How To Bring Your Love Life Back From The Dead (2 page)

This was no good. This was so not
good. The party was less than a week away.

Sighing, she wrote down twenty-one
year old Lauren’s list. It was better than nothing, and thirty-one
year old Lauren had nothing to show for a love life right now. It
was time, past time, to bring her love life back from the
dead.

On that note, she went to sleep and
dreamed of small figurines made out of hair who took over the
world, and every last one of them was named Jerry.

The day dawned but the dawn never
really took off—which was often the case in her part of Oregon. The
fog shrouded out the sun, and the two fought for dominance for an
hour or so before the sun kicked some butt. Lauren didn’t have time
for the daily battle of wills to work itself out, so she went for
her Saturday morning run in the fog.

Running in the fog meant sometimes
you didn’t see someone until you were right on top of them, even if
you could hear them from quite a ways away. She normally ran with
music but she’d forgotten to charge her iPod, so she was singing “I
Will Survive” under her breath and hoping it would cut it for the
three miles she was pushing herself to do.

It was so foggy.

Crazy foggy.

She almost slammed into a mailbox
before giving up on running beside the road.

He came out of nowhere. One minute,
she was ramping up for the chorus, and the next, she was
body-slammed by a male chest covered in gray cotton and her singing
was replaced by spastic barking from the sheepdog at his
side.

They exchanged a quick “I’m sorry”
and pushed off each other. She chose the wrong side to attempt to
circumvent him—compounded by him doing the same thing. His dog went
one way around her, and he went the other.

It was a classic moment in chick
flicks—especially romantic comedies. In the movies, they’d get
tangled up together, laughing, and manage to get untangled and fall
in love.

It wasn’t, of course, accurate in
any way.

The leash clothes-lined her,
slamming her back into that cotton-covered chest as the nylon rope
wound around her, rubbing against her forearm viciously. The man’s
dog had decided running in circles was the order of the day. Around
and around and stinging, stinging “Holy freaking hell! Is that a
garrote, not a leash?” pain.

The other jogger wrapped his arms
around her and twisted, so they hit the ground in a whump—during
which she kneed him and elbowed him in several vital locations if
his groans of pain were anything to judge by.

The sheepdog managed to break free
and run off into the fog, dragging his leash behind him while
barking constantly. That dog was good and gone. Possibly forever.
He’d taken his chance at freedom and bolted into the fog—full-tilt.
His barking faded as fast as he did.

Lauren rolled off the man. She and
her assailant—though, really, she’d come out the victor here, lay
side-by-side on the ground, panting and gasping for breath. It was
nice that he’d given her a soft landing. She’d thank him for that
when she was sure they were both alive.

She glanced at him as he did the
same. He gave her a half-hearted smile. It managed to express
apology, but also—you won—I give up. Okay, so she’d landed on him
pretty hard.

If you were going to be body-slammed
in the fog…there were worse bodies to slam into.
Down, Lauren.
You’re not so far gone that you need to pick dates up off the
street.
She should let that one go…even if he looked a sort of
sexy-sweet, even breathing hard and beaten.

No. Just no.

And, okay, not that she had a type,
but his blond hair looked great against his tan, and she’d felt
those pecs pressed up against her cheeks, and they weren’t
bad.

Still no.

Because, on the other hand, she
probably looked like hell—a mess of sweat and bed-head—and she’d
just added blood and dirt to the mixture. Instinctually, she
brushed her brown hair back from her face where it’d escaped from
her ponytail, but she was really a lost cause.

Well, he was still
smiling.

“I feel like you’ve managed somehow
to extract my kidney with your elbow.” He had laugh lines in the
corners of his blue eyes that crinkled as he said it.

“I think your leash cut me clear to
the bone.” She held up her arm where an angry red welt was seeping
blood.

“Ouch,” he said, sitting up and
taking a closer look at her arm. His warm fingers on her cold skin
sent goose bumps across it and flutters through her stomach. “I’m
so sorry. I can see why you screamed.”

She’d screamed? Okay, she may have.
Yeah, that was a definite possibility. Lauren cleared her throat.
“It really wasn’t as pleasant as that might make it look.” It
stung. And if seeing him hadn’t distracted her, she might be curled
around her injury shouting obscenities.

“I’m sorry. My dog….” He looked
around. “Did you see which way he went?”

Lauren sat up and squinted out into
the fog. It was a white curtain all around them. “I’m not even sure
which way I was headed.” The fog, if anything, had thickened. They
sat there, surrounded by fog, with the air sticking to
them.

“Do you need that looked at? I can
take you to a doctor, and I’ll be happy to pay for it.”

She stared down at her arm. It
didn’t look pleasant. On the other hand, it wasn’t doctor’s office
levels of injury. If her team found out she went in for something
as pathetic as this, she’d never hear the end of it. They had a
saying on the team: rub some dirt in it, and you’ll be fine. She’d
definitely rubbed some dirt into it.

“I was thinking of being a zombie
for my friend’s Halloween party. This might work perfectly
actually,” she said. “How about you?”

“My injuries won’t work for a
costume,” he said. “Unless I’m intending to go as a monk, in which
case it’s perfect because I’m fairly certain I’m sterile
now.”

She laughed, but tried to cover it
until she saw him smile and then burst out laughing.

“My name is Daniel,” he said,
holding out a hand.

She shook it. “Lauren.”

His hand held hers still, and he
leaned closer. “Really?”

Warning bells went off. Abort!
Abort! Abort!

She tried to pull her hand free.
Normally, people didn’t have follow-up questions like that to an
introduction and, given her recent experiences in dating, she
didn’t trust follow-up questions anymore. She’d had a lot of
follow-up questions with human hair guy that had just led to more
terrifying discoveries.

He didn’t give up her
hand.

She cleared her throat.

“Lauren? It’s me,
Daniel.”

She tugged a smidge on her hand.
“Yeah, I got that.” Okay, time to make another running exit. This
was when being in shape paid-off.

He laughed. “Sorry, I sound inane.
We had a date two weeks ago but you cancelled at the last minute.”
He shook his head. “I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you. You
look just like your picture.”

She did? It was definitely time to
make a running exit. He’d been interested in her psychopath-bait
profile, and he thought this dragged-across-gravel look was okay.
That hurt actually. She’d scoured her entire hard drive for a photo
that said “like me” without looking desperate. Finally, she found
the one and put this best version of herself on that dating
profile, and apparently it wasn’t all that and equated to trolling
in the psych ward.

“Sorry about the text thing. I had a
previous date outside vandalizing my car. I decided I wasn’t really
good at dating after that.” Or picking men. Or attracting men. Or
even looking that great apparently. She was going to take a hard
look at that profile picture, maybe even hold it up beside her in
front of a mirror. Her zero and ten look were far too close
together for comfort.

“You did?” He released her hand, at
least.

Lauren got to her feet, brushing off
the back of her pants. “Uh-huh, he said the voice in his head,
Jerry, hated me…and my car too, I guess. I counted Jerry as the
third strike against my dating experience.”

“I’m sorry—that’s
horrible.”

She shrugged. “I guess I’m not
really good at dating using websites.”

“Me neither, apparently. You were
the only profile I was interested in, and you cancelled on me two
hours before our date by text.”

She winced. “That was bad. I’m
sorry. It was just…the guy before you had worn a shirt he’d
crocheted from hair he’d collected from the dumpster outside a hair
salon.”

Daniel blinked. “I feel like I keep
saying this, but…are you serious? You can’t be. Did the voices tell
him to do this?”

“That was a different
guy.”

Daniel laughed and then stared and
shook his head. “I’m sorry, I have absolutely no logical response
to that.”

“I didn’t either. That’s why I
cancelled our date. I think something about my profile attracted
only crazy people. I’d actually turned down some guys I could tell
were genuinely crazy.” One guy brought up his mother one too many
times for Lauren’s comfort. Another felt clothing was
optional.

“So, you’re saying I’m crazy?” he
asked, looking bemused.

“I have no idea, but I wasn’t
willing to take the chance.”

“You’re right. I probably am
crazy.”

She shook her head. “No, now I know
you’re not. If you can acknowledge the possibility that you’re
crazy, then you’re not crazy.”

“That’s a crazy theory.”

“It’s one hundred percent accurate
in practice when it comes to my dating life. In fact, the hair guy
even said, “I know what you’re thinking…I’m crazy, right?” and I
was agreeing with him for the first time all night, and then he
told me he wasn’t.”

He smiled. “It’s a shame you
cancelled our date. I might have enjoyed getting to know
you.”

She was regretting it too. It had
been a knee jerk reaction to Roger and Jerry standing on top of her
economy car and screaming while pummeling the crap out of
it.

“I’m sorry about that,” she said
again. This was how karma repaid you for cancelling a date in a
text. You got slammed into him in a situation with no possible
recovery, and you found out you were wrong…so wrong.

Well, maybe she could recover. Maybe
it wasn’t too late. Maybe….

Shrugging, he pointed ahead of her.
“You were headed that way, I believe. I’ll go the other way and
hopefully find my dog. If not, I suppose you can expect to see
‘unwanted’ posters up.”

“Unwanted?” Her voice sounded
squeaky. She felt a little unwanted. It was too late. She was
cancelling her phone’s texting plan. With great power came great
responsibility, and she’d blown it. Totally.

“He’s the most worthless dog I’ve
ever owned. He still refuses to do a thing I say, and I’ve had him
for three years.”

She could tell from his voice that
it didn’t matter. She’d always had a soft spot for guys who liked
animals. “You’re still crazy about him, though, I can
tell.”

His grin looked reluctant.
“Possibly. After running off and leaving you injured, he won’t get
any treats today.”

“Way to take a firm
stance.”

“You’re sure you’ll be
okay?”

Self-esteem bruised. Body battered.
Love life dead. Lauren nodded. “I’m hardcore these days. I’ve faced
down two blind dates and lived.”

“Three if you count
Jerry.”

“Three if you count Jerry.” This was
all really Jerry’s fault. If only karma went after imaginary people
because that bastard Jerry deserved what was coming to
him.

“It was nice to meet you, Lauren.”
He looked sincere as he said it, but then he turned and ran off in
the other direction and left her there.

She watched him until the fog
swallowed him up, and then she listened to the pound of his shoes.
He’d pointed her in the opposite direction from him. Go that
way!

Damn you, unlimited
texts!