No Pink Caddy (ACE Book 1) Read Free

asks as she shrugs on her coat.
    I sigh. “Yes. I guess. It’s gorgeous. Like so insanely pretty, I can’t believe I get to wear it.” My grandmother holds a charity ball each fall. It’s the who’s who of New Orleans society. The event is Saturday, and the only thing I’m looking forward to is the great number of views my blog posts will get the next day.
    “And Tripp?” she asks, sliding her purse on her shoulder.
    “He’s coordinating his bow-tie. It’s so unfair. He gets to wear the same tux every year, and I get poured into itchy dresses that cover nothing and leave me freezing.”
    “I don’t give a damn what Tripp is wearing, and you know it.” Her hand goes to her hip and her lip curls in the don’t be an idiot, MK pose.
    Shaking my head, I flop down on my comfy Robin’s egg blue velvet couch. “He’s mentioned he thinks that two people as good of friends as us can make a relationship work without getting caught up in sex. He’s commented that sex is like a once a month thing, but we would spend several hours a day hanging out.” I grab a throw pillow, giving it a squeeze. “I’ve made it clear that he’s just my escort to the ball, but he keeps hinting at more. He sent flowers to work last week. I want passion and romance. I want mind blowing sex. I want all of that with a guy who I also enjoy hanging out with.”
    My door opens and a cool autumn breeze doesn’t chill me as much as Bella’s words do. “So you just put him through that?” She gestures towards my kitchen and shakes her head. “You haven’t been on a date in months. You’re thirty. You want to be married and have kids. What’s so wrong with Tripp? He’s good-looking, a self-made man, and more importantly, one of the nicest guys ever. You could do a hell of a lot worse.”
    “I adore him,” I reply. “Last weekend he invited me to go furniture shopping for his lake house and also pick out fun dishes. We had a blast! But you saw us together. It’s like I said. We have no chemistry.” I pause for a second. “He doesn’t make my heart beat faster.”
    Her parting words as she shuts my apartment door are, “You aren’t getting any younger. Maybe it’s time to quit waiting for chemistry and go with practical.”
    Ouch! Bella’s advice leaves me doubled over on my couch as if she literally, instead of figuratively, punched me in the gut. Did the person who knows me best just advise me to settle on a life partner? Is that what thirty means? If you haven’t found your significant other, you should just pair up with whomever is still available? Is this like shopping the day after Christmas? You grab what’s left on the store shelves and considered a good deal.
    That’s not okay with me. I could have a happy life with Tripp. He would be a great dad and husband. I’d never have to compel him to be home for dinner or beg for his attention, but he doesn’t make my heart go pitter patter. When he walks into a room, my breath doesn’t catch in my throat. He doesn’t make me feel alive.
    I shake my head to clear the depressing thoughts. Not going down that path tonight.
    Since my taping got cut short, I decide to work on a post I’ve been writing in my head for a while. I grab my Mac off of my marble coffee table.
    My fingers fly over the keys . . .
    I’ve been thirty for exactly four months. Friends who have reached this milestone before me have said things like, “Turning thirty makes your butt sag and your boobs point south.” Fortunately, thanks to my diligent workout routine and good genes, my boobs still can’t hold a pencil and my butt is not in need of a sling. Physically, I still feel twenty-nine, but what I have noticed is that my circle of friends is decreasing. Many have gotten married and started their families. I understand. Being a full-time mom doesn’t leave much room in your schedule for your single friends’ problems, like what dress do I wear on a blind date. But how many messages do I need