Page 4 of Romancing the Rude Guy

To say I adore my grandma doesn’t even come close.

Everyone else sees the wheelchair first. She still sees me and treats me no differently. It’s refreshing and something I sorely need just to remind me that I’m still me. Because some days I really do feel like I lost myself, in addition to the use of my legs, that day and it scares me.

Driving her to a party to which I'm not invited is going to severely test my patience. But for Grandma Deborah, I’ll suck it up.

“Marcus!” Grandma’s voice cracks as she gleefully shouts my name before I can even say hello.

“Grandma!” I shout back just as exuberantly. Or I try. It’s hard to match her energy. Even in her eighties, she’s a force to be reckoned with.

Wanting to get things over with, I rush on. “What time do you want to be picked up for Dan’s party? Chase already informed me it’s a pool party.”

“Oh. Nobody even invited me.” She laughs. “They probably don’t want my wrinkled old butt to scare the kids.”

I can’t help grinning at that. “Well, that makes two of us because I was informed I don’t need to come either.”

“We could crash the party and throw a candy bar in the pool. Have them guessing which one of us did it.”

Since my brother asked me after I was released from the hospital into rehab if I’d be in diapers for the rest of my life, her joke is actually pretty funny, and a chuckle slips out. “You’ve been watching those old 80's movies again, haven’t you?” I tease.

“Always. You should swing by sometime and we can watch one together again. It’s been a while.”

“Only if I get to choose.”

Her laughter rings out. “You have horrible taste. Which brings me to the reason for my call. I set you up on a date.”

All traces of humor leave me, and I groan. “Not interested.”

“Too bad. Be at The Stone Grill on Tuesday at six.” Without giving me a chance to say anything in response to that, she hangs up.

Staring down at my phone, I shake my head and pull up my calendar. No surprise, I’m free that night, so I put my “date” into the calendar and then get back to work.

CHAPTER TWO

ALICE

“Thank you,” I say, trying to squeeze past the large man holding the door open for me and not rub up against any part of him. I seem to attract slimeballs and my yoga classes come in handy as I manage to not let my butt or breasts come in contact with his odious self. I wouldn’t be too upset if my knee found his balls though.

Five years ago, I wasn’t like this. Now, after years of being practically felt up as I enter and exit buildings, I have zero qualms about digging my elbow into some man’s gut. I love a gentleman, but the ones I’m coming across aren’t being chivalrous, they simply want an excuse to touch me.

“What’s your hurry?” the guy asks, rushing after me.

Not bothering to slow my stride, I toss over my shoulder. “Not interested.”

“Bitch!” he shouts at my back.

The word rolls right off. I’ve been called much worse and right to my face. I continue down the sidewalk to my car and gratefully slip inside the black Porsche. It was my birthday gift to myself two years ago when I turned twenty-five and I adore it.

I only have a twenty-minute commute between home and work and honestly I wish it were longer. Most of it is stop and go traffic right in town and I don’t get a chance to open up the engine and enjoy what this car can do.

At a red light, the car next to me honks and I grin. I dislike guys ogling me, but when the attention is directed at my car, I can handle and fully understand it.

In no time, I’m pulling into my two-car garage and heaving a sigh. Another day, another dollar. This is what my life has been reduced to. Work, sitting at home watching whatever is new on Netflix, and yoga classes. I should really take a vacation.

Or the tiny voice in me pipes up while I’m mixing up a bowl of tuna salad, maybe get around to joining a dating service.

There’s really no other way to meet people. I’m not a social butterfly. Curling up on my couch with a cup of tea, a blanket, and my phone is about as exciting as it gets. All the men that I run across through work I can’t date, even if I would be interested because I’m not going to suffer through a bad work romance breakup. Watching Tim and Carry at work do that is horrible enough. I wouldn’t want to be living it myself.

None of my very limited number of friends have any single men they’re trying to set me up with. Not that that ever worked when they used to try, anyway. It’s as if after Richard left me I’ve been branded with a big L for loser on my forehead.

---