“You can reel back the sarcasm a shred, Willow. If I were looking for a date, it wouldn’t be with a buttoned-up stiff like Brandon—”
“Branson,” she interrupts me with a mischievous grin and rests her chin on her fist, settling in to listen to me vent.
“Whatever. I’m not looking to settle down with Captain Boring and his sweater vest collection.”
“So, what are you looking for?”
“Nothing. I’m not looking. That’s kind of the point here, Willow.”
“You’re saying that you have no interest in dating, even if you found the perfect guy.”
“Of course, I’m not saying that,” I argue. “But finding a man in a town this small is like finding a needle in a haystack.”
Willow cackles. “What are you even talking about? Have you looked around? The men in this town make it look like someone spiked the water supply with Magic Mike dust. You literally can’t turn a corner without crashing into a six-pack carrying a puppy. It’s a fucking miracle our ovaries can withstand it.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” I whine. “You literally fell into your man’s arms. And you… well, you look like that.”
“Like what?” she asks, exasperated.
“Like ‘Pour Some Sugar on Me’ should start playing every time you walk into a room.”
“Give me your phone,” she demands. “You have no idea how many men want curves like yours.”
“It’s shattered, remember?”
She presses her lips together and closes her eyes, containing the laugh I just know is trying to escape. “Maybe you should have taken the gift after all?”
I just scowl at her.
“Come on,” Willow says, grabbing her bag. “We’re getting you a new phone.”
* * *
An hour later, we’re walking out of the strip mall cell store on the outskirts of Portland. The teenager at Mobile Barn insisted on “helping” me set up the phone, so it’s already up and running when we leave. Willow waits until we get on the highway before taking out my new phone and tapping away.
“Curves… Connection…aha!”
“What are you doing?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the road.
“Proving a point because I love you.”
“That’s not cryptic at all,” I grumble.
“Hobbies… hiking, going to the beach, reading.”
“Willow—” I warn.
“Likes… adventures, music, tattoos, baking, wine, sex.”
“Don’t you dare, Willow.” I don’t know why I’m trying to threaten her. I’m driving 75 mph on the highway. It’s not like I can do anything.
“Dislikes… conceited men, stuffy dinners, busy cities, selfish people.”
“I fucking hate how well you know me.”
“No, you don’t. In search of…” Willow trails off and blinks at me expectantly. “Well? I can’t do this part for you.”
I sigh. Whatever. I’ll just delete this later, anyway. “Is there a way to say, ‘big men’ without it sounding dirty?”