Her Leading Man. Maggie Dallen

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СКАЧАТЬ Caitlyn held back a sigh. If Jake was the self-appointed dad of the group, Meg had definitely adopted the role of their mom.

      “Are you sure it’s safe to have a stranger in your apartment?”

      “For the hundredth time, yes.” Caitlyn gathered up her oversized purse. “The site I use verifies the candidates and does background checks. It’s totally safe.”

      She glanced over to see Meg gnawing on her lip and looking pleadingly at her husband, silently begging him to appeal to Caitlyn’s good senses. Caitlyn interrupted the silent exchange with a laugh. “Meg, aren’t you the one who’s constantly telling me to do online dating? Those men aren’t verified, you know. You’re being a hypocrite.”

      “Am not.” Meg crossed her arms over her big belly, her mouth pulled down in a stubborn scowl. “That’s totally different. You’re meeting those men for one evening. In public. It’s not the same thing at all.”

      Exhaustion swept over Caitlyn, even though her day had just begun. They’d been over this time and again since the breakup nearly a year ago. “What do you want me to do? I can’t afford that place on my own.”

      As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Caitlyn wished she could call them back. She knew the answer all of her friends were itching to give. She’d heard it more times than she could count.

      They’d tell her it was time to look for a new place. Give up her home. Start fresh in a place with no memories, no ghosts of boyfriends past. As if it was that easy to let go of everything comfortable and safe. This apartment was the first true home she’d had since her parents died. The dorms didn’t count and neither did her first apartment straight out of college—a one-bedroom dump out in Queens that she’d shared with three other girls. The apartment she’d found with her ex—the ground floor apartment of a townhouse-style apartment building in a nice, quiet neighborhood—that was a true home. She’d dumped all of her money into furniture and decorations. She finally had a space of her own that was exactly the way she liked it. Losing her boyfriend was hard enough, thank you very much. She wasn’t about to let go of her home too. Her apartment was the only stable thing she had left…other than her friends and her job at the store. Not to mention—did they have any idea how hard it was to find a decent apartment in her price range?

      Shouting out her good-byes, she practically ran out of the theater to avoid hearing the lecture. Besides, she had an apartment to clean.

      Unfortunately being alone did little to help with her brain’s frustrating tendency to relive that night. She worked herself into a tizzy as she did laundry just thinking about the comments her date had made. Then she worked herself into a royal rage at the fact that she was still thinking about that man in the first place.

      By the time she had moved on to cleaning the bathroom, she was in the midst of a sick cycle of anger. And all thanks to him. She found herself giving a silent lecture to the toilet as she scrubbed it clean. Who did he think he was? The man was a complete stranger who knew nothing about her. Cynical, rude, and crass. He was an affront to British men everywhere—particularly Cary Grant, may he rest in peace.

      A jerk with a drinking problem, that’s what he was. He was in no position to pass judgment on her life or her job. The jackass wouldn’t know about artistic integrity if it smacked him upside the head. She scrubbed the toilet even harder. He was exactly the type of Manhattan, alpha-male, misogynistic a-hole she went out of her way to avoid.

      He’d actually asked her what kind of car she drove within the first two minutes of meeting. She lived in Manhattan, why would she have a car? Or a driver’s license, for that matter. Of course he’d followed that up with a bragging session about his sports car—as if she’d be impressed. So you’re destroying the environment with your emissions so you can feel better about the size of your penis? Good for you. Dammit, why hadn’t she said that?

      She fell back on her heels, her hand aching from the intensive scrub job. But the car comment and the derogatory remarks about her career—that wasn’t even the worst of it. She could practically hear his irritatingly sexy British accent in her head. Are you trying to come across as frigid and matronly? Because if so, you’ve succeeded.

      Who the hell did he think he was? Who even said that?

      The toilet did not have an answer.

      She was losing it. Let it go already. But she couldn’t. And it didn’t take a genius to figure out why his words were still ringing in her ears after so many days. He’d hit the nail on the head. She was boring. Why else had her ex walked away? He’d all but said those same words. Oh sure, he’d phrased it in nicer, more flowery language, but the message had been the same.

      She wasn’t exciting enough. Their life together was too comfortable, he wasn’t being challenged, blah, blah, blah. At least the asshole hadn’t beaten around the bush.

      Moving on to the rest of the apartment, she made a concerted effort to stop thinking. Swiping the last of her yarn stash into an oversized bag at the end of the couch, she vowed that she would not think about the jerkface and his rude comments anymore. She had work to do. Ben, the guy who was subletting her extra bedroom for the next month, was due at any moment and she wanted to make her cluttered two-bedroom apartment at least somewhat presentable.

      Her buzzer squawked like a dying pigeon and reminded her that she really should have the super take a look at that. She plastered a pleasant smile on her face and threw open the door. The air rushed out of her lungs in a whoosh and blood drained from her head, leaving her dizzy.

      “You,” she sputtered to the man who was grinning at her on her doorstep.

      “Well, well, if it isn’t the darning spinster from the other night,” he said in that same sexy British accent she’d been hearing in her head all week. He gestured toward her living room. “Aren’t you going to let me in?”

      “What are you doing here?” Her mind was spinning with possibilities. How had he found her address? Wasn’t that information supposed to be private? Had she even given the dating Web site her home address? No, definitely not. Which meant…what? This guy was a stalker?

      She took a wary step back so she could shut the door, but her date from hell was blocking the door’s path with a giant duffel bag. She blinked at it for a moment, and the reality of the situation set in with a dawning sense of horror.

      “Oh no,” she whispered.

      “Which way to my bed, roomie?”

      The bottom of her stomach gave way as a rising tide of nausea swept over her. “But you’re not—my new roommate’s name is Ben, not Matthew.”

      He looked at her like she was insane. “My real name’s Ben.”

      “But your profile said Matthew,” she argued.

      He gave a small shrug. “Everyone lies in online dating.”

      “I didn’t.”

      His eyes widened. “Seriously? Caitlyn’s your real name?” And then, as if it bore repeating, “You actually used your real name?”

      Why did he make it sound like she was the crazy one? Surely she wasn’t the only honest person to ever create an online profile.

      She shook her head. That was not the issue here. What mattered was the СКАЧАТЬ