Chronicles of a Serial Dater - Book 7: A New Adult Romantic Comedy Read Online Free PDF Page A

bestie.”
    I took a step back and cocked my head to the side, holding her back with a warning glare. “Okay. Now I know there’s something going on. I’ve never heard you use that word unironically.”
    She mimed my posture. “Is unironically a word?”
    “Don’t change the subject!” I stared at the front of the bar. A loud cheer rang out followed by lots of clapping and hooting. “Did I tell you this is where I came for my first Tinder date?” I asked suspiciously.
    Anette’s brows furrowed comically. She turned to look at the sign again as if it’d changed in the last minute. “Is it? That’s so weird. Well,” she declared throwing her hands up in the air, “we’re already here. Want a drink?”
    I squinted at her but couldn’t see a reason not to. “I think the Mets are playing tonight…”
    “Yeah! They’re totally playing! They’re playing their asses off, but you can only see them in here.” She held the door open. I hesitated at the threshold before taking a long step inside. That’s when I saw him.
    Clint.
    He was standing at the end of the bar, leaning against the dark wood watching a TV above. As the door swung shut behind us, he turned. The sleeves of his black, button-up shirt were loosely rolled up his forearms. His dark hair was styled differently, like he’d actually taken a comb to it rather than just run his fingers through. The din of the bar faded away the moment our eyes met. I was vaguely aware of Anette saying something beside me, but I couldn’t understand the words. My gut clenched. I wanted to turn and run, avoid the confrontation I’d both hoped for and feared.
    Anette grabbed both my shoulders and slid me forward a touch. “Go get him, tiger.”
    Clint straightened as I walked to him on trembling legs. He gave me a crooked smile, a single dimple forming beneath the scruff of his beard. “I see our little ruse worked.”
    “Ruse? You…” I glanced to Anette who shooed me with both hands.
    Clint grabbed my attention back by holding my hand. “I want to apologize. I…”
    “No. I have to apologize to you. I don’t exactly know what I said that night but…”
    I stopped as he squeezed my hand. “Please. It’s better if I go first.”
    He guided me to an empty table, made sure I was comfortable, and returned to the bar to order us a couple drinks. I couldn’t stop staring at him, like my brain was playing tricks on me. I searched through the crowd for Anette, who surely was watching this all play out like her personal soap opera, but couldn’t find her.
    Clint set down two bottles of beer I didn’t recognize. “It’s English, hope you don’t mind.”
    “Of course not. I like English.” Smooth, Talia.
    He picked at the label and seemed to steel himself. “I’m sorry I haven’t reached out to you sooner. I…”
    “It’s fine!” I gushed. “I know you’ve been busy with the book and…”
    “Talia. It’s really better if I just get this all out in one go.” His firm tone and serious posture gave me pause. Maybe this isn’t going to be good…
    “Okay,” I squeaked. I took a sip of beer to keep my mouth from running.
    “The afternoon before that party, a strange letter had been delivered to my hotel. There wasn’t a return address and no information about who it’d come from. Inside the envelope was a single piece of paper with a web address written on it. This was obviously odd and piqued my interest. When I typed it in, I found myself looking at a website called Chronicles of a Serial Dater.”
    You know that feeling you get on the first drop of a roller coaster? Or when you lean back in your chair and the balance tips in the wrong direction? Combine both those sensations and that’s how it felt to hear Clint utter the name of my blog.
    “Clint, please…”
    His eyes flicked up to mine when I spoke but he continued. “I didn’t know what it was at first, or why it’d been sent to me. I read that first post, well, your latest post…”