The Dating Intervention: Book 1 in the Intervention Series Page 4

  “Sign, please.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Yes,” Summer and Josie said at the same time.

  Delaney tried to act like it didn’t hurt, but it did. She knew they loved her, she knew their intentions were good, but still… it was hard to identify the feeling. Probably it was mostly embarrassment, she decided and she’d have to let that go. After all, there were some very good-looking guys on this dating site. And she really could always go back to her own ways of doing things. She took a deep breath.

  What can it hurt? At least it’ll be entertaining. When it doesn’t work, I’ll make a new fail-proof system.

  She signed. Once the ceremony was complete, Josie pulled her tablet close and began typing furiously on the touchscreen.

  “First step: get you set up for online dating.”

  “Don’t make that face, Dee,” Summer said. “Lots of people meet their mates online these days. Haven’t you seen those commercials?”

  “Let’s set up her profile,” Summer said. “Then we can actually talk to these guys.”

  They don’t even trust me to talk to guys online. What do they think of me?

  Josie signaled to Benjamin, who hurried over.

  “Benji, could you get Delaney another beer, please? She’s gonna need it.”

  “Sure thing!”

  Delaney rolled her eyes. The sales sharks were leaving Rowdy’s now, walking out single file. When had she gotten so old that these guys looked like babies? Smooth faces, trendy haircuts, white teeth. It hit her: she was thirty-four going on cat lady.

  “Let’s see. Delaney, we’ll use your email address. What do you want for a password?”

  “I don’t know. Make something up. I apparently make crappy decisions.”

  “Oh, stop pouting,” Summer said. “I’m going to count to five and if you’re not done pouting, you can go pout alone in your bedroom.”

  “Fine. Still, just make something up, Josie.”

  “Okay. It’s going to be bigpenis, all lower case, all one word.”

  “Fine,” Delaney said. “I can’t believe you still use that password.”

  “It has a good security rating. Okay, here we go.” Josie sipped her drink. “Occupation.”

  Josie looked nervously at Summer.

  “That’s something else we wanted to talk to you about, Delaney,” Summer said.

  Delaney groaned, Benjamin plunked her fresh beer down on the table and she picked it up and chugged it.

  “You need a new job. It’s time to grow up. Bartending – I know it makes you a lot of money, especially on weekends, but it’s not serving you well.”

  “Summer.” Delaney put the beer bottle down on the table. Hard. “Stop saying shit isn’t serving me well. I don’t even know what that means. It’s a job. I kick ass at it. I enjoy it. I make good money. Probably more money than Josie makes as a teacher. It’s serving me just fine.”

  “She means emotionally,” Josie said. “She means you’re not stretching yourself. You have so much potential, Dee, you’re so smart. And you always said bartending was a good way to get through vet school – but now you’ve been out of vet school for almost a decade. It’s time to do something that really forces you to use your brain. Plus, this is where ninety percent of your dating pool comes from.” She swept her arm, nodded in the direction of the bar. “You always end up meeting bar guys.”

  “Shit.”

  It was true. She loved meeting bar guys. She loved hearing their stories, being the one to help them through difficult times. She didn’t need examples, but Summer plowed ahead just as she’d known she would.

  “Case in point,” Summer said. “Tom, wasn’t it? He came in every night for a month. You thought he was so cute. So … what did you say? So charming. What kind of guy spends every single night of his life in a bar? You flirted with him, he flirted with you. You went home with him and he had swords all over his wall.”

  “And metal signs talking about boobs,” Josie added.

  “But what about that other guy, Javier?” Delaney said.

  Summer rolled her eyes.

  “You just thought he was sexy because he spoke Italian,” Josie said. “But remember he had a weird foot fetish? He wanted to lick your feet or something?”

  “He wanted me to rub my feet on his –”

  “Exactly,” Summer said, holding up a hand to stop Delaney. “Exactly.”

  Josie entered Delaney’s height, weight, schooling, hobbies. The crowd at the bar went up in shouts and swear words, and Delaney’s eyes flicked to the TV screen to see what had happened in the basketball game.

  “Okay, we’re almost done. It’s time to set the rules.”

  “Rules?”

  “Yes,” Summer and Josie said together. “Rules.”

  “Did you guys practice this or something?”

  Summer ignored her. “Of course, there’s the job thing. And you’re going to learn how to cook. You can’t eat takeout forever, babe. But let’s talk about the dating. First of all, you make no decisions on your own. We select the people you’ll date, we set up the dates and we decide who you can date again. No more of these dead-end, going-nowhere ‘relationships’ that start out as one-night stands and turn into one-year stands.”

  “Enough with the air quotes,” Delaney said.

  “And,” Josie chimed in as if Delaney hadn’t spoken, “No sex. With anyone. At all.”

  Oh. My. God. There is absolutely no way this is happening.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. I’ll implode from sexual frustration,” Delaney whined.

  “We’ll lift the ban when we decide you’re ready,” Josie said. “But even then, no going home with anyone.”

  Delaney took a breath to speak, but Summer cut her off.

  “Who said you have to have sex at home?” Summer said sweetly. “Sarah was conceived at the drive-in. And Luke was conceived not fifteen feet from where we sit now.”

  She pointed at the bathroom.

  “I had no idea,” Delaney said wondrously.

  “Oh, yeah,” Summer said. “In fact – never mind. Let’s finish this up.”

  Delaney held up her index finger. “This doesn’t seem fair.”

  “No decisions. We make them all.”

  Josie added, “Besides, rushing into sex in a relationship is like wearing beer goggles everywhere you go. It makes everybody look better than they really are.”

  “Fine.”

  “Your drink limit: three.”

  “Josie, seriously? Three?”

  “Yep.”

  “And you have to stop being so critical. Give these good guys a chance.”

  “It’s totally weird,” Summer said, almost to herself. “You love the losers but tear the regular guys apart.” Again, before Delaney could defend herself, Summer went on, “One or both of us will be available by text at all times to answer your questions and direct you in your actions. You’ll have a schedule.”

  “Really? A schedule.”

  “Really. Josie has created a rubric, which you will fill out after each date. We will use this rubric to determine whether you see a guy again. Or whether you sleep with him. Did you bring that, Josie?”

  “I have it on my computer. I’ll email it to you,” she said.

  “By next week, we hope to have several dates set up – we’ll tell you about them during Happy Hour.”

  “Also by next week,” Josie said, “we want you to report back to us about your job hunt. You should have created a resume and a cover letter and you should have applied for at least four positions. And you also should have signed up for a cooking class at Country Kitchen.”

  “By next week?”

  “Yep.”

  “All the cooking classes are at night. And I work at night.”

  “Not for long. Tomorrow, when you go in to work, you need to give your two weeks’ notice.”

  “But what if I don’t find a job in the next two weeks?”

  “You will. Put i
t out to the Universe.”

  Josie chuckled at Delaney’s exasperated expression. “It works, Dee. Summer has me converted. I’m a believer. Remember that time my microwave broke and I needed a new one? I put it out to the Universe and voilà! I found one on that yard sale website the very next day. Five bucks.”

  “Serendipity,” Delaney said.

  “Exactly. Thanks to the Universe.”

  “Okay,” Delaney said, reluctance drawing the word out. “But just in case. What if I don’t have a new job lined up? I’ll be homeless. You guys’ll have me out on the street?”

  “You have savings. We’ll reassess after one week.”

  “You can always move in with me,” Summer said. “And my four children.”

  Desperate to change the direction of conversation, Delaney said, “I can cook.”

  “What’s in your fridge right now?” Summer asked.

  “Let me guess,” Josie said. “Jelly, moldy bell peppers and old butter.”

  “Just because I don’t cook, doesn’t mean I can’t.”

  “Invite us over for dinner,” Josie said.

  “Over to my house?”

  “Yes.”

  “You need to start taking care of yourself,” Summer said. “Eating all that processed, salty food can’t be good for you. You’re not in college anymore.”

  Delaney dropped her head to her forearm, which rested on the table. “Do I have no say in this?”

  “Yes, you have no say,” Josie said.

  “No say whatsoever,” Summer said. “Just trust us. You’re going to be happier than ever. And you’re going to thank us.”

  “Yeah,” Josie said. “You’re going to worship us.”

  “I need another drink,” Delaney muttered.

  “Did I hear somebody say she needed another drink?”

  “Benjamin. Impeccable timing, as always. Yes, please.”

  He nodded, his black cowboy hat exaggerating the movement. Within a moment he brought, with a great deal of fanfare, a vodka cranberry for Josie, a glass of chardonnay for Summer and a Guinness for Delaney.

  “Cheers to honesty and a change of subject,” Delaney said. “Let Happy Hour commence.”

  “I never got to tell you, Summer. Tuesday after that asshole rear-ended us, when that guy pulled up with the license plate number? Jake Rhoades. Absolutely gorgeous. Rugged, tall, looked great in his jeans.”

  “You didn’t get his number, though, because you don’t get guys’ numbers, right?” Josie said.

  “It’s for the best,” Summer cut in, without waiting for Delaney’s answer. “We’re starting fresh.”

  Delaney studied the tabletop again. Her best friends in the world thought she was a loser and maybe they were right. She was halfway through her fourth decade, working at a bar, neglecting her veterinary degree and dating greasy-haired leftovers. When she thought about it this way, she agreed that she needed a change. Just thinking about it was exhausting.

  Delaney changed the subject, again. “What’s new with you guys, anyway? How’s your week been?”

  “So…” Josie said. “Our principal is leaving.”

  “No! Scott Smith is leaving?! Whatever could be important enough to draw him away from Juniper Elementary School?” Delaney asked, genuinely shocked. “Hasn’t it been his dream to be principal there since he was in the fifth grade?”

  Josie giggled. “It has, yes. He talks about it at every single staff meeting, as you know. But I guess he got this new Director of Curriculum position at the district. So he’ll be moving on.”

  “What does this mean for you? You can finally stop wearing those stupid polo shirts? And nylons?” Delaney said.

  Josie shuddered. “Both of those are pretty bad. But actually, I was thinking about applying for his position.”

  Summer raised her glass. “Cheers! I think you’d be great!”

  “But I thought you loved working with the kids,” Delaney said.

  “I do,” Josie answered. “And I’d miss them, for sure. But at the same time, if I could make the school even better, inspire the teachers even more, imagine how many kids I could reach. Right now, I help maybe twenty-five kids a year. But as principal, I could help hundreds.”

  “I hadn’t considered that,” Delaney said. “That sounds great, actually. I’m really happy for you. What do you have to do?”

  “Oh, you know, the usual. I already have my administrator’s degree, so I just have to apply and then interview and stuff. There’ll be a panel, I think.”

  Josie picked up a bar napkin and began shredding it into little pieces, which she put in a tidy pile off to one side. It looked like a miniature Matterhorn.

  “Are you nervous, Josie?” Delaney asked. She looked at Summer. “She’s nervous!”

  Summer put a hand over Josie’s.

  “You’ll be great. What does Paul think of all this?”

  “Oh, you know. Whatever I want to do. He’s about as interested in it as he would be if I took up knitting or checkers.”

  “Yikes,” Summer said. “How are things going in the Garcia-Comstock household these days?”

  “They’re going okay,” Josie said. “It’s just that Paul is, like, married to his job. Ever since he took that undercover detective position. He works horrible hours, he’s never home and when he is home, he’s sleeping or watching TV.”

  “Yikes,” Delaney said.

  “I know. But it’s all new to him,” Josie said. “I’m sure he’ll throttle back a little, return to reality, once he gets used to it. Anyway.”

  She shrugged and took a sudden deep interest in a tiny smudge on her glass.

  “Ooh, we can practice the interview questions with you!” Delaney said. “I love doing that stuff. I did that with a customer the other night. He came in because he was nervous about a job interview the next day. So I gave him a beer on the house and ran through some questions. It was really fun!”

  Josie shook her head. Finished shredding her napkin, she starting making patterns out of the torn-up pieces. “Perfect. Well, I’ll keep you guys posted.”

  “What about you, Summer? What’s going on in your world?”

  “Well, I haven’t really got anything. You know, it’s wake up, feed the baby, feed kids, take kids to school, feed the baby, fold laundry, do dishes, feed the baby, work, pick up kids, feed the baby, make dinner, bathe kids, feed the baby, put everyone to bed. And then fall into an exhausted heap in my own bed, only to be woken ten times per night remembering stuff I forgot to do, remembering stuff I don’t want to forget to do, feed the baby and then get up and do it all over again the next day. And I’m lucky if I ever speak to my husband, much less have sex with him.”

  In a display of said exhaustion, she put her arms on the table and put her forehead on them. Her long blonde hair, pulled into a messy ponytail, fanned out and tangled with Josie’s shredded-napkin designs.

  “Wow,” Josie said. “This is coming out of left field. I’ve never heard you talk like this.” She paused. “And to think, this is what I have to look forward to when I finally convince Paul to have kids.”

  “Yeah,” Summer said from under her hair. “You’re a newlywed now, but you just wait. You think you’re happy now. Wait ’til you’re carting four kids around and ironing your husband’s work clothes. That’s paradise, my sisters.”

  “Wow, Summer,” Delaney said, catching Josie’s eye. “Sarcasm just doesn’t look good on you. What’s going on with you? I thought you loved being a mom.”

  “Bad day, I guess,” Summer said. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  She pushed her still-full glass of wine to the middle of the table, slid off her stool and walked over to the bathroom, all without looking at them.

  “Geez,” Delaney said in a loud whisper. “What’s wrong with her? She never has a bad day.”

  “No idea,” Josie said. “But you know how she gets moody sometimes. Remember that time freshman year when we thought she was mad at us for, like, a week, but it
was really just that she’d started her period and didn’t want us to know? So she was avoiding us?”

  Delaney smirked. “Yeah. How could I forget? Well, let’s hope it’s something like that.”

  “Or let’s hope it’s not,” Josie said.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Friday night at Rowdy’s: Delaney’s favorite. No, tending bar didn’t put to use all her years in college or vet school. Memorizing orders, mixing drinks, sliding glasses down the shiny wooden bar … none of it had anything to do with the skeletal structure of a dog or the anatomy of a horse.

  But she seriously rocked it. It was fun.

  And, a teeny voice whispered from somewhere in the depths of her subconscious, it’s comfortable.

  “I need a six-pack of Coors for the six-pack of hunks who just took table fifteen,” Ivy Simone, Delaney’s spunky co-worker, said, sliding behind the bar to join her. “And can you mix me a couple of house specials for the ladies at seven?”

  “Sure thing,” Delaney answered.

  The hunks were obviously out-of-towners – and here for women. Wearing name brand jeans and t-shirts with brand new cowboy hats and stiff boots, they reeked of cologne and emanated pheromones. The ladies at table seven were regular Happy Hour visitors and entrenched in deep conversation. Mary and Carrie – work-from-home employees of the same online company who met up weekly for live face time.

  “What about the couple at table two?”

  “They’re not sure yet.” Ivy opened the beers, placed them on a tray. “I can’t tell if they’re five minutes from breaking up or five minutes from running to the bathroom to have hot, sweaty sex.”

  Delaney scooped ice into glasses and used a stealthy sideways glance to check them out. “I’d say the latter.”

  The man leaned in close to the woman and was running a finger up her arm. Ivy shrugged. Delaney set the two house specials – Cactus Coolers with prickly pear juice and vodka – on the tray with the beers and Ivy hefted it and sashayed off to make her delivery.

  It was nearly eight and Rowdy’s was just heating up. Delaney felt the beginnings of the rhythm of a good night. The way she saw it, she thought as she handed two Budweisers to a dirt-caked man in construction boots, there was nothing better than this: an upscale cowboy bar in the middle of this cowboy town. It attracted a huge following of regulars, plus college kids and visitors – all big drinkers. Delaney was always busy, always moving, always meeting new people.