Page 73 of Guys Can't Write Romance
“Are you kidding? This is entertainment gold,” Chloe said, her eyes dancing with genuine delight. “Daze, you should make this your next book. ‘How My Novel Knew I Was Crushing on My Writing Partner Before I Did.’”
Daisy peeked up from her hands, her hair slightly mussed from its repeated contact with the table. “I am not crushing on anyone!”
“Except, Ethan,” Ava added. “Right, Daisy?”
Daisy peeked up from the table. “Yes, Ava. Ethan’s my boyfriend. Not Rick.”
“Did you mean to say Rick or Chad?” Chloe said. “Because I’m getting the two of them confused.”
Daisy groaned and banged her head back on the table. “Chad. I’m not crushing on Chad,” she said to the table with almost zero conviction. Even her own characters were calling her out. And judging by the looks on Chloe and Ava’s faces, they didn’t believe it either.
“The table says it doesn’t buy it,” said Chloe, patting Daisy’s shoulder with mock sympathy.
“The table says you’re a bad influence,” Daisy muttered without lifting her head.
“Thank you. I work hard at it,” said Chloe. “Just one question, though.”
“What?” Daisy’s voice was muffled by her arms, which were now wrapped protectively around her head.
“Do we wear swimsuits to your guys’ surfboard wedding or dresses?”
“I hate you.”
Chapter eighteen
Interventions and Adult Entertainment
Rhino walked into the apartment, dropped his gym bag with a heavy thud, and stopped dead. The TV in the adjoining living room was playing something with snow globes and Christmas trees, and his roommate — hismaleroommate — sat on the couch watching it.
“No. No, no, no,” Rhino said. “Tell me you’re not in there watching a Hallmark movie.”
“It’s research,” Chad muttered from the couch, but the evidence of a one-man pity-party, complete with empty beer bottles and a half-eaten pizza, told otherwise.
“Research, my butt,” Rhino said as he entered the living room and stopped, eyes fixed on the TV. The scene had just cut to a man and woman baking Christmas cookies, their hands touching ‘accidentally’ as they reached for the same mixing spoon.
Rhino turned to Chad. “Seriously, bro? You’re turning yourself into a chick. Where’s Daisy?”
“She’s on a date.”
“With the boring guy?”
“Yup.”
“So, you’re just gonna sit here and mope watching chick flicks?”
“I’m not moping.” Chad held up his notebook. “See. Taking notes for my book. Go check out the yoga instructor so I can work.”
“No way, bro. We’re watching ‘Die Hard’ to get your T levels back to normal.”
Rhino walked over to the cabinet beneath the TV and opened it, clearly expecting to find their usual collection of action movies, horror films, and sports documentaries.
“No, wait!” Chad shot up from the couch a second too late, lunging forward in a desperate attempt to intercept his roommate.
“What in the actual hell?” Rhino said, staring at row after row of Hallmark movies, organized by season. Little sticky notes marked different categories: ‘Christmas Magic,’ ‘Small Town Romance,’ ‘Second Chances.’ There were even color-coded tabs sticking out of the cases.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Chad said.
“Really?” Rhino said, pulling out several DVDs and reading the titles with growing horror. “‘The Valentine Veterinarian’? ‘Mistletoe Mistakes’? ‘Summer Love’s Sweet Sunshine’?” He looked at Chad with the grave concern of a doctor delivering a terminal diagnosis. “Looks pretty bad, bro.”
