Page 7 of Texting My Valentine

Julian is giving me some serious stinkeye now.

“I’m a surgeon,” I mutter, trying not to stare across the bar at the woman with the tight jeans and the obvious attitude.

“That’s an understatement,” Julian says. “He’s theChiefof Surgery. Ladies, you’re in the presence of medical royalty.”

He’s laying it on thick. It’s true. I’ve worked hard to get where I am, but I’d never describe myself as royalty.

“Whoa, that’s like, really impressive.”

I smile tightly. “Thank you… Tinker.”

Already, I’m thinking of ways to end this conversation. I don’t want a one-night stand.

I want to talk to the woman leaning against the bar, looking around with an expression that says,What the hell am I doing here?

I know the feeling, stranger.

CHAPTER 3

TORI

“The bartender said the event’s going to start soon,” Cleo says, swaying her hips from side to side as we walk across the bar.

She’s doing it on purpose and with more confidence than I ever could. It’s not that I hate my body or have any serious body-image issues or anything. Well, at least, that’s what I tell myself. But I’m still far from ever moving or behaving like that.

“Are you going to text all night?” Cleo teases Lily.

“Isn’t that the point of tonight?” Lily counters.

“Yes, but we’re supposed to be texting Casanovas with steamy promises and then meeting them on the beach for some rumble-tumble fun, which we may or may not regret in the morning… Somebody save me.” She makes this proclamation at the ceiling.

I giggle. “I never took you for a praying girl, Cleo.”

“It’s not bad enough that I’ve got Little Miss Engaged over here, but look at you, Tori. I mean, it’s sacrilegious.”

“What is?”

“You’re drinking asoda.”

“Leave her alone,” Lily says. “You know why.”

Cleo bites down, realizing her mistake. “I’m sorry, Tori. But would one drink hurt?”

“I’m no teetotaler, but…”

Neither of my friends needs me to finish. Mom does enough drinking for both of us. It’s not complicated, even if it is a cliché.

“Speak of the devil,” I mutter when my phone vibrates.

“Whoa, freaky,” Lily mutters.

Cleo rolls her eyes.

“Don’t start calling me superstitious,” Lily says.

“Don’t pout at me, chica,” Cleo replies with a grin. “What else am I supposed to call you when you believe in horoscopes and love at first sight, huh?”

“Well…youonly believe in sex at first sight.”

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