Page 67 of Her Three Rangers
The waitress nodded without giving me a second glance. “Perfect, I’ll be right back with that,” she said, before turning around and dropping off drinks to a man and a woman on the next couch over.
Liza flashed me a look of annoyance.
“What?” I asked.
“You seriously thought you were going to get away with a water? Come on, Harlow. Why is it so hard to get you to just come out and enjoy yourself? You act like it might actually be physically painful to have a good time.”
“It is physically painful,” I argued, pointedly glancing down at my pinched feet. “This just isn’t how I enjoy myself. You know that.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’d rather be home with your books. I get it. But you’re not going to find a man if you’re stuck at home every weekend typing away at your computer.”
I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t realize that finding me a guy was on the agenda tonight. I thought we were here for you.”
“Well, when was the last time you’ve even been on a date?” she asked.
I wasn’t even sure how to answer that. It had definitely been… a while.
“It doesn’t matter because I’ve got no interest in dating right now,” I told her. “I’m busy. I’ve got plenty of work and… and other things to keep myself occupied.”
“Like reading. Writing. More reading.” The sarcasm in her tone was impossible to miss.
“Yes, exactly. All of those things. It’s my job. And it really is what I want to do.” I didn’t need to necessarily admit that reading and writing seemed to take up all my free time lately. But even if that wasn’t the case, I didn’t want to bring a man into my life who would take away from my focus.
“Seriously, Harlow, you’re going to have to live a little. Life is about more than just work.”
I might have agreed with her, in theory. But right now, my work was my life and I saw no reason to add a man to it. “I’m happy just the way things are,” I told her.
She looked at me skeptically. “Are you? Or are you just trying to avoid getting hurt again?”
I shifted uncomfortably on the dark couch. I knew what she was talking about, of course. Things hadn’t gone so well in my last relationship.
I couldn’t say she was wrong, really. My last relationship had been difficult. Had it turned me off from seeking a new one?
Yeah, maybe.
Probably.
And not only because it failed miserably, but also because… it hadn’t ever really been that great. I was a hard woman to please—that was what my last relationship had taught me.
Maybe it was the writer in me that made me so difficult to satisfy. I spent most of my days stuck in my head, writing these steamy romance stories with amazing heroines and Prince Charming heroes. No man ever seemed to live up to the characters in my imagination. No man had even come close, really.
“I’m never going to find a guy I truly like, Liza,” I said, puffing out a short breath. “There’s really no point in debating it—especially not here.”
“Fine, fine,” she shrugged, pretending not to care even though I knew for sure she could happily go on arguing for hours if I’d let her. “If you want to hole up in your apartment with your books and your imaginary characters, far be it from me to stop you.”
“Great. Perfect. Glad that’s settled.” My reply was curt. It was a friendly annoyance, though. She knew I loved her, and even though I didn’t love her prying, it was actually nice to have a friend who cared this deeply about me.
She may have been totally misguided about my life and which direction I wanted it to go, but at least she cared. I needed someone who cared, even if they were going to give me advice that didn’t really align with the things I wanted in life.
“You know I’m only trying to help,” she said, giving me The Look that showed she was getting ready for round two.
“I know, I know. And I love you for that. But seriously, keep your nosy ass out of my love life. I’m perfectly content to imagine other peoples’ love lives on paper,” I responded, hoping that answer would be forceful enough to shut down this conversation completely.
“Well, you’re good at that. For someone who wants zero romance in their life, you are great at writing about it.”
I had to smile at that. I loved when anyone complimented my ability to write. It was the thing that I was most proud of. I doubted a lot of my other life skills, especially the ones that involved socializing.
Or wearing dresses. Or damned high heels.