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“I don’t own anythingsexy,” I yell back as I look at Brooke. “I really don’t want to go.”
“Oh, come on. It will be good for you to get out of your apartment. Besides, who throws a party on a yacht? Aren’t you the least bit curious?”
“No, I’m not.”
Tessa comes back holding a pair of my slip-on shoes. “You’re right. You don’t own any sexy dresses.”
“Why would I? I teach second grade.”
Brooke smirks. “Cleavage and parent teacher conferences don’t go together?”
“No, not really.” I crack a smile—asmallsmile, because I’m still wallowing in breakup grief, and I’m mad at my sisters for forcing me to leave the sanctuary of my apartment.
“Well, they should.” Tessa tosses my shoes at me. “We can go to my apartment and get ready. I have plenty of sexy dresses you can borrow.”
“The word ‘sexy’ shouldn’t be in the same sentence with my name. I can’t even remember the last time I shaved my legs.”
Tessa takes in a deep breath as if my shaving admission is going to throw her over sanity’s edge. Her eyes drift to Brooke. “How am I related to her?”
“See? Maybe I shouldn’t go.”
“You’re going,” they both say in unison, and before I can stop them, they shove me out the door.
CHAPTER4
TYLER
“These are all good options to wear on a first date.” Hillary places five button-up shirts in front of me on her king-size mattress.
I lift my gray ball cap and fit it over my hair again, nodding at my sister-in-law. Hillary looks nice, with blonde hair cut short to her chin and dark brown eyes, but she’s scary.Wifescary—like if you don’t fall in line with what she says, she won’t talk to you for days. Not all wives are like that. Just a select few—a few like Hillary.
My eyes drift to the colorful shirts. Shades of pink, mint, lavender, and light blue assault me. Am I choosing items to throw in an Easter basket or picking an outfit for a date?
It’s hard to tell.
My chin drops to my black t-shirt and jeans. “What’s wrong with what I have on?”
Hillary scoffs like I’ve offended her. Maybe I have. She’s serious about clothing. She has my brother, Logan, dress in a golf shirt and slacks even on Saturdays.
“Tyler, you haven’t been in the dating scene for a long time.” Hillary unbuttons the collar of the light-blue shirt and pulls the hanger out. “You can’t show up in a t-shirt. Dating is all about first impressions.”
I glance at Logan, giving him my bestI’m-going-to-kill-youglare. It’s his fault I’m even going on this date. He gave my number to a woman and didn’t even warn me about it. I was completely blindsided when she called. If I had known ahead of time, I could’ve come up with a thousand excuses.
I can’t go out with you because I need to coach a baseball game every single night of the week. I can’t go out with you because I’m starting a DIY home project that I will inevitably regret. I can’t go out with you because I don’t own an Easter-colored button-up shirt.
But when I answered the phone call from the random number, I didn’t have my excuses dialed up. I was expecting the call to be about work. I put a bid in for the landscaping job at the new city building, and I’m waiting to hear if I got the contract. Instead, I got twenty-three-year-old Candi. She’s entirely too young and too forward, and before I knew what was happening, I agreed to meet her at some swanky new restaurant on the water.
Really, I didn’t even need a made-up excuse to get out of the date. I could’ve told the truth.
I’m not ready to date anyone yet.
It’s too soon.
Or maybe it only feels too soon because ofwhoI’m going out with.
Either way, I didn’t tell her anything like that. So the date is on, and I’m not the type of guy who’s going to fake a phone call so I can leave early like they do in the movies. I’m a man, a thirty-three-year-old adult with a successful landscaping and property management business. I have a mortgage. I can suffer through a two-hour date withCandi.
“Hil,” Logan says, eyeing my glare with caution. “I don’t think it matters what Tyler wears. He doesn’t want to make a good first impression.”
