The Boyfriend Collector Read online

  “That’s up to you.”

  I think it over for a moment. “I have a date tonight. With Gustavo. I also have a do-over with Chad, the chef, this weekend.”

  “And?”

  “I can’t keep sabotaging myself.” I make little circles over my temples. This whole dating thing is giving me a giant headache.

  Bex bobs his head slowly to demonstrate his attentive listening. “I’d try not to make more out of it than it is. You were nervous. You are under enormous pressure to make everything go smoothly.”

  “Ya think?”

  “Me think. Which is why I’m a fan of processes. You take something big—”

  “Like curing my incurable insanity?”

  He smiles. “You take something large and cumbersome and break it down into smaller pieces or steps. It makes the unmanageable more manageable.”

  I think about it. That is exactly what I need. A process to weed through these men instead of trying to figure out if I’ve found Mr. Right in the space of a few hours during a date.

  Okay, so step one, and a requirement to get to step two, will be having a good date. Easier said than done.

  Step two: I think, given the situation, I need to know right away if we’re sexually compatible. Yes, that makes me nervous. No, I don’t care how that might look or what people will say. This isn’t the Victorian age, and I’m an adult. Besides, the way I see it, what’s the point of feminism if women don’t get to own their sexuality? A woman should be able to wait until marriage if that’s what she believes is right for her, or have the freedom to enjoy as many partners as she’s comfortable with, all without ridicule or judgment from others.

  Step three: Determine if we have the necessary ingredients for a long-lasting relationship. Loyalty, passion, and trust are at the top of my list. I don’t know how I’m going to figure that part out, but I’ll cross that bridge when I get there. At the moment, I’m barely passing go.

  Step four, then, will hopefully be love and marriage.

  This is good. I can handle this. Except…I’m realizing I’ve had a good date with Gustavo, so step two is next.

  I look at Bex, knowing there isn’t a delicate way to put this. “Got any advice on how not to be nervous about having sex for the first time?”

  Bex’s face turns into a monolith of obsidian.

  He really doesn’t want to talk about this. I’m about to ask why, even if I know he won’t tell me, when he offers, “I can give you some relaxation exercises. They work well in any tense situation.”

  “Excellent. Because I anticipate having lots of those.”

  “Let’s do a few now so you have time to practice.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  I don’t know how to categorize my session today with Dr. Hughes—Bex—other than to say it was refreshing, uncomfortable, and confusing all rolled into one. I can’t put my finger on it, but something is going on with him.

  Still, I know I can trust him, and I need that right now. Plus, as ridiculous and insane as it sounds, I really do feel like we’re more friends than patient-doctor. I’d hang out with him even if he weren’t my therapist. Talking to him is easy, and he doesn’t look down on me for my shortcomings. But what I think I like most are those little moments where he allows himself to be vulnerable with me. For example, after our first meeting, he not only stepped up to the plate with an apology, but he revealed a very painful fact about his father.

  My doorbell rings, and I look at my watch. Oh no. Gustavo is thirty minutes early. I’m both nervous and excited to see him, but I’m not ready. I’ve decided to skip the makeup, since I don’t really know how to apply it—other than a bit of mascara and lip gloss—but my blonde hair isn’t straightened, and I smell funny. Target had a sale on body sprays, so I bought one. Autumn Holiday. I think it smells like pumpkin pie and gravy, and it’s making my headache worse. Too late to wash it off.

  Wearing sweats and a T-shirt, I yank open the door and find Gustavo looking like the embodiment of my ideal Prince Charming: the Latino version with the world’s cutest accent. His short dark hair is messy, his olive skin looks and smells fresh—not at all like a seasonal squash with bird sauce—and his well-proportioned body is accentuated by his snug blue dress shirt and jeans.

  “Oh, what is that perfume you’re wearing? It’s making me hungry,” he says.

  “I’m glad you like it because I don’t think it’s ever going to wash off. By the way, you’re early.” I grin, because who wouldn’t want to see more of him?

  “Sorry. I just couldn’t wait to see you again.” He steps inside and goes in for a kiss.

  I turn my cheek. Not that I don’t want him to kiss me—I so, so do—but I’ve never kissed a man or slept with one. And tonight, when the moment is right, I’m hoping to do both. I want to know as much as I can about him, including if we’re compatible in bed, before moving to step three.

  I take his hand and lead him to the only piece of furniture in my living room. An antique white couch with a matching chaise lounge. I found it at this cool consignment store for a few hundred, and it called to me. I really don’t know why because it’s not something I pictured buying.

  “Hey,” Gustavo points to the new additions to my home, “you got rid of the crates.”

  “I wanted to have more furniture by now, but I’m discovering that shopping is not my gift.”

  “Mine neither. Which is why my mother does all that for us.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, yes. She decorated all of our houses.”

  “All seven?” On our first date, while standing in line for the Devil’s Tail roller coaster, Gustavo told me he has six brothers. He’s one of the middle children at age twenty-six, the oldest being thirty-two. His mother is now fifty, so she started young, but that’s how things were in their small hometown back in Panama.

  “Yes. I will invite you to my place next time so you can see. You can also meet Olga.”

  “Is that your dog?”

  He chuckles. “Olga is my full-time assistant, but she’s also a masseuse, and she cooks food almost as good as my mother. Of course, she makes sure my house is tidy.”

  “So Olga is really your…nanny?” I joke.

  “No.” He shakes his head. “She’s my personal, full-time assistant, hand selected by my mother, who makes sure we are all properly taken care of.”

  I try not to make any facial expressions that will disclose what I’m thinking, but, man, I’m thinking stuff.

  “So, exactly how involved is your mother in your day-to-day life?”

  He shrugs. “The usual.”

  I crinkle my nose. “Honestly, I don’t know what ‘usual’ means.”

  He stares for a moment. “I’m sorry. Ob course. Ob course. Those terrible grandparents of yours—it’s easy to forget the things they did to you. You are so…” He waves a hand over my body. “Abundantly educated.”

  Why does his accent suddenly annoy me? Ah, because “educated” is not what he meant, and I just don’t have the stomach for playing games.

  He goes on, “Let me juss say that my mother is the caring woman I know you will be with your children.”

  Really? Because I don’t know anything about what it means to be a mother. I have zero context.

  “Does she like waiting on you?” It’s an honest question.

  He blinks. “What do you mean? Ob course she does!”

  “Oh. Cool.” I bob my head, but in my gut, I don’t feel like waiting on my family is something I could ever do again.

  He takes my hand. “Rose, when we have children someday, don’t you want the best for them—to give them everything? Because I know I do.”

  I’m on a tight timeline, but he’s moving fast even for me. “Kids, huh? What happened to ‘Let’s just have fun. No strings’?” I tease.

  “I meant that. I am a fun, no-strings kind of guy.”

  Now he’s just being weird. “Gustavo, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I feel like you’re talk
ing out both sides of your ass.”

  He jerks his head back.

  I continue, “For the record, I would never judge you for being unsure of what you want, but I won’t be played.”

  He stares for a long moment with those almond eyes. “Rose, Rose, Rose.” He grabs me by the waist and pulls me in. “You see right through me.”

  “I do?”

  “Oh yes. I meant to convince you that I didn’t care one way or another if you wanted a relationship, but how can any man look at you and not want you all to himself? It’s not possible.”

  I come with a treasure chest, and something about this guy is telling me that’s what he’s after. On the other hand, he’s extremely handsome. The full lips, the dimpled chin, the charming smile. If God presented me with a husband catalog and asked me to choose based on appearances, I’d pick this guy. Okay, I’d pick Bex. But Dr. Hughes is not on the menu.

  I take one step back. “Gustavo, if my eyes made my decisions, I’d be all in. You are just that good looking. But I think you know it and use it to your advantage. Unfortunately, I’ve lost way too much time on people who aren’t genuine, and I don’t have the patience for more.” I pause, reaching deep for the right words. “I want love—the real thing—and I’m willing to do what it takes to get it. I’ll even risk my inheritance if I have to wait to find it. But I cannot and will not waste my time on men who play games or don’t deserve me.”

  I suddenly feel like patting myself on the back. After the party, I swore that going forward, I’d take control of my life. I’d speak up. I would never allow anyone to run my life. Speaking up, like I did just now, feels better than I imagined.

  “I understand you, Rose.” He nods slowly. “I do. So please don’t tink I want you for your money. I’d take you penniless.” He cups my cheek with his warm hand. “I have money enough for us both. And if what I have isn’t enough to make you happy, then I’d work for more. I don’t care.”

  His words couldn’t be more perfect, but I don’t feel like he’s completely genuine. Almost like he’s just playing a role.

  Or…you’re trying to sabotage yourself again. I want to smack myself in the forehead, because that’s exactly what I’m doing. I’m inventing a reason not to trust him when all he’s guilty of is playing it cool a little.

  I place my hand on his freshly shaved face. It’s smooth. Maybe too smooth, but I’m not going to marry a man for his shaving rituals. It’s all about the heart. “I know what I’m about to say might be breaking every dating rule in the book, but I know what I’m looking for.” Down to the smile. “All I need to know from you is if we date for the next two weeks, and you still want me at the end of it and I still want you, will you be ready to marry?”

  His brown eyes gloss over. “Yes. Absolutely.” He swoops me up in his arms and spins me, kissing my face—cheeks, forehead, chin. “I wanted you the first moment I saw you in that ballroom.”

  He sets me down and grips me by the shoulders. “You don’t know how happy I’ll make you. Me, my brothers, my father, and especially my mother are all so excited about bringing you into the family. She is not an easy woman to please, but she has a feeling about you.”

  His mother? That’s a little odd. And I don’t like how he’s already talking like it’s a done deal. It feels…off.

  Don’t sabotage yourself, Rose. He’s nice. He’s hot. Just follow the processes. Yes, the process.

  I gather myself and get my bearings. “Just to be clear, though, I’m not proposing to you. We’re not engaged or anything. I was only talking about hypotheticals just in case things go well, which I hope they do.”

  “As do I. Which is why I wanted you to know what to expect.” He gives my nose a playful poke. “Whoever I marry becomes a part of my big loving family. I must be sure you’d be okay with that, si?”

  I love it. I do. And I’ve always wanted to be a part of a family like his. My mind drifts to a scene where we’re all sitting around a big table filled with enormous plates of food. Everyone is talking, eating, and laughing. It’s the sort of moment I didn’t have growing up, and I want it. I want to be a part of passionate discussions over coffee and dessert, where people pound their fists on the table and make drama, but they ultimately end the night with hugs and forgiveness.

  “Rose, I know you and I only juss met, but I’m about to open my first nightclub in Miami.” He takes both my hands and cups them in his own. “This is my dream, and all that’s missing from my life is the perfect woman by my side. By the way, I juss bought a house on the beach, furnished with everything you could ever want.”

  I clear something sticky in my throat. “Miami? Nightclub?”

  “Salsa. Techno bossa nova. Reggaeton. Flow.”

  “Salsa techy what?”

  He waves his jazz hands toward the sky. “It’s going to be the biggest Latin music club in the country. It’s going to have vibe rooms and five different concept spaces to flavor the music.”

  “That sounds…exciting?” I smile and shrug.

  “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” he asks.

  “Sorry. I’ve never been to a club, and I’ve only danced in my bathroom—to oldies, the only clear station I could get on my broken radio.”

  “This is wrong!” He takes my hand and starts tugging me toward the front door.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To rectify this situation. Immediately.”

  “You mean a dance club?” I ask, fearing he’ll say yes.

  “Ob course.”

  “But I’m in my sweats.” I dig my heels in to halt our movement toward the front door.

  He stops and faces me, his eyes glittering with adoration. “And you will still be the most beautiful woman there.”

  I really hadn’t planned on going out like this, but if he doesn’t care, then why should I? I mean, isn’t this what I want in a man? Someone who doesn’t care about what I’m wearing or how much money I have. Or don’t have. I want to be loved for what’s in my heart. Honestly, this is a huge point in his favor.

  And, well, fuck it. I’ve always wanted to go to a dance club.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Ohmygod, I can’t. I can’t!” Gustavo pulls me back onto the dance floor for the tenth time tonight. And even though I’m in sweats and tennis shoes and a few people stared, I’ve still had the time of my life. My feet, on the other hand, are throbbing.

  “Yes, you can. You must!” He laughs, pulling me along.

  “Okay. But this is the last one.” Not only am I stuffed from snacking on chips and salsa and those fried cheese stick things, but I’ve had two mango mojitos. I never drink. Ever. Nor am I twenty-one yet, but Gustavo’s friend owns the place, so we were given the VIP service, including our own table. No doubt about it, tonight has been one big hedonistic adventure. Even the club—with its enormous indoor palm trees, three separate dance floors, and live band—is something to remember.

  Gustavo takes my hands and threads his fingers into mine. Like he showed me in the quick lesson earlier, I keep my hips loose and my shoulders still. Mostly, I just try to follow his steps. He goes back; I go forward with the opposite foot. He steps to the side; I mirror.

  I love the way he maneuvers his strong body, especially how his pecs and biceps bulge and flex when he moves his arms. And I can’t say enough about his ass. It’s hard and tight, like two beach balls under his jeans. Every time he turns around, I can’t look away.

  He pulls me into him and grinds his hips in a circle against me. I follow, enjoying the light friction and sensual movements. We have insane chemistry. I just don’t know if that will translate into love.

  Ultimately, the only way to find out is to take the next step forward. And then another. Just like Dr. Hughes said.

  Suddenly, an image of Bex standing in his tuxedo the night of the party flashes in my mind. There was a look in his eyes I’ll never forget. Fearless, determined. So incredibly hot.

  Rose. No! I’m confusing grat
itude with something else.

  I refocus on my task at hand: step two with Gustavo.

  “I’m getting a little tired. Would you mind if we call it a night?” I whisper in Gustavo’s ear, followed by a coy grin and wink. I’m hoping he gets the gist.

  He pulls back to look at me, but he doesn’t seem excited. More like uneasy.

  “Is something wrong?” I ask.

  He stares for a long moment, which makes me nervous. Maybe he doesn’t want to have sex with me. Or he misread my come-on?

  “Do you want to come back to my place?” I ask.

  His silence and lack of enthusiasm suddenly makes me feel like the world’s biggest moron. Ohmygod. “Are you one of those super-religious guys, and now you think I’m a slut?”

  “What? No. I just don’t think we should—”

  “Um…” I point over my shoulder, feeling all the more humiliated. “I’m gonna go now.” I’m sure there are plenty of cabs outside. If not, I can try Uber for the first time.

  “Wait. No, I’ll take you home.”

  “You really don’t have to. I mean, I understand if you’re not feeling it between us.” It’s just weird, because up until thirty seconds ago, he seemed to be really interested.

  “I’m juss a little nervous,” he says. “That is all.”

  He’s nervous? Him? My mind jumps to what Bex said about me not being the only one who gets anxious on a date. Stop thinking about Bex!

  Still, he had a point: Guys get nervous too. Maybe Gustavo is worried that I won’t like sleeping with him. Performance anxiety or something.

  I smile reassuringly. “You have nothing to be nervous about. Not with me. Can we go now?”

  He nods hesitantly and takes my hand. His is cold and clammy.

  Wow, he really is anxious. It’s kind of sweet. As we weave our way through the crowd and the hundreds of gyrating bodies, I force myself to focus only on Gustavo. I don’t want a certain therapist popping in and out of my thoughts when I should be getting ready to enjoy my first time and assessing how I fit with this man.

  Gustavo and I step outside onto the nearly empty sidewalk. The night air is cold, and a few people are standing around smoking cigarettes. A couple leans against the front of the stucco building, making out.