Young in Love

I fake laugh every time I think about how ironic it is to be a commitment-phobe relationship therapist who is also the daughter of two world-renowned marriage and family counselors. Seriously, it's comical! Want to know how I messed up my life? Getting arrested for stealing a priceless artifact for a tearful client. Want to know what my biggest problem is? Spending my life teaching women how to break relationships when all I want to do is make a relationship-with him. Want to know what that makes me? The Break-Up Expert who is questioning everything I thought I knew.

How one night turned into fifteen and counting is beyond me. I never imagined ending up here. I'm a Marriage Broker, not a matchmaker . . . Especially for myself! It was always a ruse. Perception, not reality. For a purpose, not for always. Business, not romance. Want to know my plan? A simple assist, a favor. Want to know my potential downfall? Him. His sincere eyes, his intoxicating smile, his scintillating personality. Oh, and our out-of-control chemistry. Formal galas, public dinner dates . . . that's what this was supposed to be. Lazy mornings, Netflix and chill, impromptu road trips . . . that wasn't our thing. Until it was. Spoiler alert: I can't resist him, so I won't. Everything is bad but he's so good. Ironic, huh? I thought so, too. Just like I thought this arrangement was only temporary. Except . . . what if it's everlasting love?

A long time ago, I helped her. Little tips about what to wear, how to leave a man wanting more, ways to be sexy without being too obvious. The guy she'd wanted was wrong for her, though. Still, she'd wanted him anyway and ended up with a broken heart. But she wasn't the only one, because even after I'd made my own intentions known, she walked away. Now, she's back in town. Still beautiful, still intelligent, still funny, and ready to start over after a bad breakup from someone who never deserved her in the first place. Want to know when I fell for one of my best friends? I can't even tell you. Somewhere between eating Superman ice cream in her mom's backyard and punching the first boy to ever make her cry. Want to know how I got friend-zoned? She'd have to tell you. My services-Wingman for Hire-help women drive the men they want crazy. Yet, I couldn't seem to get her to notice me that way. Want to know what I decided to do about it? The absolute right thing at the wrong time. Now, everything is different. The past is supposed to be forgotten; the rejection should be in the rear-view mirror. And I'm not asking for much . . . just forever.

My mission in life is simple. Family. Food. Freedom. Most people don't question my love for my family. And I make my living as a celebrity chef. The freedom part? The thought of being confined, behind bars, at a desk, or in a monogamous relationship, is not something I want for myself. Unfortunately, it becomes a problem when women want to make me their Forever Bae. Even after I make it clear that I'm not looking for more than short interlude. Except... when I think of her, when I'm with her, I don't feel stuck. I actually want uninterrupted time with her. Surprised? Me too. Want to know how I ended up in this predicament? I wish I knew because I definitely wasn't looking for it. Maybe it's the way she takes care of me? By listening to the things, I say and everything I don't say. Want to know why changing our relationship dynamic is a bad idea? I'm not the only one who wants her. Which makes it very complicated. Want to know another reason why this is a bad idea? My track record speaks for itself. And she deserves someone good. I'm... not. The choice is hers, though. I hate to lose so I'm playing to win. And I will show her that it's not him that she needs. It's me.

A lie can follow you to death. The first time my mother told me that, it didn't resonate. I'd made it a point to always tell the story that suited me in the moment. Truth or fiction. Except . . . I didn't count on the lies I told myself. Or the woman who held up the mirror so I could see them. I'm Tristan . . . and I got next.