Avoiding Mr. Right Read online

  Avoiding Mr. Right

  A Walk on the Wild Side Novel

  Book Two

  C.J. Ellisson

  Red Hot Publishing

  P.O. BOX 651193, STERLING VA, 20165-1193

  First ebook Edition June 2013

  Copyright 2013 C.J. Ellisson, All Rights Reserved

  Edited by Tina Winograd

  Cover Design by Kim Killion, HotDamnDesigns.com

  ISBN 9781938601156

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication

  may be reproduced, stored or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in

  any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise),

  without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher

  of this book.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the

  products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

  to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is

  entirely coincidental.

  This book is dedicated to Marianne Morea and T. Lynne Tolles. Your work is more than

  worthy—and soon the world will know it. Never give up!

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Acknowledgements

  Bonus Excerpt from Suddenly Beautiful, by Boone Brux

  SB Chapter One

  SB Chapter Two

  Chapter One

  Carla

  “Casual Sex,” I say, twisting the phrase so it sounds like a bad thing. “There. I said it.” I

  look across the table and meet my best friend’s dark, knowing gaze. “Happy now?” Unable

  to hold her penetrating stare any longer, I reach for my tepid chai latte, grateful

  it’s tasty even cold.

  “I know you think I’m being a shrewish bitch, Carla. But it’s for your own good.”

  Heather picks up her favorite vanilla cappuccino and takes a drink.

  “And why is that, exactly?” Regret gnaws at my stomach. Why did I let myself get dragged

  into this conversation during my lunch hour? “Sure, you found your great ‘one-and-only’

  guy, but I don’t think that’s going to happen with me.”

  Heather ignores me and taps her finger on the small sheet of paper on the table between

  us. “Next one.”

  Geez, this feels like a one-woman intervention, and despite the jokes I could make

  over that realization, I’m really not enjoying it. The pleading on her compassionate face has me glancing at the slip of

  paper once more. “Friends with Benefits. Oh, come on, that too? I kind of like that one. Makes it much easier to stay friends

  when the guy winds up being dumb, but not bad in bed.”

  Heather’s mouth sets in a firm line and I plow ahead to the last item on her unhelpful

  “list” of what she sees as my love life faults. “Avoidance of Intimacy. Seriously? You think I do all this crap?” A knot of anxiety sits in my throat. “I’m

  not a fun-loving chick all the time, you know. I have been searching for the right

  guy.” The right guy who’s perfect in the sack and magically disappears before dawn.

  “Just haven’t found him yet.”

  “Really?” she counters, showing a touch of backbone my once-shy friend didn’t have

  a month ago. “And none of them were worthy of your time after you slept with them, huh?”

  A grimace twists my face and I try to smooth my features. “It’s not like that—I swear.”

  Secretly I fear it’s exactly like that. And what the hell does that say about me? That I’m a slut? I’m not. I

  like sex but I don’t sleep with just anyone like her darned unasked for list of faults

  implies. “They weren’t good matches for me.”

  “Uh-huh. Sure.”

  “Why are we discussing this…,” I gesture to the paper between us, “list of yours? I’m a careful woman. I always make sure they use a condom. My instincts

  are good. I’ve never been in a situation I couldn’t handle. What happened to make

  you think I needed—no wanted—your input in my love life?”

  Heather’s strength deflates and I feel like I’ve kicked a puppy. “It’s because I care

  about you, Carla, and want to see you happy. You keep up with this casual approach

  to relationships and you’re going to be alone for the rest of your life.”

  A snort erupts from me. “Like that’s a bad thing? I’m not afraid of being alone. In

  fact, I’m quite all right with it.” I resist the urge, just barely, to throw her words

  from a few weeks ago in her face. She was the one afraid of winding up alone and eating microwave meals-for-one her whole

  life. Not me. Never me.

  My goal has always been to find an exciting, independent man—one who’s a great lover

  and wants nothing emotional from me in return. I gaze out the window of our favorite coffee

  shop, staring at the pelting rain washing the city streets. Maybe my relaxed attitude

  would be better suited in Europe. Seems like the Puritanical ideals of America are

  still going strong, no matter how much women struggle with equality. If I were a guy

  no one would bat an eye at my desire for a lover with no emotional attachments weighing

  us down.

  An exciting man who’s good in bed. That’s not too much to ask is it? We’re in “the

  city that never sleeps” for crying out loud. There’s got to be a few guys who learned

  something in the sack since college, right? Maybe I can find one who isn’t emotionally scarred

  from a long-term relationship and where the woman taught him a thing or two. That would be hitting the relationship

  lottery in my book.

  Don’t forget good looking, great body, successful career, a big dick…

  Yeah, a girl can dream, right?

  Aware I need to get back to work, I glance at my watch then gather the remains of

  my meal. We say our goodbyes and I race into the rain, pulling up the hood on my stylish

  raincoat for the three-block trek to the office.

  Heather likes to forget—I’m not like her. I’ve always known what I want in my life

  and in my bed. She and Tony met at the exact time she was ready to blossom. My sexuality

  bloomed a long time ago and I quickly became disappointed with the unknowledgeable

  lovers I invited into my bed. Hell, when the first few trysts were a let down, why

  go back for more?

  It’s pretty sad, really. They all appeared to be so promising during our initial dates.

  Despite Heather’s list making me sound like a “good-time girl,” a phrase I hear a

  lot from my mom, I actually practice a lot of decorum when choosing a lover. They

&n
bsp; all have ambitious careers, their own apartments, aren’t married, and know how to

  treat a lady with manners. I don’t have a set laundry list of physical attributes

  the guy has to have, but I do want a man who cares enough about his health and appearance

  to not be slovenly or obese.

  Unlike Heather, I never sit on the sidelines waiting for life to come to me—I actively

  seek adventure and always will. Who says a woman needs a man to be happy? I’m happy

  as I am on my own. And I intend to keep it that way—not hung up on a guy like my mom

  was with my dad. When he left us, she was devastated and it changed her outlook on

  life forever.

  Avoiding large puddles and dangerous sidewalk grating, I wish I would’ve changed out

  of my heels before dashing off to meet Heather. A short woman like me learns the benefit

  of being on equal eye level in the advertising world. Doesn’t hurt that I look great

  in them, too.

  The awning to my building appears and I gratefully step under it and push back my

  hood. I unzip the coat and flap the sides, knocking off moisture before entering.

  “Hey, Carla,” a masculine voice calls from the doorway.

  I look up to see one of the company accountants holding the door for me. “Thanks,

  Andrew.” I step through, avoiding eye contact with him.

  He’s tried to make casual conversation with me for months, and I’m always polite but

  careful not to lead him on. I mean really, he’s an accountant. Could a job be more unexciting? Just stick him in an IT position and buy him a ticket

  to the next Trekkie convention in town.

  One thing I’ve learned while shopping for an exciting man—I won’t find one in a humdrum

  job like his. I’m not saying Andrew is boring, he seems nice enough. But his job sure

  as hell is unexciting, which decreases his chances of being a stimulating guy by eighty

  percent.

  While we walk across the lobby to the elevators, I sense him fidgeting beside me,

  perhaps too nervous to talk. I smother a smile at his awkwardness. Honestly, he’s

  not bad looking—no beer gut and he dresses okay. Maybe I should hook him up with Katrina

  from yoga class. She’s been on the prowl for a decent man.

  He clears his throat as we step into the elevator. “Do you have time later to talk

  about the Stringer account?”

  My ears perk at the mention of my largest client. “Of course. Is something wrong?”

  The doors whisk closed and we ascend to our floor. “No, nothing’s wrong. I was looking

  over the latest numbers and think I’ve found a way to free up some advertising money

  in their budget that isn’t working where it is now. Might help you up-sell them to

  a larger ad space in the areas that are working.”

  “Sounds good.” I smile, the first genuine one to grace my face since I met Heather

  for lunch. “Your cubicle or mine?”

  His blue eyes crinkle at the corners as he returns my smile. “Come to mine, I’ll show

  you the spreadsheets.”

  Hours later I hang up the phone with Jennifer Stringer, the owner of the largest independently

  owned fabric distributor in the legendary New York garment district. She was thrilled

  with Andrew’s findings and eager to pour fifty thousand more into the current advertising

  campaign. We helped to increase her business twenty percent in the last three months.

  Satisfaction for a job well done warms me, filling me with a sense of completeness

  like no encounter with a man ever has.

  A sigh escapes as I relax into my chair. Damn, talk about a long week. It’s Friday

  and after five. I stifle the urge to chant TGIF and log off my computer, eager to shake the stresses of the week from my shoulders.

  IMs flew around the office ten minutes ago and people are gearing up to meet at the

  bar down the block for drinks. I freshen my lipstick, straighten my desk, and grab

  my bag. Andrew stands the same moment I do and our eyes meet across the cubical walls.

  “Are you going tonight?” I ask him.

  Interest lights his eyes. “Yup.”

  He runs a hand through his short brown hair, the gesture making him appear more confident.

  Too bad he’s boring, he’s almost handsome. “Great, I owe you a drink for that tidbit

  you shared after lunch.”

  A small smile turns up his mouth as he walks down the opposite aisle toward the door.

  “Just one? Could have sworn my ‘tidbit’ helped you make your monthly quota a week

  early.”

  I laugh at his ballsiness. “Maybe I’ll buy you two. But don’t get your hopes up.”

  A spark ignites in his blue depths as his gaze travels up and down my length. An awareness

  tingles through me and I can’t deny, he looks different, somehow. He’s only a few inches taller than I am in heels, which makes him a couple

  of inches shy of six-foot. His shirtsleeves are rolled up to reveal corded forearms

  with a light dusting of hair. With warm heat banked in his gaze, his average looks

  jump a thousand points.

  I brush off the sudden interest spiking in my gut. I can’t let an office romance begin

  to brew. I told Heather I wasn’t doing any of the things she accused me of. No matter

  how much I might wish otherwise, I highly doubt a co-worker with benefits is much different than the friends with benefits on her sheet.

  As a large boisterous group of our co-workers join us in the elevator, I resolve to

  steer clear of any temptation offered by Andrew at the bar. No way in the world could

  he be a good match for me.

  Chapter Two

  Andrew

  Bodies press against Carla, shoving her closer to the bar as she tries to leave the

  stool. I reach out an arm to protect her from the worst of the crush. “Carla, let

  me see you home. You shouldn’t make your way alone.”

  Her buzzed smile and feeling-no-pain expression is a sure sign we should have had

  dinner when the bartender offered menus an hour ago.

  “No worries, Andy. I’m good.” She stumbles and lands face first against the broad-chest

  of a nearby guy. The grin on his face shows he’s not angry at her slip.

  “My…you’re big,” she says while pushing blond bangs out of her face. “Want to help

  me get a cab?”

  Anger boils close to the surface at the mere thought of the curvy blonde going home

  with this meathead. I will not stand here and let her make a poor choice when she’s

  been drinking. The large man opens his mouth to respond, then catches sight of what

  I hope is a nasty look on my face. His smile dims as he looks back to Carla. “Maybe

  next time, sweetheart.”

  I nod my thanks while trying to steer my more than tipsy co-worker out of our company’s

  favorite after-work bar.

  “But, Andy,” she whines, “he looked hot. Lemme get his number.”

  I take a firm hold on her arm and gently maneuver her toward the door. “You’ll thank

  me later.”

  The cool late spring air smacks us, jolting me with a much-needed surge of energy.

  Hopefully, it will have the same affect on Carla. “But, he looks like a real man,” she says, with a pointed look my way.

  I ignore the brush of annoyance I feel at her implication I’m not a real man. Where