Plum Girl (Romance) Read Online Free PDF Page A

Derek was so mortified, he never called me again. I got blown off because of you two. Well, especially you."
    "Why especially me?"
    "Your laugh can be a little much."
    "I didn't know his name was Derek."
    "Derek Something-with-an-S."
    Peach had to be one of the only people on the planet who almost never got blown off. It figured that the one time she did, it had very little to do with her.
    "Well, we never specified that we'd be exclusive, per se, but that's not the point," Lonnie said now. "The point is..." Peach narrowed her eyes speculatively, putting her hands on her slim hips, and Lonnie plopped onto the yellow-and-blue-striped sofa. "Look, the point is that Terry and I have this set routine and... it works fine for both of us. So why am I going to start something with Dominick that inevitably is going to get all confusing, and I'll just end up getting hurt in the end?"
    Peach sighed. "Right, I forgot the 'every man's out to dump me' obsession," she said, making quotation marks with her fingers.
    "Hey, point out one time when it hasn't happened." She started to respond, but Lonnie cut her off. "You know, it doesn't even matter. I can't do two guys at once." Peach's eyebrows shot up. "You know what I mean," Lonnie amended. "I can't see two guys at the same time."
    "See? You see Terry, like, once a month."
    "What's your point?"
    "Lon, it just seems... Look, ever since Jake, it seems—"
    "Jake has nothing to do with anything. All I'm saying is that I'm involved with Terry right now. That's just how it is."
    "You act like it's a prison sentence. You do have free will."
    "I know that, jeez," Lonnie said, frustrated. "I like Terry."
    "Yeah, but you like Dominick more. I can tell."
    "Can we please drop this?"
    Peach sighed one more time before relenting. "Okay. I give up for now."
    Lonnie leaned back on the soft, striped pillows and closed her eyes. Why did dating have to be so damn difficult?
    * * *
    Dominick tossed his tie, which had become significantly loosened over the course of the evening, and his coat onto the kitchen table, grabbed a pizza box out of the refrigerator, and headed into the living room.
    He thought about Lonnie. She'd become prettier since college. Of course, he'd always thought she was cute, but he'd thought that about half the girls he met in school. Lonnie's look was always different, though. Back then she'd had carelessly wavy hair, mismatched clothes, and a sort of sweetness about her. She was definitely the last person he expected to see eight years later. The girl in the elevator was heavier than he remembered, with tamer hair, but still, he recognized her almost immediately. There was something about her now... something intoxicating.
    It had to be intoxicating, or why else did he turn into an asshole wherever she was concerned these days? He remembered the first time they had lunch, when he'd known how much he was rambling on about his job but couldn't seem to stop himself. There he was, sitting across from this smart, sweet girl—with sexy eyes and a luscious mouth and great breasts—and he'd wanted to impress her. And she'd just looked at him with those pretty eyes, and smiled like she was actually interested.
    Then tonight he'd gotten unequivocally shot down.
    Dominick shook his head as he stared at the TV, not registering the program in front of him. Everything had been going well. They'd been sitting at a private table, and things were just starting to get interesting when he scared her off. Even though the bar was dark, he could see some color drift to her cheeks after he touched her, and then the conversation went to hell. She'd come up with an excuse to leave, which he brilliantly topped off with the admission that lately his nights consisted of testing software.
    He didn't know why he was so irritated by what had happened that night. It wasn't as if they knew each other that well. They just emailed occasionally (okay, nearly every day), had a few lunches (with no awkward silences), and