my trust fund bought this—I was blessed to be born into a very wealthy family. My grandfather built the empire I now reap the benefits from. But that doesn’t mean I just piss away money and do nothing with my life.

It’s how I ended up on that stupid list, Most Eligible Bachelors There’s Still Time to Steal, in a local New York magazine that’s now gone viral. These days, I can barely go out without some woman approaching me then acting as if she doesn’t know who I am.

The bigger problem might be that I’ve been taking advantage of it. It makes me feel like a real douchebag. But I’m a man and I’m single, so why shouldn’t I enjoy myself? It’s not as if I’m letting any of these women think I’m looking for a relationship.

I turn on the shower and lock the bathroom door because I wouldn’t put it past Lizzie the Lawyer to try to surprise me by joining me in the shower.

In my wildest dreams, I never thought I’d be one of those guys who’s with a different woman almost every night. There was a time when all I wanted was a wife and kids, pets, a house, and stability. Those days are long gone now.

I don’t even have the towel wrapped around my waist after the fastest shower ever before the bathroom door creeps open. Lizzie’s long blonde hair shines through the opening before I see her face.

“Jesus.”

She giggles, holding up a bobby pin. “Can’t keep me out, silly.” She laughs and goes to the toilet, still naked, and pees.

Isn’t that the kind of thing you refrain from until, like, month six of a relationship or something? I just met this woman last night.

“So, tell me,” she says, taking a strip of toilet paper off the roll. “How does a guy who spends his life in a suit have a body like that?”

I glance at myself in the mirror as if I forgot what I look like. “The gym.”

“Where do you find the time? Aren’t you a workaholic?”

Another assumption.

“No.”

She wipes, flushes, and, thank God, washes her hands before she slides up on my new marble countertop and stares at me. I look at her out of the corner of my eye.

“I have to get to the office soon,” I say, hoping she’ll take the hint. Then I open my phone with my password and see that Josh, my assistant, has left me a detailed outline of what my day looks like.

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