Page 3 of Guys Can’t Write Romance

Chapter three

Stakes, Sass, and a Hint of Vulnerability

“God hates me,” Daisy groaned as she brushed on makeup in her bathroom mirror. “There’s no other way to explain this punishment.”

“Maybe this guy can help you with your characters,” came Chloe’s voice from the living room. “Your moderator thinks so.”

“My characters are fine the way they are,” Daisy said, putting away the makeup and closing the cabinet.

She headed into the living room, where her artsy, blue-haired roommate Chloe Reeves sat on the couch armed with a glass of wine.

Daisy’s spit-shined lawyer friend, Ava Anderson, watched from a nearby chair.

“Just saying,” Chloe said, swirling her glass of wine with one hand and resting her bare feet on Daisy’s coffee table (and leaving crumbs she’d later refuse to admit belonged to her). “If you make the male lead another one of your monosyllabic yawn-fests, I’m deducting friendship points.”

“A yawn-fest?!” Daisy said as she sat down on the edge of the couch and slid her feet into heels. “My male leads are not monosyllabic! They’re poised. Respectful. Strong, but not flashy.”

“Right,” Chloe said with her trademark sarcasm. “The human equivalent of a houseplant. Strong. Respectful. Thriving on predictability.”

That was something you could always count on from Chloe, whether you wanted it or not.

She called things the way she saw them. Zero filter.

Sass, combined with sarcasm and unfiltered reality, always made for an interesting, unpredictable time whenever Chloe was around.

Daisy had met her eight years ago during a ‘sip-n-paint’ at the gallery Chloe managed on Melrose, and for reasons Daisy couldn’t remember on nights like this, they’d hit it off.

Daisy groaned, sinking back into the cushions. “I can’t decide if you’re the worst or the actual worst.”

“I’m the best,” Chloe quipped breezily, taking a sip. “So. Are you going to survive collaborating with this Chad guy, or do I need to do some advanced roommate prep and, like, baby-proof the apartment first?”

“Chad?” Ava said, her voice far drier than the wine she slowly swirled in her own glass. “You’ve mentioned him quite a lot lately, Daisy, and it’s starting to feel like somebody’s spending too much time thinking about him.”

In stark contrast to Chloe’s artsy Bohemian energy, Ava Anderson was a strictly by-the-book attorney in the mergers and acquisitions department at a large Century City law firm.

“By ‘somebody,’ she means you, roomie,” Chloe said.

“Oh, come on,” Daisy grumbled. “The only reason I mention him is because I’m hoping God will make his surfboard sink. This publishing deal could mean everything, and I have to partner with a guy who thinks romance is a drunk cheerleader kissing a tree monster.”

“Honey, no offense, but romance writing is still a hobby, right?” Ava leaned forward, setting her glass on the table. “You’re not planning on turning this into an actual career? You’ve got Ethan now, and teaching, and—“

“Ava,” Chloe interrupted sharply, mischief sparkling in her eyes, “are you trying to gaslight her into giving up on her dreams? I didn’t know we invited a motivational speaker to wine night.”

“It’s not giving up,” Ava said smoothly, though her words carried that same sharp lawyer’s edge that made Daisy brace for impact. “It’s being realistic. Ethan could make partner at his firm soon, so wouldn’t your time be better spent focusing on your future together?”

Chloe looked at Daisy. “For the record, I’m the good angel on one shoulder, and Ava’s the evil one on the other.”

Daisy sighed and set her glass on the table. “It’s just one contest, Ava,” she said softly.

Chloe opened her mouth, probably to launch another round of sass, but thought better of it and instead reached over and lightly pat Daisy’s arm.

“Hey, it’s a good hobby, roomie. I mean, you’re betting your writing career on a monosyllabic male lead and an obnoxious frat boy writing partner. What could possibly go wrong?”

“I thought you were supposed to be the good angel,” said Daisy.

“I am,” said Chloe. “They just forgot to install my filter.”

“I noticed.”

“So, let’s get to the good part,” Chloe said, adjusting herself on the couch with a new surge of energy. “Is he cute?”

Daisy nearly spat up her wine. “Chad?”

“Yup. Inquiring minds want to know. And so do snoopy roommates.”

“He looks like the devil in a baseball cap and sports jersey.”

“Sounds cute.”

“Also, add poor hygiene and table manners.”

“Sign me up. What’s his last name?”

“McKenzie. Why?”

“Because I’m gonna stalk him on social media and see what he really looks like.”

Daisy sighed. “Okay, maybe he’s cute, if you’re into the whole jock, slash frat boy, slash homeless beach bum thing.”

“Which Daisy obviously isn’t,” said Ava.

“Obviously,” Chloe said sarcastically, casting Daisy a sideways glance.

At that moment, a knock came at the door, and Daisy sighed with relief. Maybe God didn’t hate her after all.

“Is that rich banker boyfriend?” Chloe cooed, her face once again breaking into a mischievous grin.

“Ethan is an investment banker,” Ava reminded Chloe. “Not a retail banker.”

“Right,” said Chloe. “Because one peddles shady stocks, and the other tells me I’ve overdrawn my account. Got it.”

There was no love lost between Chloe and Daisy’s stuffy boyfriend, Ethan Sterling.

Ava had introduced Daisy to him three years earlier, shortly after Daisy’s father died.

Ethan was a new analyst at an investment banking firm Ava’s law firm represented, and Ava convinced Daisy to meet him for drinks.

Daisy brought Chloe along for comfort, which, to no one’s surprise, made the evening interesting.

Chloe came away thinking the guy had the personality of a wet towel and was smug and condescending on top of it.

Daisy tended to agree. But then came the flowers.

Daisy arrived at school to find a nice bouquet of condolence flowers, which supposedly came from Ethan.

Chloe had no doubt that Ava had sent them, but Daisy gave Ethan another chance anyway; and over time, they settled into a comfortable familiarity.

Ethan brought stability and security to Daisy during a tumultuous time in her life, and somewhere along the way, that became enough for her.

But Chloe, with the persistent stubbornness of a blue-haired mule, never gave up trying to knock some sense into her roommate.

“It better be him,” Daisy said, rising from the couch and smoothing her dress as she walked to the door. Just before opening it, she shot Chloe a look. “Behave yourself.”

Chloe grinned. “Always.”

Daisy opened the door, and in the hallway outside stood Ethan Sterling, a tall, lanky guy whose suit probably cost more than Daisy’s entire wardrobe.

“Hello, Daisy,” Ethan said, bending stiffly to kiss Daisy on the cheek. “Are you ready to go? Our reservations for six.”

On the couch, Chloe feigned a yawn and waved. “What’s up, banker boy?”

“Ethan, if you don’t mind,” he corrected Chloe, then turned to Ava. “Hello, Ava.”

“Hi, Ethan,” Ava said. “You look nice tonight.”

“As do you.”

“I have paint splatters on my apron from work,” said Chloe. “If I put it on, can I look nice like you guys?”

Behind Ethan, Daisy shot Chloe daggers, mouthing ‘behave’ to her.

“Maybe some other time, Chloe,” Ethan said.

“Aw bummer. Well, you kids have fun. Be safe. Don’t keep her out too late.”

“Bye, Chloe,” Daisy said, pulling the door closed.

“So let me get this straight,” Ryan Malone said, dribbling a basketball as he looked for an opening past Chad’s outstretched arms. “You’re doing this whole romance contest thing just to piss off some girl in your writers’ group?”

“Pretty much,” Chad said, shifting to his left, then right to follow Ryan’s moves. They were out for their daily unwind on the basketball court in Venice Beach at the end of the workday. Beyond the court, the sand stretched to the ocean, painted gold in the setting sun.

“Is she at least hot?” Ryan said, making a sudden side-step past Chad and dribbling the ball in for a layup.

Ryan, aka ‘Rhino,’ had been Chad’s roommate and fraternity brother in college; and now, in what would be the ‘adult’ years for most people, they still shared a two-bedroom apartment in Venice Beach.

“Dude, she marks her comments on my scenes in colored markers,” Chad said as he caught the ball on the bounce and dribbled it back to center court. “She uses blue to highlight the parts she says need to be de-Chaded. Her words.”

“What’s wrong with that?” asked Rhino, keeping his eye on the ball as Chad tried to line up his shot.

“She painted the entire thing blue,” Chad said, leaping into the air and taking his shot. It sailed smoothly through the net with a whoosh.

“Ouch,” Rhino laughed as he retrieved the ball and walked it back to center court. “Rough audience.”

“Ya think?” Chad said as he squared off. “And now I’m stuck with her as my writing partner.”

“So, is she hot?”

“You keep asking that.”

“That’s because you keep dodging it,” Rhino said, dribbling the ball as he looked for an opening. “Which makes me wonder. Is she hot? Yes or no.”

“Define hot.”

“Would you hit on her if you saw her in a bar?” Rhino said, shifting left and then right.

Chad spread his arms, ready to lunge in whichever direction Rhino took.

Rhino had about two inches in height on him and about twenty pounds more muscle.

He still looked like the linebacker he’d been in college before an injury sidelined his career, while Chad was built more like a baseball player or surfer.

“She’s too uptight to ever go near a bar that didn’t have a wine list and valet parking,” Chad said. “So, no.”

“But if she did go to a bar, and you didn’t know about all the baggage and neurosis, would you hit on her?”

Rhino made a sudden sidestep past Chad and dribbled the ball in for a layup.