Page 24 of The True Love Experiment

“Do we need to run a DNA compatibility test between you and that special edition of’Salem’s Lot?”

“I didn’t know they released this,” he says, running a long finger down the spine. “This was one of the first books I can remember being unable to put down. This edition is gorgeous.”

Why is it so sexy when he saysgorgeouslike that? Like he’s staring down at a lover, overcome? I was hoping the power of his attractiveness would lessen, up close—bad skin, weird odor, yellowed teeth that I’d somehow missed—but I’m irritated to discover that none of those things are true. He smells like yummy man and the trace of whatever deodorant he’s wearing. I bet it’s called Ice Zone orSports Hero or Silver Blade, and I’m disgusted with myself for liking it. I can’t even locate the Hot Millionaire Executive archetype in Connor anymore. He is all soft and brawny. Soft Lumberjack is his new name. Why does he ever approach that head of hair with even a drop of gel? I might have to take one for the team and pretend I know him well enough to advise him on styling.

I wonder idly, on a scale ofGet It GirltoOnly If You Never Want to Work Again, how bad it would be to sleep with my reality romance show producer. Get back on the horse and whatnot.

Squeezing my eyes closed, I do a hard mental reboot. I’m glad to see the old Fizzy rearing her head, but she’s a bossy one, and even I know that hooking up with Connor Prince III would be not only professionally brainless but probably astonishingly mediocre. It would have to be, right? His hot lumberjack vibe today is likely a one-off while his suits and Lego hair are at the cleaners. My first sex after the dry spell should leave me walking with a limp and recuperating for an entire weekend with a giant bottle of Gatorade and Nancy Meyers movies for company.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Like what?” I ask, immediately swapping out whatever my expression was doing for a relaxed smile.

He frowns, his gaze doing a brief circuit of my face, searching for whatever he saw a moment ago. “Never mind.”

Redirect time: “Did you have fun today?”

“I did,” he admits. “You’re funny. Your readers are so enthusiastic. I can tell you genuinely love being with them.”

He’s right, and in hindsight I’m annoyed with myself for being so nervous on the way over here. Sweaty palms, bursting, too-loudanswers to his polite questions in the car, overexplaining as we entered the bookstore. Connor was calm and easy at my side, this steady, sturdy presence to my jittery stress. But the second the room filled, my pulse slowed and I came home.

“Romance readers are my absolute favorite brand of human.” I grin at him. “You see how much they love what they love. They show up—it’s a Monday, and see how many decided to leave their houses and fight traffic, maybe find child care, just to come here?” I gesture to the now-empty bookstore. “You had everyone here tonight. Homemakers, attorneys, hourly employees, scientists, retirees, students.”

He whistles, looking back at the checkout counter as if remembering. “I saw someone with two copies of every one of your books.”

“And I’ve signed those three times before, but she still shows up for every local event to say hi and get them signed again.”

“She didn’t buy a book?”

“She bought one tonight, but not one of mine.” Off his surprised expression, I add, “Fangirls show up, Connor. Those are my people.”

He nods, studying me. “I’m seeing that.”

With a smile, I say, “I’m glad you took a break from flirting with my dad to study your show’s demographic.”

Connor’s energy dials up a few notches. “I did, but it was hard. Your dad isgreat.”

“He’s literally the cutest human to ever exist.”

“By the way, I didn’t realize you hadn’t told him about the show yet. Hope I didn’t make that weird for you with your parents.”

“No, I was completely using you as a shield.”

He gives me a mock-stern look that I like more than I should.“He was into it,” Connor says. “But he said he’s not telling your mum.”

“Shit.”

Connor laughs. “We need to find a way to get him on.”

A cold flush spreads down my arms. “On—on the dating show? My dad?”

He nods, thinking it over. “Family visits with the final contestants, maybe.”

My stomach tilts. “Whew, that’s…” I’m about to saythat’s terrifying, because just the idea of bringing multiple men over to my mother’s house for her to inspect makes me want to roll into traffic. But for the first time since we started talking about this, there’s a light in Connor’s eyes that looks genuine, and if hanging with Papa Chen did that for him, who am I to pour water on the fire? “That’s a great idea,” I say with a limp smile.

Connor laughs. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it all out. Right now, we’re just suggesting loads of things to see what sounds right.”

Adrenaline seems to dissipate all at once from my bloodstream and I lean against a shelf, exhaling slowly. Signings are the strangest paradox: the most energizing, fulfilling experience, but also the most exhausting. I want everyone who comes to the table to feel like the most important person in my life, because for those handfuls of minutes, they are. But keeping that energy up can be draining. Add to that the stress about not knowing whether I’ll ever release another book and I’m absolutely wiped.

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