Chapter One
Brielle
Nice, normal girls don’t do things like this. They don’t hire a man for sex lessons to help them seduce their crush. What’s wrong with me?
I take another sip of chardonnay and give myself a mental slap on the ass. Game face, Brie. Kirby and I would be perfect together, and I know it.
I narrow my eyes at the online ad I came across when browsing the dating sites. It’s titled “The Gentleman Mentor,” but it’s the ad itself that has my heart kicking up speed.
Fit, masculine, educated male, late 20s. Discreet and forthcoming.
Under my direction and guidance, women learn seduction techniques, how to achieve climax with and without a partner, explore physical gratification, and more.
Dominant, but don’t be scared, kitten, I’m not into pain.
Do not be misled. I am pure mischief. But I’m the best kind of trouble.
So, what do you say? Do you feel like being naughty?
If you’re ready to reach new levels of pleasure, contact me at @thedominantgentleman. Serious inquiries only.
My pulse pounds in my ears as my cursor hovers over the message link, willing me to do something. Taunting me, mocking me.
I don’t know why this is so hard for me. It’s a simple message sent from the safety of my own home. I can just throw caution to the wind. If he’s a creep or an asshole, which he probably is, I can delete the message and pretend this never happened. And move on with my all-too-depressing life. Oh, joy.
I decided to take action after my last date from hell. I’m the poster child for bad first dates. You name it; I’ve lived it. From online dating disasters where the man who showed up wasn’t the guy in the photo, but instead someone’s grandfather, to a man whose wife crashed our date and threw a drink in my face. It was a coffee drink too, and freaking hot.
I’m tired of all the games. Especially since Kirby and I would be perfect together, if he’d just get his head out of his ass. After my last bad date, I met up with Kirby for a cocktail since he’s my best guy friend. He listened while I complained about men, supplying me with chocolate martinis and his comforting presence.
My take-no-prisoners attitude was born when Kirby, who I’d been secretly in love with for the better part of five years, looked at me solemnly and told me, “Someday I’m going to need to find a good girl like you, Brie, and settle down once and for all.”
I wanted to scream, I’m right here!
Instead, I nodded and mumbled, “Uh-huh.”
Which leads me to tonight. I created a generic profile specifically for this purpose. Fittingly, I’m Bookworm92.
Dear Gentleman Mentor,
As I type the first line, I realize I haven’t felt this alive in months. There’s something exciting and taboo about this, and apparently that gets my blood pumping. My fingers fly across the keyboard, typing quickly, before I can change my mind. It’s like they know something I don’t.
I am responding to your ad for lessons in seduction. I’d like your help in attracting a man. A little bit about me—I’m twenty-six, currently single, and I work as a real estate agent. I enjoy reading, yoga, and baking. I guess I’m just a regular girl who needs some extra help. I’ve never been good at the whole dating thing.
—Potential Client
With my heart pounding out of my chest, my finger hovers over the Send button. My mouth is bone dry, and my pulse is rioting in my throat. I know this is a big moment, but I can’t explain why. I click Send and take a deep gulp of air.
Leaning against the mountain of pillows piled at my headboard, I allow myself to daydream a little. What if this actually works? I picture myself with Kirby and a fond smile dances on my lips. The advice from my friends is to move on, to find another man who is as passionate about me as I am about him. But the thing is, I’ve tried. I’ve been on forty-three first dates and only three second dates. My track record is awful.
How do you even know if you’re dating, anyway? It’s all texting and meeting up for drinks on neutral ground and then waiting, hoping he’ll call. It’s casual sex and drunken hookups that you hope lead to more. It’s online dating profiles where you try to be witty and charming, and irresistibly sexy and cute. Achieving that perfect combination of girl-next-door and bombshell.
And it’s exhausting. I’m not any good at it. I’ve never been aggressive or flirty, or even very good at making conversation. I’m boring. A bookworm. A dedicated and loyal friend and employee. This is why I need help.
His help.
I glance at my e-mail again and almost shriek when I see his response. I sit up straighter and adjust my laptop screen.
Bookworm92,
Your e-mail bored me to tears. No wonder you need help attracting a man. Tell me about yourself. Hold nothing back. I’m a busy and demanding man. Dig deep. Why are you really single, and what do you need me for? Make me believe it, and I will give you the same candor.
—X
What a prick. I’m about to delete his e-mail and forget the entire failed experiment when a little voice whispers inside me, He’s right. My e-mail was boring and surface level. It didn’t tell him anything about me, or why he should work with me, if he’s as busy as his e-mail suggests he is.
I go to my kitchen, pour a shot of vodka, and down it in a single fiery gulp. Damn, that burns. I’m not some weak woman who doesn’t know what she wants. I let the fire fuel me.
Feeling determined, I return to my bedroom, set my laptop across my legs, and type out a response.