Saturday: February 13, 2027
7:42 PM; CLINSTONE, IVORY HILL
There were three days in February that he believed were perfect for hunting. The day before Valentine’s Day, Valentine’s Day, and the day after Valentine’s day.
The day before, women that knew they didn’t have a date were vulnerable. The sad ones at the bar were vulnerable, anyway. The women who had been dumped the day before Valentine’s Day were in desperate need of a rebound.
On Valentine’s Day, the women without a date were at the bar looking for a date. They’d go home with anyone if they were desperate, and if they were at the bar, drinking and sad, they were desperate.
The day after Valentine’s Day, the women that weren’t satisfied with whoever they went home with the night before were on the prowl for something better.
But he was on the prowl, too.
He picked up his drink and headed for the counter. He moved to stand beside the saddest women he could see, crossing his arms over the counter. “Who went and broke your heart?” he asked.
She lifted her hazel eyes to his face. “My asshole of a boyfriend.” Her brow furrowed. “Ex-boyfriend,” she muttered.
“Well, he’s clearly the one who made a mistake, darlin’. Besides, the last thing you need is some loser who thinks he can just toss you aside,” he said. “Let me buy you a drink?”
“Sure,” she said quietly. She held up a hand. “Anna.”
He grabbed her hand, flashed a dimpled grin. “Joel.”
BOOK TEN: END
BOOK ELEVEN: THE CASANOVA
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