[2022 Wattys Winner] When love cynic Madison Watson starts university, she vows to follow three simple rules.
One: Work out at least twice a week.
Two: Get an internship.
Three: Stay away from men.
But after a chance encounter with th...
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If there was one thing that I hated more than selfish, narcissistic, think-they're-God's-gift-to-women men, it was waiting. And waiting for men?
Well. That was just salt in the wound.
I tapped the toe of my boots against the floorboards as I watched the hands tick on my brand new leather watch. It was faux, of course, and a gift from my mother, who 'really would have preferred to have bought the diamond one! It's just so much more feminine, Madison dear ...'
"Will that be all?"
The sugary sweet voice of a cute barista drifted over from the counter, her bubble-gum pink nails tapping the computer screen as she took an order. Her curly black hair spilled out of a high ponytail, revealing soft brown features and vibrant almond eyes. I could see the source of Dex's adoration, if that was in fact the barista in question.
I wouldn't know whether it was, of course, since it was already ten past nine and neither Dex nor his blond friend had cared to show up.
Typical. My college resolutions—a stack of rules I'd created to guide me through my first year of adulthood—flashed through my mind. Number three, especially, taunted me like an annoying younger sibling.
Stay away from men.
"Madison!"
I quirked a brow as Dex and James appeared beside my booth.
"Finally." I motioned to my watch. "I have class in twenty, remember?"
"Sorry," they said in unison, though their small smiles hinted at some level of shared amusement.
I guess it was only the second week of classes. I could probably turn down the teacher's-pet vibe a touch.
Dex spun on the spot theatrically, landing in a hands-on-the-hips pose as James slunk into the seat opposite me. "How do I look?"
I ran my eyes over his unruly auburn curls, which had been slicked back in a style not exactly becoming with far too much gel. He'd paired a dark denim jacket that swam across his shoulders with black ripped jeans that looked like they'd been hemmed by Levi Strauss himself. In 1853.
It wasn't quite what I'd had in mind, but I couldn't let fragile Dex know that.
I nodded. "Great. Really great."
His hopeful smile fell. "You hate it."
"I don't hate it!" I laughed, but even I heard how strained it was. "How could I? You did exactly what I suggested."
Dex grinned, but the confidence in his glittering green eyes had wavered. Unfortunately for me, lying had never been my best quality. It had never really been a quality of mine at all, and I was going to have to work a little harder if I wanted to boost the frail ego of the boy standing in front of me.
