License to Date (Better Date than Never) Read online

  License to Date

  by

  Susan Hatler

  License to Date

  Copyright © 2014 by Susan Hatler

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  License Notes

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

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  Cover Design by Elaina Lee, For The Muse Designs

  www.forthemusedesign.com

  Titles by Susan Hatler

  An Unexpected Date

  Better Date than Never Series

  Love at First Date (Book #1)

  Truth or Date (Book #2)

  My Last Blind Date (Book #3)

  Save the Date (Book #4)

  A Twist of Date (Book #5)

  License to Date (Book #6)

  Teen Novels

  Shaken

  Praise

  “Susan Hatler has a knack for writing books that draw me in from the very first page!”

  — Books Are Sanity!!! on Love at First Date

  “Ms. Hatler has a way of writing witty dialogue that makes you laugh-out-loud throughout her stories.”

  — Night Owl Reviews on Truth or Date

  “Seriously you guys, you have to pick this one up if you are a romantic at heart. Deliciously sweet.”

  — Getting Your Read On Reviews on My Last Blind Date

  “An Unexpected Date is a wonderful and perfect release to a stressful or crazy day.”

  — Cafè of Dreams Book Reviews

  “If you enjoy a YA Romance jam packed with adventure and the unknown. I would recommend this fantastic read.”

  — Tifferz Book Reviewz

  License to Date

  by

  Susan Hatler

  Chapter One

  I shouldn’t have sent out the wedding invitations. So obvious—now. The only upside? I’d chosen exquisite paper and Bickley Script font for the cancellation notices. Humiliating, but classy. According to my mother, good taste improved any situation. It was a motto she lived by, and I’d followed suit.

  Always the good girl, that’s me.

  Unfortunately, the bridal boutique where I bought my wedding dress had a no returns policy. I’d chosen an off-the-shoulder chantilly lace trumpet gown that would never go out of style. Not that I’d ever wear it after what Paul DeWitt put me through. So I sold it online for a fifty-percent loss, which was a bummer.

  Being married to a lying, cheating, slimeball would’ve bummed me out more, though.

  Since my mom had raised me to control my emotions, I’d kept it together—at least on the outside. In private, I bawled my eyes out for two months straight.

  Paul had called me for the first few weeks pleading with me to forgive him. He’d admitted cheating on me but said it had been early in our relationship. And if he had known she was my sister then he never would’ve dated her. Hard to believe he’d thought that apology would win me back. I’d grossly overestimated his intelligence.

  That had been four months ago.

  Now, I’d just closed escrow on a ranch-style house located on the Sacramento River—boo-ya! Unfortunately, my new home looked like the eighties had thrown up in it. The remodel overwhelmed me so I recruited my two girlfriends and we were currently peeling strips of orange rooster-covered wallpaper off my kitchen wall—a tedious task that was going three times faster than when I worked alone.

  “My realtor asked me out,” I announced, as I removed an impressively large strip of wallpaper (three roosters-worth).

  Kristen let out a whistle as she defiled the poultry on the adjacent wall. “Guess he wanted more than a commission, huh?”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Well, a commission is all he’s getting. I turned him down.”

  “Is this the guy, Kaitlin?” Ginger gestured to the calendar-magnet on my fridge, which included a glamour shot of my realtor, Chase McDermott. “Why would you say no to this fine specimen of a man? Just looking at him makes me want to buy real estate. Not that I can afford it.”

  “Oh, I hear you,” I said, picking at a stubborn scrap of wallpaper that didn’t want to come off. “If my dad hadn’t given me the down payment, I’d still be renting, too.”

  Ginger rubbed her chin. “How’d you get your dad to pony up the cash?”

  Shrugging, I said, “He offered, so I accepted. We don’t really go into details about things in my family. It’s all very polite and surface-like. But, I don’t know, maybe he’s trying to make up for divorcing my mom, moving to Seattle, and being absent most of my life.”

  “Darn.” Ginger went back to scratching at her portion of wall. “My parents are still married so I’m out of luck.”

  I made a frowny face and pursed my lips. “Poor you.”

  “Back to Chase McDermott.” Ginger gestured toward his picture. “H. O. T.”

  Kristen hummed her approval, too.

  I flashed Ginger a wry smile. “Feel free to take down his number and call him.”

  She twisted her long, dark hair around her finger, and seemed to think about it a moment. “He likes you, not me. It’s been months since you dumped your loser ex. Time to get back in the saddle, girl.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not into horseback riding anymore.”

  Ginger huffed, then turned to Kristen. “You’re a family therapist. Talk some sense into her.”

  Ugh. They were pushing me to date—again. My stomach knotted as I realized I’d brought this on myself by mentioning Chase. Not smart, Kaitlin. Not smart.

  Kristen glanced my way, then surprised me by shrugging. “If Kaitlin doesn’t want to date Chase McDermott, the most gorgeous man to walk the planet—after Ethan, of course—then that’s her choice, and we should respect that.”

  Surprised, the knots in my belly loosened. “Thank you.”

  Kristen flicked a piece of paper off her sponge, then lifted her lashes. “Although it does seem like an awful waste. It’s not like there’s something horrifyingly wrong with him, right? He doesn’t smell? Or pick his teeth with his fingernail?”

  Ginger shuddered. “I hate when guys do that.”

  My mouth dropped open. “You were going to respect my decision, remember?”

  Kristen shook her head. “I said we should. I never said we would. What gives, Kaitlin? Did you find out he has a rap sheet?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Chase could be the most law-abiding citizen in Sac, I’d still rather spend my time doing something just for me—like remodeling my house. I’m using shabby chic beach-themed decor.”

  “Sounds gorgeous.” Kristen scrubbed her sponge against the wall. “But can’t you date him and decorate?”

  I moaned. “Just drop it. I’m not interested in going out with Chase.”

  “You said the same thing when your mom wanted to fix you up with her friend’s son, and you didn’t have a good reason for turning him down, either.” Ginger hopped onto
my counter then leveled me with a stare. “Do you want to become a cat-lady, Kaitlin? Is that your goal?”

  “Hmm . . . you could be onto something there. Felines are probably more loyal than a man. Thanks for the idea. Maybe I’ll start with a calico—”

  “You need to start dating,” Ginger said firmly.

  Kristen nodded. “It’s really time.”

  I grunted and threw my hands up in frustration, my sponge flying through the air. It hit the floor, spattering water. “See what you made me do? I just want to fix up my house in peace, without you two ganging up on me.”

  Ginger pursed her lips. “Not gonna happen.”

  “As a successful woman in your late twenties, you’re in your prime. You side-swiped being married to a two-timing cheat. You’ve earned a license to date. Take it, and drive.” Kristen used an annoyingly reasonable tone. “Go out with a guy. Or two. Or five. Try men on and see how they fit. Don’t think of it as stressful, more like window-shopping.”

  I leaned down, then nabbed my sponge off the floor. “Is this what therapy is like? Do you use these kinds of whacky analogies with your clients?”

  “I don’t have to because my clients listen to me.” Kristen tilted her head. “At least, most of the time.”

  Ginger raised her hand. “If you start dating, I will help you paint the inside of your entire house.”

  I’d been heading to the sink to rinse my sponge, but stopped short at this generous offer. “You do realize we’re talking about two-thousand square feet?”

  Kristen moved to stand next to Ginger. “We’ll both help you.”

  A vision of my house entirely painted flashed through my mind—sandy-brown with white trim. While the thought of opening my heart to someone left a bad taste in my mouth, what would one drink with Chase hurt? “If I go on this date, you’d both have to help me from start to finish. Deal?”

  “One date?” Ginger crossed her arms. “That’s pacifying us, not getting back in the game.”

  The image of my beautifully painted interior evaporated and I panicked. “What’s it going to take?”

  Ginger turned to Kristen and they seemed to hold an entire conversation with their eyes and facial expressions, before finally nodding at each other.

  “Five dates,” Kristen said. “Then we’ll stop worrying about you becoming a hermit and you’ll have two slaves for your remodel.”

  “Five?” I groaned, then realized today was Saturday. If I went on five dates in five nights, we could start painting next weekend. “Not only would you have to stop bugging me about dating but you’d need to tell the girls at work to lay off, too. Because Ellen keeps trying to set me up with some guy from Henry’s softball league.”

  “Agreed,” they said in unison.

  Ginger clapped her hands, then lifted my cell off the counter. “Call him. Now.”

  “You’re relentless,” I muttered, as she handed me the phone. “Fine.”

  Even though it was the last thing I wanted to do, I called Chase. We agreed to meet for a drink on Monday at the Geoffries hotel lounge—my idea since I’d attended New Year’s at the Geoffries and my taste buds still remembered the deliciousness of their signature cocktail.

  Five dates in five days. Then I could let my license to date expire and focus on making my home exactly how I wanted it. I’d arranged one date, four to go.

  ****

  Sunday evening, I picked up my stepsister, Melanie, and we drove to Old Sacramento. Since I’d found out she’d been seeing my ex, things had been a little awkward between us. In her defense, she’d had no clue I’d been dating Paul, had been shocked when I’d introduced him as my fiancé, and hadn’t known how to tell me the louse had been cheating on us (with each other). Probably would’ve been better if she hadn’t confessed at my bachelorette party, though.

  Just saying.

  When Mel and I arrived in Old Sac, we still had a few minutes before meeting our parents (my mom, her dad) for dinner at The Boat House, so we slipped into a nearby boutique to browse the goodies they were selling.

  I lifted a seashell-covered tissue-box cover from an antique shelf, trying to decide if I liked it. “Cute or tacky?”

  “Either way, it’ll be hard to dust.” Mel pointed at the space between the shells. “Look at all those crevices.”

  That was Mel—ever practical. Even now she wore no make-up, had her blonde-hair thrown into a ponytail, and looked effortlessly gorgeous. I, on the other hand, had spent an hour applying makeup and taming my wild, red locks with a flat-iron. Unlike Mel, nothing came easily for me. Sigh.

  I set the high-maintenance tissue-holder down, then examined a sea-foam blue vase. “I need a date. Know anyone single I could stand to be with for an hour?”

  Mel turned toward me, her blonde hair bouncing over her shoulder. “A whole hour? Gee, that sounds romantic.”

  Wrinkling my nose, I said, “I’m not looking for romance. I’m being forced to date. Kristen and Ginger have been hounding me for weeks, and yesterday I cracked. I need five dates in five days, then they’ll help me paint the interior of my house.”

  “Kristen Moore?” Mel threw her head back and laughed. “Is a family counselor supposed to be pressuring you like that?”

  “Right?” Turning the vase over, I checked the price and flinched. “Are you kidding me? It’s made of glass, not gold.”

  “I love that.” She gave an approving nod. “It would look great on that dark bookshelf in your living room.”

  I shook my head. “I’ve finally brought my savings to a comfortable level. I can’t blow this much money on a vase—even if it was hand-blown in Italy and I’d have it forever . . . agh! Get me out of here before I break out my credit card.”

  Mel laughed, led me toward the door, then paused at a shelf filled with colorful candles. “Guess what?” She lifted a candle to her nose. “I have a job interview this week.”

  I sniffed the candle she held toward me. “For a teaching position?”

  She nodded. “It’s my third interview this summer so wish me luck that this school won’t want someone more experienced, too. I’m existing on beans and rice right now.”

  Mel’s hours as an aerobics instructor had been cut recently when new management had taken over the gym so I knew her budget was tight. Always looking on the bright side, she decided to finally use her major in early-childhood education to teach. “I’ll be crossing my fingers for you, sweetie.”

  “Thanks.” Mel laced her arm through mine, the bell chiming behind us as we strode out the door. “So, you need a date.”

  I stopped at the edge of the sidewalk. “A second one, actually. I’ve scheduled the first.”

  “Really?” Mel checked for cars before we crossed the cobblestone street, her ponytail bouncing over her shoulder. “With who?”

  “My realtor.” Fingering the edge of my silky hair, I couldn’t help thinking how much time I’d save each morning if I just put my hair up the way Mel did. But my mother had taught me to always look my best, and casual didn’t cut it in Mom’s book. “I need four more dates for the deal, though. Mom tried to set me up a few weeks ago so I’m going to see if he’s still available. His mother is Alisha Burnside from Mom’s Spritzer Ladies golfing group.”

  Mel stopped before the double glass-door entrance of The Boathouse. “You know that ladies group is just their excuse to look respectable while drinking before noon.”

  I giggled, agreeing with her one-hundred percent. “Still, Alisha’s son could be decent to hang with for one cocktail.”

  She held a finger in the air. “Apparently Janet failed to tell you she already tried to set me up with Brian Burnside.”

  My brows scrunched together. “Mom did that?”

  Mel nodded. “Trust me, no potential there.”

  It’s like she wasn’t listening to me. “I don’t need potential, just a second date.”

  Her eyes widened. “You’re missing the point of why your friends set up this dating deal. Don’t you wan
t to find someone wonderful? Like Matt?”

  Yeah, Mel’s boyfriend was eighty shades of awesome. But guys like Matt were a rare breed. And it’s not like I needed a man in my life to be happy. Besides, my remodel kept calling to me and all I could think about were two words: free labor.

  I reached for the door. “What I want is to concentrate on my house, my sanctuary. I’m going to power through these dates so they don’t slow me down from my real goal.”

  Mel leaned toward me as she breezed through the entryway, whispering, “Brian Burnside is also jobless.”

  My brows came together. “Really? Mom said he’s an architect.”

  Not that it mattered.

  Spotting my mother inside, I strode toward her with only one thing in mind: a date for Tuesday night. After Brian, I’d only have three more dates until I was home-free.

  ****

  On Monday, Ginger spread the word to everyone at work about my date with Chase, and they were all making a big deal about it. As the human resources manager at Woodward Systems Corporation, I pulled rank and sent a mass-email reminding everyone that personal topics of conversation should not be discussed during work hours.

  Then I ditched out of the office twenty minutes early.

  Man, if one more person asked me if I was excited, I might scream . . . and confess that I was only dating under duress—not for the joy of it. As if. These dates were a means to an end. Nothing more.

  Seriously, what was wrong with focusing on myself right now? My dad had moved away from me when I was twelve. My fiancé had cheated on me (with my sister, no less). What sane woman would be eager to go back for more?

  Not moi.

  My heels clicked across the marble lobby as I entered the Geoffries hotel, glancing at the small line at the check-in counter and then over at the concierge desk where the elderly concierge was helping a woman holding a sweater-wearing poodle. Hopefully he was informing this obvious out-of-towner that it was ninety-eight degrees outside so if her dog needed an outfit it should be a bikini for the pool.