#5: Guys go crazy over a girl’s smile.

“Kate, you’ve got another bag-full of mail coming in.”

“Fantastic,” I muttered as I watched the mail-boy drag another large duffle of mail into my tiny office. People honestly didn’t realize how much time it takes to read all the letters they send in or how much I didn’t care about what they thought about my articles.

It was kind of ironic, writing articles on relationships when I failed miserably at my own love life. Fortunately, the editors at Trends magazine didn’t really care so much about actual experience; they just wanted talented writers to help draw in more revenue. Lucky for them I double-majored in journalism and BS-ing.

“More fan mail?” I looked at the door, spying my best friend, Cameron Bridger, leaning against the jamb. He winked at me as he sauntered over to the newest mail bag, picking a letter at the top to open.

Cameron and I had been friends since high school when we had run the school newspaper as co-editors. He was charming and laid-back, with curly blonde hair and blue eyes that reminded me of cotton candy at the county fair. Way back when, he was the class nerd with severe acne issues and glasses; now, he was the office sweetheart that every girl fantasized about marrying. Not that he would admit that he was a ladies’ man, mind you. He was still under the distinct impression that he was totally unwanted in the romantic world, despite my efforts to show him the light.

“’Dear Ms. Gideon,’” he read aloud in a high-pitched voice, “’I’m writing to tell you how much I love your articles, especially the one with the list of things guys want girls to know. I used the list to help me figure out the weird signals my co-worker was giving me and we’ve been dating for almost three months! Thanks so much and keep up the amazing work! Sincerely, Cheryl.’”

Cameron glanced at me with a grin. “Too bad they don’t know about your non-existent love life,” he teased. I rolled my eyes at him.

“Pot calling the kettle black, don’t you think?” I shot back. Cameron shook his head.

“Not exactly, Katie-dear,” he corrected, perching himself on the edge of my desk. “I choose not to date. You just repel anyone who might be interested.” I picked up my stress ball and pelted it at his face, missing miserably. He laughed as he picked it up, throwing it back at me just as fiercely—and with more accurate aim.

“Why are you here?” I demanded as I rubbed my forehead. “You cause a lot of disruption in the office when you prance over here.” Cameron worked as a reporter for the Times, making him big-news here in the Trends office.

“Am I not allowed to visit my best friend?” he asked rhetorically. He clicked his tongue as he shook his head. “Jesus, Kate, I’m hurt.”

I rolled my eyes again. “Get to the point, Cam.”

He sighed, pulling some strips of paper out of his blazer pocket. “Fine, I came by to show off these,” he explained, handing me the papers. “The Times asked me to cover the Olympics with a couple of other reporters and gave me an extra set of tickets as a bonus. You can have them if you’re interested.”

I glanced at Cameron. “Aren’t you an editorial reporter?”

He shrugged. “They like my writing style, okay? Do you wan them or not?”

I looked at the tickets again. I wasn’t really into the whole sports thing, but I wasn’t one to pass up opportunities to see hot athletes in their elements.

“Sure.” Cameron smiled before pulling out another pass from his jacket.

“I also got an extra VIP pass to the opening ceremonies,” he said, handing it to me. “Gets us into the athletes’ section so we can meet the contenders.”

I raised an eyebrow. This was too good to be a freebie from the Times. “Hold up, they just gave you a free VIP pass?” I repeated. “Somehow I really doubt that.”

Cameron shrugged again. “Does it honestly matter how I got them?”

“Uh, let me think about that. Yes.”

He sighed. “Fine, I paid a coworker to let me have his tickets so you could go, alright? I know how much you wanted to get into the gymnastics and swimming events, so I thought I’d help you out.”

I stared at Cameron. “You’re kidding me, right?”

He shook his head.

“Cameron! How much did all of this cost you?!”

“Not as much as you’re probably assuming right now. I just have to write the stories under his name so he gets the credit. Not that big of a deal.”

I looked at the passes in my hands with a torn conscience. On the one hand, being able to go to the Olympic games was one of those rare opportunities you grabbed when they came along; but on the other hand, I would feel guilty as hell taking tickets at the cost of Cameron’s sanity.

“Kate, stop mulling over it, you know you want to meet the swim team,” Cameron remarked.

I thought about all the gorgeous men that made up the US Olympic swim team. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

“Since these are a gift, I don’t owe you anything,” I told him, slipping the passes into my purse. Cameron laughed.

“I know,” he replied as he made his way to the door. “But a ‘thank you’ would be nice.”

I beamed at him. “Thank you, Cameron!”

He waved my thanks away. “Yeah, yeah, I’m amazing, I know. I’ll see you at dinner.”

I frowned. “Dinner?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, looking at me crossly. “I’m taking you to dinner, remember?”

“Why?” I asked, still very confused. It really wasn’t that big of a deal, being taken to dinner by Cameron; it was actually a regular activity. But I didn’t remember making plans for tonight.

“I’m introducing you to my friend, Derek,” he replied, his tone indicating his level of irritation.

“You’re setting me up on a date?”

Cameron shook his head, not exactly answering the question. “Just be at Lupo by 7:30 and try not to be late.” With that, he slipped out of my office and proceeded to dodge flirtatious comments made by the other women in the office.

I wouldn’t have put it past Cameron to set me up with some guy friend of his; he hated my constant single-ness almost as much as I hated his. Then again, he had made a point when he said that he simply chose not to date—I just had shitty luck. Either the guy fooled me into believing that he was someone he wasn’t or I just got bored, and voila! Another relationship down the tubes.

Sighing again, I made my way over to the bag of mail, hoping to make a dent in the pile before my apparent dinner date.

--

Well, I wasn’t late to dinner.

Neither of the boys were there yet, leaving me to sit at the table alone like a moron while nibbling on the breadsticks the semi-sympathetic waitress brought out for me. It was one thing for me to be late; it was something entirely different when the two people who arranged the dinner didn’t bother to show up at least on time, if not early.

So, I sat there with my pathetic basket of breadsticks in a very expensive restaurant with curious stares boring into the back of my head. I glanced at my phone: they were already ten minutes late.

I sighed, debating whether it was worth calling Cameron up and causing a scene as I yelled into the phone demanding to know where the hell he was. I glanced around the room again; too many rich people for me not to care. I picked up my phone to text him, instead.

Then, hell froze over, fat ladies sang, and pigs launched themselves into the sky.

“It should be illegal for a woman to be sitting by herself at a table,” an accented voice murmured out of nowhere. I looked up from my breadstick into the face of a god. An obviously foreign god. With a beautiful accent. A very gorgeous accent.

I blinked stupidly as the owner of the sexy voice smiled. “Mind if I join you?” he asked, nodding at the empty chair across from me.

I attempted to shake off my stupor and nodded. “S-sure,” I replied, tugging at my long hair nervously. I kept my eyes on the table as I tried to figure out whether or not I had died and gone to heaven. I glanced up, catching the gaze of the gorgeous man sitting across from me. Nope, it wasn’t a hallucination; my mind wasn’t that detail-oriented.

“Date stood you up?” he asked.

Just relax, Kate. Be yourself. Well, be some of yourself. Try not to scare the poor man.

I composed my face and looked at him. “Not sure I would say that I’m on a date, per se,” I replied. “I’m also expecting my friend tonight, too. But from the looks of things, they either found a strip bar together or there was a very engrossing game on the TV.”

He laughed quietly. “Which do you think is more likely?”

“The latter,” I replied, my brain high on adrenaline now. “My friend, the one who set up this stupid dinner to begin with, is too much of a goody-goody to even know what a strip club is.”

“You’re very witty,” he commented in his beautiful accent. I couldn’t quite figure out if he was British or Australian, but I was perfectly fine with either one. “I like that.”

I blushed. “Thanks.” I glanced around the room subconsciouly. The curious, upper-class busy-bodies were openly staring now; probably trying to figure out how the hell I snagged such a divine catch. They were definitely not alone on that one.

“I’m Penn, by the way.” He held out his hand, which I took compulsively.

“Kate,” I said quietly. He grinned, bringing my hand up to his lips. There was no way I didn’t look like a two-legged pug right then, the shock widening my eyes to the point of pain.

“Lovely name,” he complimented, releasing my hand.

I found myself in shock. All the guys I usually broke up with just flirted shamelessly, never once pulling the gentleman card. Here I was at a nice restaurant with a ridiculously good-looking man sitting across from me, and I was certain that if I kept winging the situation, it would end up with a polite, “It was nice flirting with you, I’m not going to call even though I politely asked for your number.”

After a second of thought, my brain conjured up that stupid article Reader Cheryl mentioned on in her letter (along with hundreds of other readers, as I found out through two hours of reading letters). I had studied that list of facts I had collected from various male resources—most of the via Cameron’s friends—so many times that I could have sworn it had been engraved into my brain. I was a writer of relationship advice, but had never taken any of it seriously, naively believing in fate to bring the perfect man into my life. It didn’t really occur to me that fate may bring the guy along, but it was really up to me to figure the rest out.

That was when hell froze over, fat ladies sang, and pigs launched themselves into the sky, again.

I ran through the list in my head, stopping at no. 5: guys go crazy over a girl’s smile. An easy enough gesture to more firmly grasp the man’s already piqued interest. So, I locked eyes with Penn for the second time and offered him my most charming smile.

“Thank you,” I replied, gently withdrawing my hand and let it settle in my lap with the other. I critically analyzed his expression, hoping that the list of facts I had collected weren’t going to fail me, of all freaking people.

Penn blinked in surprise, probably at the sudden turn from my rather demure behavior, before leaning forward in the chair and smiling back. I silently thanked my lucky stars.

My phone vibrated on the table, startling me. I picked it up hastily, smiling apologetically at Penn. “Sorry, I have to take this,” I mouthed before turning my attention to whoever had the uncanny ability to interrupt a potentially romantically successful evening.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Kate, I have some bad news.” Figures, it was Cameron.

“What?” I asked somewhat impatiently.

“Derek had to cancel, he had some work to take care of, and my editor decided to be a douchebag and make me rewrite my entire investigative piece on the mayor for tomorrow’s issue.”

Roughly translated: you are now free to have an impromptu date with Penn the Aussie Hottie.

“That’s convenient,” I remarked with a tinge of seriousness to my sarcasm. “I’m already here.”

“Shit,” Cameron muttered. “I’m so sorry, Kate. I’ll make it up to you, I swear. If you already ordered, I’ll pay you back for it.”

“Don’t worry about it, Cam. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” I looked at Penn, who was watching me curiously with a slight smile turning up his lips.

“Okay.” I hung up quickly before looking at Penn, arranging my expression into a mask of minor irritation. Penn frowned slightly.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, concern coloring his words. This was almost too easy.

I sighed for dramatic effect. “My friend says that neither of them are going to be able to make it,” I told him, puckering my brow. “Typical Cameron, drag me out to a restaurant that I don’t like much only to cancel last minute. Guess I’m dining alone tonight.” I gathered my things, putting a couple bills on the table before standing. “It was lovely meeting you, Penn,” I added with another charming smile.

“Wait!” Penn said quickly, standing up. He blushed a little before nervously sticking his hands in his pants pockets. “Um, I’d… I’d be more than happy to take you to dinner in his place.”

I blinked. “Really?” I definitely expected him to see through the act, not take the bait.

He looked at me, his demeanor more confident now. “Absolutely, any place you like.” Penn offered me his arm, playing the gentleman again, which I took in a bewildered state. I could have chalked the events of the past twenty minutes up to the power of my own advice, but I wasn’t ready to believe that my own ridiculous article out-did natural luck.

Only one way to find out, I thought as I ran through the facts again.