The True Love Experiment

He laughs, but it’s not out of amusement or mockery. It’s a laugh of defeat. It’s agreement. And for a flash I’m elated.

But then he says, “You know we can’t.”

“Technically we can. My contract prohibits me from dating or any outside romantic involvement only during filming. I checked.”

“Fizzy. We absolutely cannot.”

He shoves his hands into his pockets. And they’re hidden but I remember them like they’ve been imprinted in my retinas, and all I can think about is those big hands gripping me, walking me backward, bossy and directed, pushing me up against a wall or down on a bed. His strong arms bracing over me, those long fingers exploring. I want him above, blocking out every light source. I want to know nothing but the heat and scent of his skin, the rough sounds he makes when he comes.

“Why not?” I aim the question at his throat and it bobs with a swallow.

“You know why. Our goal is to find your soulmate. I already—” He breaks off. “We can’t.”

“The show hasn’t even started yet. Consider it more homework.” I reach forward, rest my hand on his side. God, he’s so solid under my touch. “Finding joy. I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

“That’s not what concerns me.”

“It’s been so long,” I admit. “I’m so relieved to want this. I—”

“Fizzy.”

“Trust me. I’m great at compartmentalizing.”

“That’s the thing,” he says, and bends to press a soft but definitive kiss to my jaw. “I’m not.”





fourteen CONNOR




What does a man do after being propositioned by one of the most beautiful women in San Diego and then turning her down?

He considers slamming his head into a wall because he’s an idiot for deciding casual sex doesn’t work for him.



He has a wank so many times imagining it that he wakes up a bit chafed the next morning.



He goes to work—where he has been tasked with finding the soulmate of the very woman he wants, and who apparently also wants him—because his livelihood and access to his child depend on it.



He makes a mental note to get very drunk afterward.





And a plan for drinking later is wise considering the once-familiar office I walk into suddenly looks like a beefcake sweet shop.

There are men everywhere: in the lobby, clustered in conference rooms, and just casually—albeit attractively—leaning against cubicle partitions. In front of me stands every possible male phenotype—businessmen in suits, surfer dudes in shorts, inked-up blokes in torn jeans, cuddly-looking lads in jumpers—and each has the potential to be Fizzy’s soulmate. Wonderful.

My phone rings as I round the corner near my office. I take a calming breath, unsure whether I’m ready to put out any fires yet this morning, but relax when I see a photo of Nat and Stevie filling the screen.

“Hello—”

“I have a favor to ask,” Nat says immediately.

“Go on then.”

“Insu was asked to speak at a convention in Vegas this weekend and invited me to go. I’d have to leave Thursday, so I was wondering—”

“Of course. You know I’ll always take her early.”

“Thank you,” she says on a relieved sigh. “Stevie mentioned you had a date last night, and I didn’t want to assume anything.”

“I told her it wasn’t a date.” I told her several times, in fact. I should probably be concerned that my ten-year-old is getting this invested in my love life, but I’m neck-deep in twenty-six-to-forty-eight-year-old eligible bachelors and just do not have the time. “It was a work thing,” I say, and then add, “With Fizzy.”

The line goes quiet; I can practically hear Nat’s grin. I regret the clarification immediately.

“Ah,” she says. “So it’s Fizzy now.”

My first instinct is to tell Nat it was nothing, but I’ve never been able to keep anything from her. We turned into adults together. We’re forever connected through Stevie. She’s seen me at my best and my worst, knows me better than anyone, and loves me anyway. Ducking into a vacant office, I close the door behind me.

“It’s not as exciting as it sounds.” Then why is my heart beating like I walked the eight flights up here instead of taking the lift? “All right, maybe it is, but it shouldn’t be. We spent the evening together after her book signing and talked about the show over dinner. Then she, uh… she invited me to spend the night.”

“Are you telling me that you and Felicity Chen—”

“I said no, Nat.” It sounds just as stupid the second time. “I told her I couldn’t. I’m the producer on her dating show.”

“Okay,” she says, processing. “Right. I get that, but—”

“There’s no ‘but.’ Even if I wanted to, I can’t.”

“Do you want to?”

“The easy answer is yes. The answer that’s based in reality and the way my life works right now… is more complicated.”

“How did she take it? Was she upset?”

I’m not about to flatter myself into thinking Fizzy’s proposition was anything more than a moment of mutual attraction and wanting to scratch an itch. But it’s nice to know I wasn’t imagining it. “I don’t think she was too upset.” Fizzy can have any man she wants. I’m not going to delude—or torture—myself into thinking it was anything more than it was. “Anyway,” I say, searching for a change in subject, “I can absolutely pick Stevie up and keep her however long you need. More time with our kid is never a hardship. I’m sure I’ll have to pull in a few favors myself once the show starts. Speaking of which”—I check my watch—“I need to get going.”

“Thanks, Conn. This speaking thing is a big deal for Insu. And in Vegas! There will be buyers from all over the country.”

“Tell him congratulations, really.” Insu and a friend started a fledgling software company a few years ago and have been working on a VR game. He must be over the moon at this opportunity. “I’m not sure he’s old enough to gamble, but you kids will have fun either way.”

“Didn’t you say you had work to do?”

We ring off, and I continue to my office, pausing as I stop outside my door.

My hardworking, straight-from-Kansas assistant has two very fit-looking young men moving her desk from one end of her workspace to another.

“Good morning, Brenna,” I say.

She spins around, cheeks flushed. “It certainly is!”

Trent rounds the corner, briefcase and car keys still in hand. He looks as tired as I feel.

Confused, he surveys the chaos around us. “What in the fresh hell is happening?”

“Casting,” I tell him. “We’re narrowing down the final contestants for my dating show, The True Love Experiment.”

He continues to look around, and I imagine his bewildered expression looks much like mine did barely ten minutes ago.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” I ask. “I thought you were on a bus for six weeks.”

He runs an exhausted hand down his face. “I’ve got to meet with some lawyers and fly right back out tonight. I’ve barely slept in four days; these contestants never shut up, and there are just so many rules! Did you know there are insurance clauses about different protective cups for this type of show?”

Brenna tilts her head, confused. “Different… oh.”

“Right.” He nods. “I’ll never forgive Blaine for putting phrases like ‘testicular degloving’ in my vocabulary.” At both our horrified expressions, he adds, “It’s absolutely as bad as it sounds. Learn from my mistakes and don’t google that one.”

Brenna gently turns Trent back toward the kitchen. “Why don’t we get you some coffee before your meeting?” Trent continues to mumble about penis dislocations as they move down the hall.

“Be grateful you got a dating show, Connor,” he says over his shoulder.



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