Contents

  CoaSD - Book 7

  From the Authors

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  Thank you!

  Other books by Adele Huxley

  This book is work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. This book contains explicit material and is intended for readers 18 years or older.

  The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademarked owners of any wordmarks mentioned in the following fiction.

  Copyright © 2016 by Adele Huxley

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.

  All requests should be forwarded to: AdeleHuxleyWrites@gmail.com

  Chronicles of a Serial Dater is a series of 7 short stories that follow Talia through the murky world of dating. These books were originally published once a week through the summer, just like episodes of a TV show! Since all the books are out now, you’re free to binge away!

  Book 1

  Book 2

  Book 3

  Book 4

  Book 5

  Book 6

  Book 7

  Bonus online content adds to the interactive fun! You can find Talia’s blog on my website, AdeleHuxley.com. Be on the lookout for any chapter ending with this image:

  Tapping it should take you to the corresponding section in the blog, but beware! Looking too far ahead might mean spoilers for the next books!!

  Believe it for not, all the dates, conversations, and horror stories in this series are real. Readers just like you were kind enough to share their funniest and worst dates for our entertainment. At least something good came out of them! So if you’re reading these and at any point think, “Come on now, this is too ridiculous,” just remember…

  The truth is always stranger than fiction, and nothing is stranger than online dating.

  “Talia. What are you doing here?”

  Standing face-to-face, his gorgeous green eyes intent and questioning… I was having second thoughts about coming over and saying hello, professionally or otherwise. My mouth worked wordlessly and his expression morphed from surprise to concern.

  He dipped his head to whisper privately. “Are you okay?”

  I shook him away and spoke in a louder-than-normal voice. “I’m great! Crazy to run into you like this.”

  Clint reeled back, still unsure of the situation. Hell, I didn’t know what was happening and I was the one causing it all! But I did my best to pretend I was perfectly in control.

  Have you ever seen the movie Men in Black? You know in the beginning when it’s revealed the old guy with the cat is actually just a shell for a teeny, tiny alien inside? There’s a moment just before I hit the level of ridiculously drunk when I feel like that. A small alien in my brain still clings to sobriety and normal behavior, frantically trying to steer my clumsy body and mouth through social interactions without tipping off exactly how inebriated I’d become. It lasts about ten minutes before the poor little guy in my brain drowns in vodka or beer.

  I was staring at Clint a little too long, so to seem more normal, I thrust my hand out to his date. “Name’s Talia. Talia McGinley.”

  As she hesitantly reached for my hand, I realized I was still looking into Clint’s eyes. Shit, look at her, you idiot! Not him!

  “Hi!” I said cheerfully, as if I’d just found her again.

  “Hello…”

  Clint graciously took my elbow and tried to steer me from the thick of the crowd. “Let’s get you some water.”

  “But I haven’t gotten your date’s name yet,” I protested. I spun away from his touch and extended my hand to her again, which she now looked at as if it were leprous.

  “Okay,” he said as he collected me by the arm again. “I’ll be right back,” he said to his date over my head.

  “We’ll be right back,” I added.

  And then I learned something about myself in that moment, a handy tip for controlling a drunk Talia. Be a hot Englishman and touch the small of my back, preferably while I’m wearing a slinky, thin dress. I could probably be steered off a cliff that way.

  I tried to appear cool as Clint guided me to the side of the room, but inside I was desperately trying to hold on to the last slivers of sobriety. I knew this wasn’t going well, but maybe if I held it together long enough, I could pass it off as another one of those “Talia moments.” It’d make for a good laugh on Monday.

  “Who is she?” I demanded, sounding like a jealous wife.

  His eyes went wide, coupled with a single arched brow. “Monica? She’s my agent. I think you’ve spoken through email once or twice.”

  “Oh.” I sounded more disappointed than happy for some reason. I’d gotten myself all cranked up expecting… expecting what, exactly? To confront him? To demand an explanation?

  “What are you doing here?”

  Without looking, I pointed to the portrait on the wall above our heads. “My roommate’s girlfriend.”

  Clint gazed up. “She has nice breasts.”

  “What? No. Well, maybe…” I corrected as I peered up as well. “She’s the photographer, but maybe they’re… wait. I’m sorry. This isn’t at all how I wanted this to go.” The little alien in my brain was drowning. I was aware of my slurred speech but couldn’t control it. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

  “And how did you want it to go?” he asked. It was the alcohol, I’m sure it was, but I could’ve sworn I heard a deeper meaning to that.

  The thoughts that flew through my booze-soaked brain are too raunchy to share. All I could manage was, “Better.”

  “You’ve had a lot to drink,” Clint said, stating the embarrassingly obvious. He sounded cooler than normal, but I just chalked it up as a reaction to my behavior.

  “I’m fine. I’m totally fine.” As if to prove the point, I plucked a flute of champagne off a tray as a server strolled past. “Cheers,” I said in a terrible English accent. He watched with a mixture of humor and shock when I tipped the whole glass down my throat as if I was doing shots at the bar.

  “Well, then,” he said.

  I tried to look cool, but all the bubbles went up the back of my nose making my eyes water. I coughed and sputtered an apology. “This is totally not how I wanted this to go down. I’m a professional.” Except that last word came out more like a whine than a declaration.

  Clint leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. I hoped the amusement on his face wasn’t at my expense. “Are you here with a date?”

  “No, not tonight,” I replied. I wanted to shock him. Yeah, that’s right. I see other people, too. I also wanted to see what his reaction would be if I jumped into his arms, wrapped my legs around his waist, and kissed him.

  “That’s too bad.”

  I waved my hand dismissively, temporarily distracted by the weird trails my fingers left in my vision. “It’s fine. I’ve got plenty of dates. I’m having the time of my life, you know.”

  “Oh, I know. They’re abundant and of low value,” Clint said, almost under his breath.

  Even in my ridiculous state, that specific phrase ripped through me like a shock wave. “They’re what?” I slurred. “What did you say?”

  He looked toward the crowd as if he wanted to be anywhere but standing next to me. “It’s nothing. So, are you here with a friend then? Anette?”

  “Yes! Her… is around here somewhere,” I replied squinting into the room. My eyes locked with the pretty brunette, Monica. She was looking a bit more concerned about our conversation than an agent should. The green-eyed monster crept up again. “Are you sure there isn’t anything going on between you and Tits McGee over there?”

  Clint cut off a short bark of laughter and covered it with a cough. “Tits Mc… No, I can assure you there’s nothing going on between us.”

  I closed my eyes at this point, mostly in an effort to get the room to stop swaying. “Good.”

  I didn’t notice Clint lean in closer. When he spoke, his breath tickled my ear, voice low and husky. “Why is that good?”

  I panicked. Just before the tiny alien succumbed to alcohol poisoning, he sent out a final mayday. Stay professional!

  “Oh, just because you…” I cleared my throat and leaned away. “You’re horrible with women.”

  Clint gave me the slow blink. You know, the one that says ‘I can’t believe you actually did or said that.’

  “You said it yourself,” I tried to deflect, as if that made it any better.

  The last little good humor he had left in his expression drained away. “That’s right. That’s me. The hopeless romantic.” He looked away again and I felt my mood shift like a landslide.

  I wanted to apo
logize. I wanted to slap him. I wanted to demand what he was doing out with another woman when we’d…

  This is where my memory goes all fuzzy. There are moments here and there, but nothing that can be pieced together in a coherent way. I can’t even be sure how long we stood there talking, but the next thing I remember was sounding like every drunk coed after a hard night.

  “Why are you acting like this?” I whined.

  “And how exactly am I acting?” he asked, rolling his eyes.

  I scrunched up my face and looked him head to toe. “Like you… I don’t know. Like that!” I exclaimed, pointing at his mouth. “That right there.”

  Just as he was about to respond, Anette suddenly appeared at my side. “There you are! So sorry. I accidentally left my leash in the car and Talia slipped away. Anette,” she said as she held her hand out.

  “Clint,” he replied taking it.

  Anette turned to me and spoke as if I were a child. “I think it’s time for someone to go home.”

  “I’m fine. I’m…”

  “That’s a great idea,” Clint said. Again, there was the steely tone!

  “Right there!” I shouted, waggling a finger in his face.

  Anette dug her fingers into my shoulders as she physically pushed me away from him. “It was a pleasure to meet you,” she said sweetly. But in my ear, she was harsh and abrasive. “You get your tight little white ass out that door right now or so help me…”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I complained. A few feet away, I realized I hadn’t said goodbye to Clint yet. “I hope you have a good evening. Thank you for coming,” I said with a sarcastic wave over my shoulder.

  Anette poured me into the backseat of a cab and gave the driver our address. For whatever reason, this freaked me out and I bolted straight up.

  “You can’t leave! He’ll rape me!”

  The driver jumped so high the car rocked on its shocks. “What the fuck? I’m not gonna rape… naw, get out. I ain’t gonna…”

  With a big groan, Anette climbed in behind me. “I’ll go with you, you little brat. You’re well past brat,” she muttered. “You’re a full-fledged drunken psycho now.”

  I calmed down and curled up in her lap. She stroked my hair and said nasty things in a nice, sing-songy voice. “If you puke on me, I’m gonna shave your hair off. Everyone is nice to you, but we all talk shit behind your back. If this doesn’t make up for our fight, I’ll just have to bang Zach to make things even.”

  The cab stopped. Voices spoke around me. I was lifted from the back and helped upstairs. It wasn’t until someone was feeling along my side for pockets that I realized Anette was gone and Zach was the one holding me up.

  “Where are your damn keys?”

  I blinked up at him. “In my purse. Like a normal person. This dress doesn’t have pockets, obviously.” I tried to do a little twirl but nearly fell over. He only caught me at the very last second.

  Zach was absolutely amazing. He helped me inside, got me changed into my PJs, and put me to bed. As he set a trashcan, glass of water, and some juice by my head, I reached out for him.

  “Thank you.”

  “You don’t have to keep thanking me,” he laughed. “You’re still my friend.”

  My eyes were closed and I was half asleep, so it’s a miracle I remember saying any of this at all. “You’re my friend, too. Mr. Magic Tongue,” I giggled.

  “Okay, weirdo. Call me if you need me.” He clicked off the lights, all but a small one in the corner of the room.

  After a heartbeat, I called out. “Zach?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I was afraid.”

  “What? Tonight? You’re home safe now, no taxi driver will…”

  “No. Of us. Of you. I’m afraid I’d fall in love with you.”

  Zach didn’t reply but I heard him pause and sigh. The floor creaked as he walked back to the side of the bed and kissed me softly on the forehead. I vaguely heard the door click shut before I passed out completely.

  Hurricane Talia had finished destroying Manhattan. For now…

  My hangover was less physical and more emotional. Sure, my skull felt like it was about to crack open, I couldn’t turn my head without wanting to gag, and my mouth tasted like an ashtray. But that wasn’t causing me the real pain. What hurt most was the blurry memory of Clint’s face as I made a complete asshole of myself. I literally cringed when I got glimpses of our conversation from the night before, things I said, ways I’d touched him.

  I tried to tell myself it wasn’t nearly as bad as I was remembering. I didn’t want to move from my bed, so I called out to Anette. No answer. I yelled again and heard Pluto trot to my closed door.

  I finger-walked my way across the crap on my side table to find my phone. I squinted into the bright screen to send her a text, but the moment I hit send, I remembered her telling Zach she would stay at Amie’s. Shit. And then I remembered Zach and saying something about falling in love with him. Double shit.

  And then I remembered Clint again. No amount of profanity could cover that foggy memory.

  After chugging the glass of water Zach had left for me, I somehow dragged myself out of bed to take the dog out for a short walk. Once I was back inside, I collapsed on the sofa and kicked off the world’s biggest pity party.

  There is something seriously wrong with me. It’s like I actively sabotage these relationships. It’s as if Kevin made it so I’m not capable of feeling loved or valued. No, don’t blame him. You can’t keep blaming your ex for everything… your parents should carry some of that burden, too. I snorted, the vibration sending a wave a dizziness through my pounding skull.

  I wanted to feel that sexiness I’d somehow captured when I was with Oliver and Zach. Being a sexual goddess was strangely addicting. It was like an injection of confidence. I pulled out my phone and got swiping. I hated to admit it, but since I’d given Anette control over my Tinder profile, I was getting much better matches. Still, I was picky as hell. I might have felt like death warmed over, but that didn’t mean I had to lower my standards.

  If I was goddess, he was an aspiring superhero. He was knocking at my door in the time it took for me to brush my teeth, run a comb through my hair, and wipe the excess makeup from under my eyes. Superman indeed.

  Blaine leaned against the frame of the door as I opened it, arms crossed, face handsome but arrogant. To be fair, it was a pretty face. Longish shaggy black hair hung over his dark eyes, a slight stubble on his strong jaw.

  “Hey,” he said around a piece of gum.

  “Hey yourself.” As I let him in, I ran a hand through my long hair and hoped I looked better than I felt.

  “Nice place,” he lied.

  “Thanks. I can give you a tour,” I purred suggestively.

  “As long as it ends in the bedroom,” he replied with a cocky tilt to his head.

  Good. He’s catching on nicely. I reached out for his hand and led him to my bedroom. I should’ve aired it out first. The room stank of booze and sweat, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. I spun a little too quickly in the middle of the room, the flourish sending my stomach into flip-flops. I squeezed my eyes shut to steady the spinning and when I opened them, he was stripping the white shirt from his body.

  “Your turn,” he said as he dropped the shirt to the floor.

  I mimicked the movement.

  His belt jingled as he unclipped it. The chain attached to his wallet clattered when his pants joined his shirt on the floor. My sweatpants didn’t make as much noise when they landed beside them.

  Blaine was a fantastic kisser. He pushed me against the bed and gently lowered me to my back. With a hand threading through my hair, he nipped and teased my lips. It was hot as hell, if only the room would’ve stopped moving.

  My eyes snapped open as I pushed him away with a firm hand to his chest. “Since you’re a guest in my home…” It was supposed to sound demure and suggestive but came out bizarre, like I was a Stepford Wife offering a blowjob instead of iced tea.

  Again, if he noticed, he didn’t care. After I shifted him to the edge of my bed, I grabbed a pillow and sank to my knees. I loved the stark contrast of the dark ink of his tattoos against his pale skin. I went through the motions, waiting for that seductive spark to take over. I played the role, said all the right things, but I still wasn’t feeling like a goddess.