Hope Breaks: A New Adult Romantic Comedy Read Online Free PDF

hadn’t I thought the same thing at lunch?
    Bette shot me through with a haughty glare.  “Believe me, Miss I-haven’t-been-out-in-three-years,” I cringed at the accuracy of her little jibe.  “This is a date.”  And then she looked at my t-shirt and snorted. 
    “That’s a good opening tactic—especially by Wal-Mart standards.  But you’re going to have to clean up better than that for your date.”
    I shook my head.  “I think I’d look pretty stupid opening the door to drive him home in a slinky little black dress.”
    Bette pointedly looked me in the eye, then let her eyes dip down to my chest for a five count, and then back up to glower triumphantly.
    “Good point,” I admitted.
    “And no,” she continued patiently.  “I don’t mean dress to the nines.  He’ll be all oil stained and smelling like exhaust fumes.  I’m just saying shower, do something with your hair,” I reached up and touched my ponytail.  “Maybe a little makeup.  Oh, and find a top that accentuates your boobs without making you look like a Hooter’s waitress.”
    I sighed and let my head fall back.  This dating thing was already exhausting.  And I hadn’t even started it.
     
    ***
     
    On Bette’s counsel, I hit the showers, and of course my phone was ringing the second I stumbled out all pink and warm and soaked. I wrapped a towel around me, and then one hastily about my head.  When I answered the phone I was sure that I sounded breathless—maybe I’d be mistaken for a phone sex operator.
    “Uh, hi…” a young man said tentatively.  “Is this Hope Jones, the photographer?”
    Oh, it was one of the guys I’d slipped my card to this afternoon.  Billy or Drew?
    Probably Drew.  Billy seemed too cocksure to ever sound unsmooth when talking to the opposite sex.
    “Yes,” I said, sitting down on my bed and pulling the pen and pad of legal paper I kept on my nightstand to me.  “I was hoping you’d call.  This is Drew, right?”
    “Uh, yeah.  I talked to my girl and she’s fine with it as long as she’s the girl in the pictures with me.  I think she’s getting a kick out the prospect of being on a book cover.”
    I smiled.  “That’s great.  Now I won’t have to dig up someone else.  When can you two come for a photo shoot?  I’m free all week.”  And please say soon—or I’ll be free for weeks to come too.
    “Well, we’re both off tomorrow—”
    “Perfect!” I practically yelped.  “I mean, tomorrow would be great.  How about ten?”
    “Okay… yeah, sure.  Should we dress up or anything?”
    “Dress like you two are going out on a date.  And maybe bring a change of clothes that are a little fancier.  We’ll see what works best.  If necessary, I have a few outfits that might fit you.”
    “Alright, then.  Ten it is.  See you then book-cover lady.”  And Drew hung up.
    Book cover lady?
    I sighed and shook my head.  It would serve me right if that nickname stuck.
    I whipped the towel from around my head and got out my diffuser.  Usually I didn’t give a rat’s ass how my curly brown tresses looked.  My usual look was either a ponytail or a messy bun on the back of my head. 
    But Bette had been right.  My hair needed to look better on my second excursion with Jake.  Not Playboy sexy, but at least not a disheveled rat’s nest.
    So I rubbed some Bed Head into my hair, and diffused my unruly curls until they fell like cascading mahogany waves around my shoulders.
    From there I put on some eyeliner, a hint of a nude eye shadow, and then some lip-gloss that was just a couple shades redder than my own lips.
    I trekked to my closet and opened it to find a kajillion pairs of faded, loose fitting jeans, and another kajillion well used t-shirts.  I had to pull the hit parade apart like the red sea to get to my dressier clothes.
    I glowered at the selection afforded me and pulled out a nice silky blue top that had a scooped neckline—but not nearly considered plunging.