Page 1 of RAKEish

CHAPTER 1

“Once upon a second glance.” The phrase wobbled off psychology professor Dr. Luxury Stone’s tongue like a cheating husband’s confession in a couple’s therapy session. She cleared her throat and repeated it again, only slower. “Once…upon a…second…chance.”

She groaned.

Glance, not chance. Glance. Glance. Glance.

Who knew a five-word sentence could be so cumbersome? She wished she could blame this morning’s continual butchering of the phrase on a sluggish Monday brain. She couldn’t.

The culprit was a fat case of jitters.

She exhaled a breath, releasing her nerves, and repeated the phrase. “Once upon a second glance.”

The quick double-tap horn toot of a taxi driver caused her to practically jump out of her thirty-one-year-old skin.

Geez Louise, get a grip.

If Manhattan had an official noise, it would be the sound of honking. Getting used to that ever-present racket had been the hardest part of adjusting to her life as a visiting professor at Columbia University.

Satisfied her vocal cords were ready for the day, Lux padded barefoot to her desk, muttering, “It’s walk-the-walk time.” The phrase sparked a new flutter of nerves, a stark contrast to her normal calm when going live with her show.

Today, however, she faced a daunting task: discussing a painfully personal topic. More humiliating than any of her previous public speaking misadventures. Even the time she’d taught a class at Missouri State University with the back of her skirt stuck in her granny-like underwear.

Refocusing, Lux blew out a breath, snagged the single pink Post-it stuck to her microphone, reread her scrawled show notes.

1. Speak about how flawed first impressions can be.

2. Move into the beauty of second glances.

That was it. Two broad bullet points. A far cry from last week’s typed, printed, and laminated blueprint which had possessed thirty talking points.

Today’s notes were miniscule because, unlike every other broadcast leading up to this one, she’d not spent a week preparing. Truthfully, she’d barely spent a couple of hours.

The topic had ambushed her late last night, an email notification cutting through the quiet. Its contents—a harsh reminder of her apparent invisibility on dating apps—had stung. Yet it was the catalyst for today’s episode, pushing her to confront a societal obsession with surface-level judgments.

Lux’s watch buzzed, snapping her back to the present. Exhaling, she reminded herself not to say fuck on air, slipped on her headphones, and hit the live button. “Wake up, Manhattan. You’re listening to Monday Musings with Dr. Lux Stone,” she began, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions. “Go ahead. Rub the sleep from your eyes and curse the gods that Mondays insist on coming so quickly.” She bit her tongue to keep from making a lewd comment about once dating a guy whom she’d nicknamed Mr. Monday for that very reason.

“Yes. You heard correctly. I’m not part of your dream. I’m real. It is indeed Monday, and you do, indeed, have to kick off those sheets, push the button on your coffee maker, and commit to adulting.” Lux’s own alarm had jolted her out of her restless slumber at three forty-five. Jolted because she’d been having a nightmare about the Prince of Manhattan. Ew.

“If you haven’t yet opened your curtains or pulled up your blinds,” Lux said, glancing toward her window, “you’re in for a treat. It promises to be a beautiful spring day.”

She pushed a button to play her show’s jingle and glanced at the opened email on her computer screen. Subject line: HOW TO UNDERSTAND YOUR DATING RESULTS! It was a correspondence from a dating app she’d signed up for on New Year’s Day after making a resolution with a friend to do so. This in the hopes they would meet some nice guys to do things with around the city while waiting to meet the man of their hearts.

In short, the email explained men on dating apps aren’t looking for personality-rich women.

In long, the correspondence revealed that over the last four months, 3,214 men (names included) had swiftly swiped past her profile image, dismissing her with a simple flick of the finger.

To add insult to injury, one of the swipers had been none other than Scott Landshire—the freaking prince of her nightmare.

A guy she’d met once and had hated instantly.

The jingle ended. “No rain in the forecast and highs in the low seventies.” Feeling a yawn coming on, she muted her mic and took a quick sip of coffee. There might not be enough caffeine in Manhattan to keep her going all day. Then again, stimulants or not, her brain would never allow sleep when it could instead fixate on the email that had informed her that—when it came to men—she was invisible. As if her image contained the subject line: Nothing to see here, just keep on swiping.

Or at least that’s what three thousand, two hundred and fourteen men must have told themselves as they judged her worth based solely on her profile image.

The knowledge of those rejections settled like a shadow draping over her spirit. While her brain knew she didn’t need a man to be happy, her heart desired someone with whom to enjoy life’s moments.

Her decision to share the results with this morning’s listeners was one that required her to put aside her own humiliation for the greater good. As a psych professor, she had always made it a point to emphasize to her students that knowledge was powerful. But in this instance, it had crushed her spirit. And if it could do that to her, it could do that, or worse, to another.

---