Page 9 of Valentine's Day Daddy

“Come on, Ash. There are a lot of guys here—and not all of them seemed like tools,” she said. “I hate seeing you alone. You’ve got so much to give, and I just want to see you happy.”

I look down into my drink and frown. It’s not that I don’t appreciate what Emma is trying to do for me. She always has my best interests at heart and does everything she can to help make me happy. Or at least, help me find my way to happiness. It’s not that I enjoy being miserable alone. There’s some piece of me deep down that wants to love and be loved. To be happy. I just don’t think it’s in the cards for me. Not in this lifetime anyway.

I’ve had a few relationships in my life. A couple in high school and a couple in college. But they all ended badly shortly after I made it clear I wasn’t ready to have sex with them. I’m not some purist or one of those girls who claim to be saving it for marriage. I don’t hold sex up to be this powerful, mythical thing, and don't think my vagina has some magical power to be granted to the one who proves himself worthiest.

But I know my own value. I know my worth. And I know that I’m worth a lot more than being treated like somebody’s personal sex toy. All the guys I went out with started off nice enough but when they found out I wasn’t willing to give in and sleep with them just because we’d been together some arbitrary amount of time, they all changed. Every one of them. They went from nice guys to assholes in the blink of an eye. That’s not an experience I want to repeat and so, I’ve kept my distance from the whole love and romance thing.

“Can’t I be alone and still be happy?” I ask.

“You can. But the orgasms aren’t nearly as good,” she replies with a wink. “Ezra Mullen looked pretty into you, you know.”

“He’s into anything with tits and I’m not interested in being somebody’s conquest,” I tell her. “He can find somebody else to be another notch on his bedpost.”

“I think you’re misjudging the situation and are maybe misjudging him.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I caught the way he was looking at you and so I watched him.”

“And?”

“And I saw that, like you, he sat at the tables with this look of disdainful disinterest on his face,” she replies. “Except when he sat with you. With you, he was engaged and seemed very interested. When he was sitting with you, he didn’t seem like he was counting down the seconds until he could go home.”

“I think you’re seeing things. More like, you’re seeing what you want to see.”

"I'm not and I’m telling you, girl, he’s into you.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not mutual, so…”

“Okay, okay, I’ll back off,” she says.

“Good. Thank you.”

“For now.”

I roll my eyes but laugh. “Can we get out of here now?”

“You don’t want to stay and socialize a bit?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Fine,” she says. “But, if we leave now, I get to read the email with all your matches before you delete it. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“All right, grouchy girl. Let’s go.”

As we start heading for the doors, I look around and though part of me wants to stay and mingle, wants to meet somebody nice, I know that nobody will understand me. Hell, maybe I don't even understand myself. Either way, I'm not really in the mental or emotional space to be putting myself out there like Emma wants.

Just before we get to the door though, the hair on the back of my neck stands on end and my skin breaks out in goosebumps. Knowing I’m being watched, I turn around and see Ezra Mullen standing on the stage next to that tall, gorgeous woman who emceed the event. Seeing him standing with a woman who looks like she just stepped out of a Victoria’s Secret catalog kind of confirms for me that this wasn’t a serious deal for him. His participation in this whole thing was nothing more than a publicity stunt for his company.

As I look at them standing on the stage together, I'm sure he's going home with her—and I can't blame him. She's stunning. In his place, I’d probably go home with her instead of me too. I know I shouldn’t compare myself to her or anyone, but she makes me feel like a plain, ordinary, maybe even frumpy, dowdy, and awkward girl. And even though I’ve got no real interest in him, I can’t say it doesn’t still sting a little bit to know I was all just part of his game.

His eyes are on me, and a smarmy smile crosses his lips as he raises his glass to me. So, being the rational and mature woman I am, I sneer and give him the finger before turning and walking out the door with Emma.

5

“So, it looks like the event was a big success. Congratulations,” I say.

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