Page 10 of Billionaire Romantic
“We are?”
“Yes. We’re going to order some food, drink more wine and we’re going to focus all our energy on pretending your apartment is fully paid off and your business has had a sudden turnaround. Meanwhile, we’re going to distract you from worrying about all of it by setting you up with the perfect match.”
“I can get on board with the first half of your proposal, but I am not in the right frame of mind right now to deal with some disastrous blind date.”
But Grace won’t be swayed. “Honey, that’s exactly the kind of negative mindset I was wallowing in. Foryears.Then I cow-girled up, uploaded my profile and look at me now! Still riding my endorphin rush from three back-to-backorgasms,thank you very much. Don’t be such a stick in the mud, Lucky.Letyourself be positive. That’swhen good things start to happen. Youneeda date. It’s perfect timing.”
One thing about Grace is that, once she makes up her mind about something, it’s impossible to talk her out of it. But I’m still not convinced.
“Listen to this.” She starts reading to me. “‘New Yorkers are heading in unprecedented droves to the latest matchmaking app, which is redefining digital romance. Lucky in Love combines algorithmically-sophisticated compatibility metrics with a healthy dose of serendipity. Think of it as a virtual Cupid, but unlike its competitors, one that doesn’t throw darts in the dark. New Yorkers of all ages are finding what some are calling their uncannily perfect match—so many, in fact, that wedding planners have never been in higher demand.’” Grace tips backthe rest of her wine. “See? We’re doing it. We’re creating a profile for you.”
“Wedding planners? Don’t you think you might be rushing things?”
She ignores me, typing fast.
“Grace, I don’t havetime?—”
“I’m not listening to your excuses. Because they’re the exact same ones that held me back. And once I finally let go of them, I met the cute-hot hockey nerd who I literally can’t believe is real.”
“And I’m happy for you. But sex isn’t going to solve my problems.”
“Maybe it is! It would at least take your mind off all your woes. The universerespondsto shit like that, Lucky. If you’re focused on howgood you feel, the universe will pour more of that feeling into your life. It’s just the way things work.”
I roll my eyes.
“Surrender to the process. What better distraction is there in the world than a super-hot man to wine and dine you and take you to bed? Trust me, it’s exactly what you need.” More typing. “You’re a Pisces, right?”
“Grace.”
“Are you open to dating outside of your astrological compatibility?”
“Grace!”
“What? Just humor me. If it doesn’t come up with a match, you can go back to your no-sex drudgery and nothing will have changed. Either way, it’ll at least take your mind off the looming apocalypse for a hot minute.”
I try again. “It’s not good timing.”
“Too late.” Grace grins and holds her phone up, showing the screen that saysprofile uploadedin cheerful all-caps.
“I can’t believe you.”
“I named you Lucky Irish.” The grin gets even wider.
A weary laugh escapes. “LuckyIrish? I sound like a leprechaun.”
“I know you use the word in most of your passwords. So it therefore has meaning to you. It’s surrounded by good juju. Can I use this photo?” She holds up a photo of me she took a few weeks ago when we had a picnic in Central Park one Sunday afternoon. One of those New York days that was too beautiful to stay inside. In the photo, the sun catches the different colors of gold and platinum in my hair and I look…happy. An emotion I haven’t been up close and personal with all that much lately. “I love this photo of you. You look hot. And dreamy.”
“Grace,” I groan, but there’s a laugh brewing in my chest because this whole thing is ridiculous. “I don’t want to go on a blind date right now.”
“Babe, it’s not like things can get much worse. The only thing you have to lose is your virginity.”
That corny line does it. Our emotions are running high and we both burst into hysterical laughter.
I know all too well that things canalwaysget worse. But hey, if Grace’s new glow is anything to go by, maybe there’s something to her theory after all.
“More wine,” she splutters between breaths. “We’re going to need more wine.”
6
