Page 5 of Guys Can’t Write Romance

Daisy’s heart skipped. Was this it? They’d been dating for three years, and Ethan was nothing if not methodical. He’d probably calculated the optimal relationship duration before proposing.

“Martin called me into his office today,” Ethan continued. “He mentioned that there might be some changes coming in the M he preferred his food predictable, like everything else.

“A bit rich, isn’t it?” he commented.

Daisy took a bite, savoring the complex flavors. She shook her head. “It’s just right.”

The rest of the evening carried on much the same, with Daisy nibbling at her risotto while Ethan droned on. As they finally finished their meals and the waiter carried away their plates, Ethan reached across the table and lightly took her hands in his.

“You know I’m proud of you,” he said. “For all the effort you put into things, however small they are.”

There it was again. Small.

Daisy offered a faint smile, trying not to overthink it. This was Ethan, she reminded herself. The plan. The stability. The right choice.

“Hey, Carter. McKenzie’s writing a romance novel,” 29-year-old Troy Mitchell blared out as he and Rhino returned from the bar with two pitchers of beer and set them on a table.

At a nearby pool table, 29-year-old Brett Carter looked over and did a double-take, as if Troy just said a UFO landed outside. “A what?”

Across the pool table from Brett, Chad leaned up from the shot he’d been lining up and glared daggers at Rhino. “Nice job, big mouth. You had to go and tell the dummies.”

The boys were at their favorite beachside dive bar, The Salty Siren, for a happy hour of beers, bar sports, girls, and fried food.

A crowd of regulars mixed and mingled throughout the fishing-themed pub, while 80s tunes played on the jukebox and neon beer signs lit the wood-paneled walls.

Being just steps from the sand, the air smelled of salt water, cheap beer, and fried calamari.

“A romance novel,” Troy repeated, loud enough this time for the guys at another pool table to overhear.

“Like a chick book?” Brett said.

“Yup.”

Brett turned to Troy. “Dude. Tell me it’s not true.”

Chad let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s not as bad as it sounds.”

“Really?” said Troy. “Because it sounds like you’re about to start wearing pink and arranging flowers.”

“And singing Barry Manilow,” Brett added.

“It’s for a contest,” Chad said. “This chick bet me I couldn’t write romance, so I’m gonna prove her wrong.”

“Are they taking bets on this?” Brett said. “‘Cause fifty bucks says the chick’s right.”

Troy fished a wad of cash from his pocket and quickly counted it. “I’ve got forty that says she’s right.”

“Put me in for twenty, bro,” Rhino said.

Then, from out of nowhere, a group of eavesdroppers at a nearby pool table chimed in. “I’ve got twenty,” one of the boys said.

Chad shot them a questioning look. Who were these guys? But before he could say anything, one of the regulars seated at the bar also chimed in.

“Yup. Me too,” he said.

And so did the guy seated next to him. “I’m in for ten.”

“Put me down for twenty, Rhino,” said Jeff the bartender, sliding a beer across the counter to a customer.

Un-flippin-believable. Chad just looked around in dismay before holding up his hand. “Okay. First of all, you guys suck. Second, you guys suck.”

“So, you’re not taking our bets?” said Brett.

Chad snapped back to him. “No. It’s between me and this chick.”

A chorus of ‘boos’ arose from around him as patrons slid their cash back into their pockets. Chad looked around and found Rhino watching all of this with a big grin.

“This is why I never tell you anything,” Chad said.

“Sorry, bro,” Rhino said, his grin saying he wasn’t at all sorry.

“So, who’s the chick?” said Troy.

“Just some girl in my writers’ group,” Chad said, leaning back over the pool table and lining up his shot. Hoping to return some normalcy to the evening.

“Is she hot?” Troy asked, just as Chad took the shot. And scratched.

Chad groaned, tapping his cue stick on the floor as he straightened up. “She’s annoying. Like you’re being right now.”

“Keep distracting him,” Brett grinned as he fetched the cue ball from the side pocket and lined up his shot. “You’re throwing off his game.”

“Is she?” said Troy.

“She’s cute,” said Chad. “Now stop helping him cheat.”

“When do we get to meet her?” said Brett, looking up from his shot.

“Never.”

At that moment, Chad’s phone buzzed in his pocket with an incoming text. He slid it out and looked at the screen.

‘I’m out front. Red convertible. Come say hi - Vicky.’

He broke into a grin as he re-read the text. He quickly texted back a reply: ‘On my way.’

“What’re you smiling about?” Rhino said.

“Remember the blond I met at the beach volleyball tournament? Vicky?”

“Oh, yeah,” Rhino said, his own face breaking into a cheesy grin. “The one with legs up to here.” He raised his hand way over his head.

Chad nodded. “She’s out front and wants to meet up.”

“Wait. Hot volleyball player Vicky?” said Troy.

“That’s the one.”

“Dude. Why are you still here?”

“I’m not,” Chad said, downing the rest of his beer and slamming the glass on the table. “Don’t wait up.”

“Text if you need an extraction,” Brett called out as Chad hurried off.

“Don’t hold your breath.”

Outside, the night air carried the smell of salt water and distant crash of waves on the shore. At the end of the alley next to the bar, a red convertible’s lights flashed twice, and Chad hurried over.

Vicky sat behind the wheel, her blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, looking hotter than he remembered in a loose tank top and cut-off shorts showing miles of legs. She smiled as he walked up.

“Hey, coach,” she said. “Wanna go for a ride?”

Chad slid into the passenger seat, noticing how clean her car was compared to his mess of fast food wrappers and empty energy drink cans. “Where are we going?”

“Does it matter?” Vicky said, raising an eyebrow as she put the car in gear.

“Nope.”

She laughed and pulled out of the alley, the engine purring beneath them.

Within a few minutes, they were accelerating down the Pacific Coast Highway, the wind whipping through their hair and moonlight sparkling across the ocean to their left.

Vicky turned up the radio, and Chad settled back in his seat without a care in the world.

Except, just maybe, the thought of being stuck with Daisy Fields during their first writing session tomorrow night.