Page 3 of Rules in Love
Jane did, though. And that was why, years ago, after the first date I’d had since my son was born ended with the words,“Look, you’re hot and all, but I’m not after no baby-mamma drama,”Jane and her sassy, before-their-time heroines came to my rescue. They, alongside a worrying number of rom-coms and a bottle or two of rosé, helped to create…drumroll…The Romantic Ideologies of Scarlett Grant. A set of rules for love that I hoped would steer my future happiness in the right direction. But I decided to refer to them as ideologies, not rules, ‘cause I was classy like that.
Abiding by these ideologies was relatively simple. My son and career were my focus, and they became even more so almost two years ago—five or so years after my ideological epiphany. The fact that I was a dateless wonder who made Mother Teresa look like a skank may have helped too.
My best friend and fellow architect, Theodore, and I were approached by a swanky New York architectural firm looking to inject some young blood and international concepts into their designer pool. They had trawled the globe for hot new talent and somehow found us. Becoming their first recruits meant leaving London, warm beer, and our complicated pasts behind to take the big leap across the pond. Whether fate or fortune, it was an almost unheard-of career prospect for two designers with such little experience. But just as Teddy had done years earlier with me, they saw something in us, in our work, and were willing to take a chance. Their faith also delivered my son the opportunity to grow up closer to his dad, a New York native.
Things were going great. Sexless, but great. I was smashing goals, living my best WWJD—What Would Jane Do—life. But then Finn showed up and ruined/sexified everything.
If only he weren’t just so gorgeous. If you took the most lickable attributes of Sam Heughan, Chris Hemsworth, and the hot model Selena Gomez was obsessed with and was arrested over in that film clip, you have my Finn.
Not that he was mine. But he could be one day. If I ever worked up the nerve to speak to him—and had a complete face, body, and personality overhaul.
Sigh. It really was a conundrum. A sexy, blond, focus-shifting, concentration-diverting, ideology-ruining conundrum.
Scarlett
Two weeks later
“Just one more drink, Scar. After that, I promise to have you home and watching some depressing period piece before you can say Colin Firth is the best Darcy.”
“You said that two glasses ago,Theo.” I earned a scowl for that, which was exactly why I did it. Teddy hated being called Theo. “Your mention of The Firth gets you a pass, but it’s Sunday, and I’m fading fast. I need pajamas covering my body in under thirty minutes.”
Theodore sighed and rubbed his eye with his index finger. “I find it so depressing that you’re in a bar this gorgeous, with these killer views of the city,andthe greenery,andthe extravagant chandeliers,andthe beautiful guys checking you out cause you look like this”—he scanned me up and down and cast a chef’s kiss to the air—“and you’re pretending all you want sliding over your body when you get home is pajamas.”
“I’m not pretending. You know I’m not the type to take some random guy home.”
“I wasn’t thinking about a random guy. I was thinking of a certain tall, blond beefcake you can’t stop drooling over.”
“I do not drool over him.”I sniff him. Stare at him. Maybe take an odd sneaky photo. But I do not drool.
“Please, I can find you anywhere in the building now. You leave a silvery trail like a snail. And I can’t blame you. The man is a dish. As much as I love you, you should be here with him, not me.”
He made a good point. Just like he always did.
Theodore William Henry Digby III was my best friend, and thanks to his loaded family and their global property portfolio, he was my forgiving and generous landlord. We met as nervous architecture students on our first day at university. He was gorgeous, reminding me of a young Hugh Grant, with soft, fluffy hair that constantly flopped into his big, brown, puppy-dog eyes, and a smile that melted my heart. I was instantly attracted to him, which, with my history, guaranteed he was either taken, gay, or a complete asshole. It turned out he was gay, but our instant, mutual obsession blossomed into one of history’s greatest friendships.
I didn’t know where I would be without that man or my daily dose of vitamin D—his appallingly inappropriate name for our morning kiss. Showering me with kind words of reassurance and ego boosts was his favorite thing—or was when he wasn’t trying to prove a point like a bitch.
We were at M.I.X., our most beloved bar in The Village. Despite wanting to leave thirty minutes early, I’d had an okay night till that point. But Teddy spinning facts about hot Australian colleagues, I maybe had fluid-control issues around, brought it all too a screaming halt.
“There’s a chance he knows. I’m pretty sure he knows. Do you think he knows?”
“He knows, I know, even the guy in the office next door with no idea who you are knows. We all know.”
“Is it really that obvious?”
“Yes, Scar. Yes. It is that obvious. And all I can say is, thank God you don’t have a penis. Your constant, massive erection would be very off-putting.” Unable to stop my giggles, I gave Teddy a lazy nudge in the arm then laid my head on his shoulder. He kissed my mess of curls, then handed over an ungodly amount of cash for his drink. “Why don’t you just go up to him, introduce yourself, and then climb onto his lap.”
“As tempting as that sounds, Ideology Three, Teddy. Number three forbids it.”
Ideology #3 - DO NOT date men you work with.
Promised last beverage in hand, we returned to what had become our regular table. Thanks to Teddy’s ongoing flirtation with the staff, we’d secured a prime location. It sat just a few paces from the bar in a quiet-ish little nook overlooking the balcony. It was an ideal spot, letting us feel like part of the action without engaging with anyone, people-watch with ease,andstill hear each other bitch about what we saw. It also sat directly beneath a cooling vent, which was greatly appreciated by our still-acclimating English constitutions.
With all the vigor of damp linguine, I collapsed into my chair and buried my face in my hands. I could see the pity on Teddy’s face through my fingers and watched as he took a deliberate sip of his margarita, then cupped his hands over mine. “You and your bloody rules. They will have you dying a revirginized spinster like your bloody friend Jane. You do know that, don’t you?”
“Most likely, yes,” I huffed, “but I’m serious about this. I am.Don’t date men from workis an ideology for a good reason. Young women are held to a different standard than men. I would be judged way harsher for dating a co-worker than you or anyone else would.”
“I don’t know, Scar. I think it’s an easy excuse to hide from the world, which needs to cease immediately. It’s time to get back out there, Sweet Cheeks.”
