Page 1 of The Accidental Dating Experiment

PROLOGUE: THINGS I DIDN’T KNOW

Monroe

We don’t agree on when this thing started.

We never agreed on anything. Not when we were younger. Not when we worked together. Not even in bed most of the time, but that only made it more fun.

But I’m telling the story of our so-called dating experiment, and someone has to pick a starting point, so it looks like that’s me.

Maybe it began the day we walked into the house we were gifted. She’d disagree, of course, rolling those feisty green eyes and insisting it started with the suit I wore a few nights later.

You know. That suit, she’d say.

Well, I do look damn good in a three-piece.

But, with the advantage of hindsight, I’d say it began with the bet.

My intentions weren’t entirely friendly when I made that impulsive wager that afternoon in the studio. Not that I realized that at the time. For a smart guy, I didn’t know much at all.

It took a cheese date, all sorts of mirrors, a can of paint, and a whole lot of role-playing in a small town to show me what had been right in front of me the whole time.

I should never have let her get away.

1

DATING IS MY SUPERPOWER

Juliet

A few months earlier…

He’s so wrong. Monroe thinks he can analyze my prospective date for tonight, but my co-host is wronger than wrong. He issues his prediction from his podcast throne, jaw set, blue eyes steely, expression a little unnerving.

“I’m calling it now. There won’t be a second date with this guy,” he declares into the mic.

“Yes, there will. And not just because I’m overdue for a second date.” I give it right back to the infuriating man across the sleek, metal table in the podcast studio. “Want to know why?”

“Enlighten me,” Monroe says with too much amusement. “Tell all the Heartbreakers and Matchmakers listeners how well you think this date will go with…Who’s the guy tonight? A gym bro? An art critic? A get-in-touch-with-your-chakras guru? A hot suit? You love the hot suits.”

“I am a sucker for a suit,” I admit. “But he’s not a suit.”

“A mysterious, inscrutable dark knight, then?”

I square my shoulders. “None of the above.”

Ha. Not even close.

“Is he a hot nerd? You love the hot nerds.” Monroe fake coughs as he mutters, “Slang for a tech bro bad boy.”

Narrowing my eyes, I grip the edge of the table for a second, but nope, I don’t give in. I let it go. I am calm. I am peaceful. I won’t let him wind me up, not even for the “Predict Juliet’s Date” segment of our podcast, where he always tries to push my buttons. Listeners love it when he does.

Besides, my recent string of bad dates is a relatable problem for single women. It’s part of modern dating in your thirties. When you first join an app, you’re a hot new release. But if you’re not paired up and happily ordering monogrammed hand towels with your new love interest a few weeks later, the algorithm drops you to the bottom of the sea of single despair.

That’s why I took extra time, did extra research before swiping in the lead-up to tonight’s match. It’s one I feel pretty good about, so I counter the know-it-all across from me with, “Tonight’s date is with an artist, and we’ve been having a great exchange on the app about?—”

“—poetry and wine?”

Grrr. “Song lyrics,” I grumble.

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