Read Online It's Not Okay: Turning Heartbreak into Happily Never After by Andi Dorfman - Free Book Online Page B

Having done this before, I knew there would be anywhere from twenty to thirty men, so I tried to keep a tally in my head to see how many were left. I lost count somewhere between nineteen and twenty-four. And that’s when he stepped out.
    Tall, dark haired, with an athletic build, perfectly structured face, and a megawatt smile, it was as if God had made him with a ruler. He took a step toward me as my heart leapt. The closer he got, the more the chills ran down from my beach-waved, now frizzy hair to my blistered aching toes. Suddenly, the California air wasn’t as cold anymore. He greeted me with a hug that felt different from the previous twenty-four; it was warmer, it was tighter, it was . . . euphoric.
    He introduced himself and told me he lived in Atlanta. It seemed too good to be true, but I couldn’t deny the indescribable magic I was experiencing. I guided him to the mansion just as I had done with the others, and as he walked inside, I checked out his ass (just as I had done twenty-four times before).
    That was it, I had met them all. Twenty-five men awaited me inside as I stood alone in the cobblestone driveway soaking it all in. Before I walked into the house, I paused and made a pact with myself: No matter what it was that I’d just felt for him , it was under absolutely no circumstances love at first sight—just lust, that’s all. This wasn’t the time to get ahead of myself. I was supposed to be open and get to know each of the men and take my time, well, what little time there was. I mean, come on, there’s no love at first sight on reality television, right? I took a deep breath and walked inside.
    Despite there being twenty-five insanely hot, successful guys under one sprawling California roof, I couldn’t seem to keep my eyes off Number Twenty-Six as I made my first toast to “finding love.” I also couldn’t keep my eyes on him, because I feared I’d find myself paralyzed and completely blow my cover, which would have been disastrous given that it was the very first night. And though I had known him for only about forty-five seconds, I already felt the desire to impress him, which was the antithesis of how I was supposed to feel as the empowered female.
    We’d barely spoken a word to each other after our nervous introduction, but once the party had begun, he pulled me away and walked me outside to a bench where we’d sit and finally have a conversation. He offered me his jacket and I happily accepted. Truth is, it could have been a thousand degrees outside, but I was taking that damn jacket so I could get one layer closer to seeing what kind of bod he was working with.
    He began the conversation with a compliment, telling me I was his mother’s favorite from last season. Smooth move. Always nice to have Mommy’s approval before we play tonsil hockey. The guy was hot, and not just reality television hot but regular life hot! As he talked about God knows what, I prayed for X-ray vision so I could see the pecs and abs that were sure to be hiding beneath his shirt. But no matter how hot he was, I had to make sure he knew that there was only one boss here: me. I overcompensated by playing up the tough-girl act and challenging him with rapid-fire questions and teasing. The game was on, but we both knew I was failing miserably, and regardless of how well I was able to control the words that came out of my mouth, the cheek-hurting grin that made its way across my face was a dead giveaway. The undeniable chemistry and banter back and forth made me feel like a sixteen-year-old schoolgirl crushing hard on the star quarterback. In that moment, it was as if I wasn’t in the mansion with twenty-five men but simply sitting on a bench, eyes locked with his, swooning over every word he uttered.
    Our chat ended, and I sent him off to join the pool of waiting men in suits, making sure to give him a hug tight enough to cop a feel. Abs . . . check. Pecs . . . check. And, as he walked away, I took the