Page 6 of The Valentine's Bet

“I’d prefernotto attend these events at all, but my buddy seems to drag me to more of them than I care to admit. I don’t think they work.”

An intrigued expression flashes across her face. “So, if that’s what youreallythink, why don’t you just sit with those guys?” Amy gestures to a group of about five guys hovering around the bar instead of partaking in the event.

I give her a thoughtful look. “I guess I didn’t think about that. Next time, I’ll keep that in mind. Anything to get out of spending five minutes of misery—”

“You’re being really negative.” She raises a brow. “Why?”

“Are you a therapist?” I ask, folding my arms across my chest and leaning back against the chair.

“No, I work in marketing.”

“That makes sense,” I quip.

“Excuse me?” Her mouth drops. “Why would you say that?”

“Just your ... overwhelming aura. Are you new to the city? Or just new to these events?”

Amy pauses, and her silence gives her answer away—but I still wait for it.

“I’m new to both,” she finally says. “But I think New York is the city of opportunity, and so many cool people live here. I’m bound to connect with one andfinallyget my own love story.”

I grimace. “Maybeyoushould see ather—”

The buzzer cuts me off.

Dang, already?

I push back from my chair, somewhat disappointed.

“I’ll find love,” she says, looking up at me. “I know I will.”

I tap the table. “Well, good luck with that, Amy. This city eats women like you alive. Don’t try too hard.”

She looks mortified by my comment, but it’s the truth. The movies make this place out to be magical, but I’ve lived here most of my life...

And the city has a way of sucking romanticism right out of a person.

I spend the rest of the evening trying my hardest not to listen to Amy’s obnoxious laughter—and the only reason it’s obnoxious is because I can tell that it’s forced. Whatever joke some dude cracks, no matter how horrible it is, shestilllaughs.

And I don’t even know why I’m paying any attention to it right now.

“Well, this was an interesting crowd.” Weston chuckles as the event ends. “The lonely come out the day after Christmas.”

“No kidding,” I snort, my eyes searching the sea of people exiting the building. Some are leaving together—probably to hook up—and others are walking out alone.

Which is exactly what Amy is doing.

“She was interesting.” I gesture to her from a good ten feet back, turning to Weston. “But she triedwaytoo hard.”

Weston tilts his head. “Really? I thought she was nice. She’s definitely notmytype, but she was one of the few women here who offered a genuine conversation. I think she’s the kind of person who might actually find love at one of these events. She knew the right questions to ask, and she seemed to be legitimately interested in what I had to say.”

“Hmm. I didnotget that vibe.” I shake my head. “She sorta seemed like the type of woman who would marry the first guy who gave her attention.”

Weston grimaces. “You’re such a jerk. Just because you don’t believe in love doesn’t mean someone else can’t find it. There are plenty of people who have long-lasting, beautiful relationships. You just haven’t had the privilege of being around it. My parents have been together for nearly forty years.”

“Yeah, and they probably secretly hate each other,” I suggest, shrugging my shoulders.

“Like I said, you’re a cynic.”

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