Page 19 of Texting My Valentine

I’m trying to pretend there’s no romance in me, but I felt something when I stood up for her. Screw it. I click send…

I watch as she picks up her phone. As she reads the text, a smile lifts her gorgeous lips. She touches her hair.

Then she looks right at me, raising an eyebrow. The confidence makes my steel throb, almost rigid. I need to control myself. I’m in public. But dammit, she’s making it difficult.

Valentine Stranger:Aren’t you going to ask me my type?

I look at her, a smirk on my lips.

Alex:That was going to be my next question.

Valentine Stranger:I like silver foxes who clearly go to the gym, but they’re not all showy about it. They don’t feel the need to advertise their hunky bodies. They just ARE hunks. I like saviors, sure, but only if they know that the saving was a one-time deal and a girl can mostly take care of herself.

Alex:Ah, it seems we’re not destined to be together after all. I like a woman who can admit she needs her knight in shining armor.

She laughs. I can’t hear it over the music, but the flash of her teeth is a beautiful sight.

Deep in my mind, the grumpiness tries to take over. What about what Lena did? Look at Mom and Dad. They loved each other in the beginning, and it didn’t help.

Somehow, while texting Tori, I believe I can fight through all this.

Valentine Stranger:Maybe you should be a little more understanding. Some women would happily slap certain kinds of men if given the chance.

Alex:That’s what I’m for.

I stop texting without clicking Send. Then I feel Julian grinning at me. He’s got a proud look on his face. Not just happy, but like he’s personally accomplished something.

“Why do you look so pleased with yourself?”

He shrugs. “Maybe I’m considering a career change.”

“Is there not enough money in psychology?”

“I’ve got a new calling… call me Cupid.”

“What did you do, Julian?”

“Don’t get that tone. You look like a kid on Christmas morning. You should be thanking me. You’re happy; this is it. This isyour night.” He’s speaking in the grandiose way of a cheerfully drunk man.

“Explain.”

“A certain bar owner may or may not have asked me for your cellphone number… because she may or may not have noticed a degree of chemistry between you and a certain lady… and now, a certain chief of surgery might be texting like a teenager falling in love…”

I let out a laugh, a mixture of relief and pure joy.

So itisTori… I was almost certain already, but knowing for sure is good.

“Her friend was in on the game too. The spunky redhead. Why don’t we go and talk to them both?”

I realize I’m smiling. It feels good. I’m letting go.

Then my pager goes off.

Julian throws his hands up when he sees me take it from my pocket. “You brought that thing with you?”

“I bring it everywhere with me,” I say, instantly becoming colder, more robotic. “I’m needed for a surgery consultation.”

Dammit. I want to talk to Tori some more. It’s like fate is slapping me with a reminder why my quest to find love—Julians’ right, there’s always been a quest even if I try to ignore it—is doomed.

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