Faking Ms. Right: A Hot Romantic Comedy (Dirty Martini Running Club Book 1)

My shoes hit the pavement in a steady rhythm, and I tried to concentrate on my breathing. Running wasn’t my favorite activity—I’d never been what you’d call an athlete—but something happens when you turn thirty. You just can’t recover the same way.

My girlfriends and I couldn’t, at least. Not from any of the things we used to do without batting an eyelash—or gaining a pound. Martini Mondays. Taco Tuesdays. Wine Wednesdays. Thirsty Thursdays. Fast-food Fridays (don’t judge). Not from binging on cheap pizza and chocolate ice cream because one of us had an epic breakup. And let’s be honest, best friends cannot shirk their gorge-on-crap-food-and-get-drunk duties just because said breakup occurred after the age of twenty-nine.

“Are we done yet?” Nora asked. She jogged beside me in full makeup, looking gorgeous as always. Her thick, dark hair was in a beautifully curled ponytail that swished and swayed as she moved.

Hazel looked at her high-tech watch. “Almost. We’re at two-point-seven miles. We’re doing three today.”

“Ugh,” Nora said. She was acting put out, but she didn’t even sound winded.

“Nora…” Breath. “You’re doing awesome.” Breath. “You’re not even breathing hard.”

“Her metabolic rate has improved,” Hazel said, pushing her glasses back up her nose.

I’d been best friends with Hazel and Nora since forever. The three of us lived in the same apartment building now, but we’d met in middle school and could have been voted girls least likely to be best friends. We were all so different. Nora had always been exceptionally beautiful—and popular. Men loved her, and women wanted to be her. Hazel was gorgeous in her own way, but she tended to minimize it. Plus, she was brilliant—an actual, bona fide genius. I think she even had a plaque somewhere.

And then there was me. People usually called me cute, rather than beautiful. Being blond and admittedly a little bit bubbly added to the cute factor. I had a reputation for being an optimist, and it was true. I tended to see the good in everything, and everyone—which occasionally got me into trouble.

Okay, maybe not occasionally. Maybe it often got me into trouble.

“You realize I’m only doing this to offset the copious amounts of vodka I’m planning to drink this week, right?” Nora asked.

“Nora, we’ve been over the benefits of regular exercise,” Hazel said. “For starters—”

“Stop,” Nora and I said together. We both loved Hazel, but once she got going on a topic, it was hard to shut her up.

“We’ve heard your statistics-laced lecture at least a dozen times,” Nora said.

“It’s really good,” I said between breaths. “Good information, I mean.”

“I’m just saying the facts are well-documented,” Hazel said.

The park where we’d started our run came into view, so we slowed to a walk to cool down. Streetlights winked to life above us. We usually ran in the evenings, and the sun would be setting soon. I put my hands on my hips and took deep breaths. Hazel pressed her fingers to the side of her throat, taking her pulse. She always recorded it at the start and end of every run. Nora pulled her phone out of her sports bra and checked her messages.

“Good job, ladies,” I said. “That was a great run.”

“It was,” Hazel said. “But I think we’re reaching a plateau. We might want to start incorporating fartleks.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Nora asked. “You didn’t say fart-something, did you?”

“Fartleks,” Hazel said. “It’s a Swedish term meaning speed play. It blends continuous training with intervals—periods of fast running broken up by recovery periods at a slower pace.”

Nora laughed. “I don’t see how running at any pace is considered a recovery period. It’s still running.”

“I don’t know, it sounds good to me,” I said. “Hazel can map out the program and tell us what to do.”

We made it to the parking lot and stood behind Hazel’s car to finish cooling down and to stretch. When we were all finished, we walked across the street to Brody’s Brewhouse.

It was possible we always came here to start our runs because Brody’s was right across the street. Their bar was one of the best in Seattle, and the bartenders never minded us coming in all sweaty. In fact, it was Jake, one of the regular bartenders, who’d given us our nickname—the Dirty Martini Running Club.

Jake was working tonight and gave us a nod when we came in. We chose a tall table with high-backed stools in the bar section. Brody’s had a nice casual vibe with wood paneling and comfortable seating. Their food was top-notch, too, especially their homemade potato chips. Not that we ordered those very often.

“Ice waters to start?” Jake asked.

“You know the drill, baby,” Nora said, curling her pouty lips in a smile. She winked at him.

He winked right back, but Jake was only playing. Nora knew it, too. He was devilishly good-looking, but the big fat gold ring on his left hand was a constant reminder that Jake was not available.

Nora was never serious about men, anyway. But she did love to flirt. It was probably her favorite hobby, besides running and drinking. And she really only ran because we made her.

Jake brought us each an ice water with lemon, then asked for our orders. We all ordered salads and dirty martinis, as usual. The salads were another concession we’d all had to make to the reality of post-twenties life.

We weren’t willing to give up the martinis.

Our drinks and salads came out quickly—another reason we loved this place—and we started eating.

“How was your weekend?” Hazel asked. “Do anything exciting?”

Nora shrugged. “I went out with Max again, but I think I’m over it.”

“But you guys have only been seeing each other for a month or so,” I said. “I thought you really liked him.”

“He’s not bad,” she said. “But if I keep going out with him, he’s going to get attached. I do not want that happening.”

“Would it be so terrible to have a real relationship?” I asked.

“I’m just not interested,” she said. “I like my life the way it is. A man would only complicate things.”

I didn’t push the issue. Nora always said things like that when one of her temporary boyfriends seemed to be getting serious. Anytime she thought a guy was developing feelings for her, she’d fly out of there faster than my ex-boyfriend’s buddies when the bar tab was due.

“What about you, Hazel?” I asked.

Hazel adjusted her glasses. “Well, a certain someone published another article. I don’t understand why the scientific community doesn’t run him out of town, metaphorically speaking. He’s a menace.”

In addition to being a genius, Hazel was a psychology researcher at UW. She’d been embroiled in what was becoming a vicious rivalry with another psychologist for months. It was all she could talk about.

“Did you read his article?” I asked.

“Of course. Every unsubstantiated word. He has no business calling himself a scientist.”

Nora and I shared a look. Genius or not, Hazel tended to have a one-track mind. Once in a while, we used the word obsessive, although she denied it. But she was definitely becoming obsessed with this guy and his supposedly bad research.

“I know how you should deal with him.” Nora smirked behind her drink.

Hazel pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sleeping with Corban Nash.”

“I actually agree with Hazel,” I said. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“I never said anything about sleeping,” Nora said. “I was thinking more along the lines of blowing his mind by fucking him senseless a few times.”

My cheeks flushed hot and I glanced away, clearing my throat.

Nora laughed, a light tinkling sound. “Everly, you’re the cutest. I love making you blush. It’s so easy.”

“No, it’s not,” I said. But she was completely right. It was very easy to make me blush.

“Come on, Hazel,” Nora said. “You have too much repressed sexual energy. All that beautiful womanhood needs an outlet.”

“I disagree,” Hazel said. “I’ve decided I’m no longer dating. Or having sex. Or engaging in any sort of relational exchanges with men.”

“Why would you do a silly thing like that?” Nora asked.

Hazel pushed her glasses up her nose. “To use a common colloquialism, I’ve been there, done that. I’ve dated casually. I’ve been in a long-term relationship. Neither worked well for me, and I have other things in my life that are taking my focus right now.”

“If that’s what you think is best,” I said.

Nora scrunched her nose. “No men? At all?”

“I don’t need a man to be satisfied with my life,” Hazel said.

“Of course you don’t need men,” Nora said. “But they’re very nice to have around. They can fix things, and lift things that are heavy. And when it comes to sex, I will admit there are a multitude of ways to keep yourself satisfied—but let’s be honest, nothing beats the almighty cock.”

I put a finger to my lips. “Nora, not so loud.”

“Speaking of,” Nora said, turning to me. “What am I thinking? You had your date with Gunnar on Saturday. How was it?”

I sighed. “It wasn’t good.”

“Oh no. Do you want to tell us about it?” Nora asked. “I mean, obviously you have to; I’m just trying to be nice.”

After a string of bad first dates, I’d been ready to side with Hazel and give up on dating. Or at least take a good, long break. But Nora had offered to pick my next date. Her theory was that we could outsmart my bad dating luck by having someone else choose who I went out with.

She’d found Gunnar, a guy she deemed Everly-date-worthy, on a dating app. I’d messaged him, hoping her theory was right.

Her theory had been wrong. Very, very wrong.

“First of all, I thought we were going to lunch, but he took me to a wedding.”

“On your first date?” Hazel asked.

“Yes, and he was a groomsman,” I said. “He didn’t tell me until we were in the car, already on the way. He had some excuse about thinking the wedding was next weekend and he didn’t want to break our date. I should have gone home right then. But I thought maybe an unconventional first date was a good sign.”

“That’s fair logic,” Hazel said.

“You’d think. It was two hours away, at a winery in the mountains. The wedding itself wasn’t terrible, but as soon as we got to the reception, everyone started guzzling tequila like they were at a club in Mexico over spring break. I wound up on the dance floor among a bunch of drunk people twerking. A bridesmaid rubbed her boobs all over me like a stripper giving a standing lap dance, and then a cake fight broke out. I barely made it out of there alive. And that’s still not the worst part.”

“What could be worse than all that?” Hazel asked.

I shuddered, the memory of my awful Saturday burned into my brain. “Oh my god, I don’t know if I want to tell you.”

“Come on, sweetie,” Nora said. “Circle of trust.”

Nora clasped hands with Hazel on one side, then offered me her other hand while Hazel did the same.

I took both their hands, forming our sacred circle of trust. “Okay. I went outside to figure out what to do, and Gunnar came out with one of the drunk bridesmaids. She was hanging all over him, basically humping his leg.”

“Oh god,” Nora said.

“So then he invited me to come with them to the hotel next door for a threesome. He said he had enough for both of us, and then she made some very graphic comments about what she’d do to me, if I was willing to do the same to her.”

“She said she’d eat you out if you ate her out, didn’t she?” Nora asked, completely nonchalant.

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, but did you need to say it out loud?”

“I was just clarifying.”

“Obviously I said no. I took a picture of him with the drunk bridesmaid and texted it to him so he’d see it when he sobered up, and told him it was why I was blocking his number.”

“Good,” Hazel said.

Nora let go of my hand and held hers out. “I need to see this.”

I got out my phone and showed her the photo. The lighting wasn’t great, but it showed a disheveled, cake-smeared Gunnar, with a woman in an ugly peach bridesmaid dress groping him on the front porch of the winery.

“Wow,” Nora said, holding the phone by her fingertips, as if the photo itself would soil her. “That’s horrible.”

“It was exactly as bad as it sounds. Even I can’t sugar coat it. I was stuck at a stranger’s wedding two hours from home where basically everyone was drunk. My date ditched me because I wouldn’t go to a hotel for a threesome. And I didn’t even get any cake because they ruined it with the food fight.”

“Honey, I am so sorry.” Nora put my phone down and squeezed my hand. “This is all my fault.”

“No, it’s not. I know he was your pick, but it was just a guy on a dating app. It’s not like you could have known.”

“How did you get home?” Hazel asked.

“Oh, well, that’s the good part, actually. I met the family that owns the winery. They’re the sweetest people. They offered me a guest cottage for the night and I ended up having dinner with them. I would have called one of you to come get me, but they insisted on driving me home yesterday. And before you freak out because I’d just met them, they’re all married adults and most of them have kids. I drove back yesterday with two of the couples. Honestly, they were all so great, it was hard to say goodbye.”

“I’m glad for that, at least,” Hazel said.

“Can I have that photo?” Nora asked.

“Why?”

“Because I want to plaster it all over social media.”

I snatched my phone off the table. “No.”

“Come on, Everly. I hate him for what he did to you, and it’s my fault because I chose him. I still don’t know how my instincts were so off.”

“I don’t think it’s you, I think it’s me,” I said. “We tried to fool my bad luck and it didn’t work. I’m cursed.”

“There’s really no such thing as luck,” Hazel said. “Or curses.”

“Disagree,” Nora said. She tossed back the rest of her drink and waved her empty glass at Jake for another, tapping mine with her other hand. “Everly does have terrible luck with men.”

“Luck has no basis in reality,” Hazel said. “You can’t predict or prove its existence.”

“Exhibit A, Gunnar,” Nora said. “I don’t even need to explain how he proves my point.”

“I agree, that was bad,” Hazel said.

“Exhibit B, the guy who interviewed her, including questions about her medical history to determine whether she could deliver healthy babies. And his mom showed up to review his notes.”

I winced. “Jerry. Yeah, that was pretty bad.”

“Exhibit C, the gay guy who’d been through a recent break-up and was trying to get out of a rut by taking a woman on a date.”

“To be fair, that was his friend’s idea,” I said. “And despite not being compatible, we had a nice time.”

“I don’t think additional evidence is needed,” Nora said. “Although I could go on and on. Do you remember Nick from a few years ago?”

I groaned.

“She dated him for a few months until she found out he was dealing stolen prescription narcotics.”

Jake brought a fresh round of drinks and I took a long swallow of mine. “That police raid was so stressful.”

“See? Bad luck,” Nora said. “Terrible, actually. It’s not like you could have predicted any of it. We all have things we watch out for in men, but no one has their radar tuned to the kinds of men you seem to attract.”

“There’s something wrong with me,” I said. “Do I have a sign on my back that says desperate?”

“Of course not,” Nora said. “That’s what I mean about bad luck. It’s not your fault.”

“I guess not,” I said. “But look at me. I’m thirty years old and still single. I might as well get a cat.”

“I have a cat,” Hazel said. “What’s wrong with cats?”

“Nothing; cats are fine. I just mean I’m pretty sure I’ll be single forever. I might as well get used to it.”

“Single has a lot of advantages,” Nora said. “But I know you want to find the right guy. He’s out there, sweetie. And one of these days, he’s going to look into your big, blue eyes and see that sunshine smile and fall desperately in love with you. In fact, he’ll wonder how he ever lived without you. And then you’ll make me wear an ugly dress at your wedding and I’ll fuck one of the hot single groomsmen to make up for it.”

“I don’t see the connection between someone falling in love with Everly and an ugly dress,” Hazel said. “Bridesmaid dresses aren’t all unattractive. Everly has good taste. She could choose something—”

“Kidding, Hazel,” Nora said with a smile. “I was just making a joke.”

Hazel’s confused expression softened. “Oh, I see. In that case, I also hope you find the right man and it results in bridesmaid dresses and… whatever else.”

“Thanks,” I said. “But I think I need to join you on your dating hiatus. Maybe some time away from men will break my curse.”

“It pains me to agree with you,” Nora said. “But maybe you’re right. Have you considered whether you’re gay? Should we try a woman?”

“I asked my sister about that once.” My sister, Annie, was happily married to a woman, Miranda. “She described how she feels and I didn’t identify with any of it. I’m not gay. I like men. I just keep dating terrible ones.”

Nora squeezed my hand again. “Honestly, Everly, I’m baffled. You’re literally the sweetest person I know. You’re smart, beautiful, and successful. I’m telling you, he’s out there. One of these days, you’re going to meet a man who wants to spend the rest of his life basking in your sunshine.”

I smiled and squeezed back. “Thanks.”

“I agree with Nora,” Hazel said.

“I love you guys.”

“I’d like to propose a toast.” Nora lifted her glass. Hazel and I did the same. “To Everly. May this time of singlehood be as long or as brief as she wishes. And may the next man in her life be the one to sweep her off her feet, and may he also have a big dick.”

“I’ll drink to that.” I lifted my glass to clink against theirs, and we all took a sip.

Sweep her off her feet. I didn’t see that happening anytime soon. But I was nothing if not a perpetual optimist, and a girl could still dream.