Pride

Chapter 2

“This… isn’t… so… bad…,” Harper lied, panting for breath with every word.

Miranda slammed the big red button on her treadmill and nearly toppled to the ground as the moving track stopped short beneath her feet.

“Are you kidding?” she asked, glaring at Harper. “This has got to be the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

Harper pushed her sweaty bangs out of her face and grimaced-she would never have suggested scamming Grace’s only gym into giving them a free trial workout if she’d known it would be so much work. After all, working, on the first day of winter vacation? It went against everything she believed in.

But it would be worth it, she reminded herself, and began pedaling the stationary bike even faster. Harper usually steered clear of physical activity (unless you counted the kind that took place behind closed bedroom doors). But she’d always told herself that an aversion to exercise was a choice, not a necessity-if the time ever came that she needed to be in shape, she’d been sure it would be a snap.

The time had come. But the only thing snapping would be her bones, if she managed to fall off the exercise bike one more time.

“Maybe it’s time to throw in the towel,” Miranda suggested. She made a face and gestured toward the soggy towel she’d been using to wipe away her sweat. “Literally.”

“No way.” Harper smiled through gritted teeth. “We’re just getting into the groove.” She looked hatefully at the lithe bodies effortlessly working the machines all around her. Losers, all of them, judging by their baggy T-shirts, saggy shorts, and mis-sized sports bras-and yet none of them were gasping and panting like a wounded animal. Like Harper.

“So what’s with the new work ethic?” Miranda asked, turning the treadmill back on and, with a sigh, continuing her plodding jog to nowhere.

“Hello-school ski trip coming up? Need to get in shape? Remember? Are you burning off calories or brain cells?”

“Funny.” Miranda didn’t show a hint of a smile. “But I don’t buy it. You’ve got us up at the buttcrack of dawn, breaking a sweat. Just to get in shape so you can ski? And you don’t even know how to ski.”

Thanks for rubbing it in.

Harper knew it was ridiculous to want to impress Adam up on the slopes-and though she hated to admit it, she knew a couple hours on a stationary bike and a Skiing for Dummies book wouldn’t help her keep up with someone who’d been on the slopes since he was nine. But it couldn’t hurt to try, right? Adam was such the all-American athlete-skiing, swimming, running, he did it all with an ease that made Harper crazy. And his previous girlfriends had been the same way-even Beth, who’d never played on a team in her life, had a natural athletic grace that made Harper sick to watch.

She just wanted to make sure she measured up. Especially this weekend. This weekend, everything had to be perfect.

“Is this all to impress Adam?” Miranda persisted. Harper winced, hating the way her best friend could read every expression that flickered across her face. “Because you’ve known each other half your lives. Don’t you think it’s probably a little late to impress him? At least, more than you already have?”

Two months of dating-two months of fearing, every moment, that Adam would find out what she’d done to get him, would find out she wasn’t the person he was, she hoped, falling in love with. Harper needed to impress him, all right, every moment. Because if she wasn’t perfect-if they weren’t perfect together-Harper suspected there was an understudy waiting in the wings who’d be only too happy to replace her. Harper wasn’t about to give Beth the chance; but she also wasn’t about to admit any of her pathetic insecurities out loud. She had far too much pride to expose that part of herself-even to Miranda.

“I just want this weekend to be good, all right?” she snapped, staring resolutely at the tiny TV screen hanging on the opposite wall, and pretending to care how Jerry Springer’s latest guest had managed to accidentally sleep with her transsexual cousin.

“What makes this weekend any different from… oh!” A triumphant grin blossomed across Miranda’s face. She hopped off the machine and grabbed a handlebar on Harper’s bike, forcing Harper to face her. “Are you telling me that this weekend is…?”

Harper felt a tingling heat spread across her cheeks and jerked her head away. She couldn’t be blushing. She never blushed.

“This is it, isn’t it?” Miranda pressed on eagerly. “WFS. Are you kidding me? After all this time, you haven’t…”

WFS.

Weekend For Sex. Harper and Miranda had coined the term a couple years ago, the first time Harper’s parents had left her alone for the weekend. Justin Diamond, the JV lacrosse captain and her first serious boyfriend, had pulled into the driveway five minutes after her parents had left. (And about five minutes later, he’d been ready to pull out again.)

Harper gave Miranda a curt nod.

“WFS!” Miranda repeated in a hushed and wondrous tone. “I don’t believe it.”

“Rand, can we drop it?” Harper asked irritably, pedaling harder. Miranda was making it sound like she just hopped into bed with anything that moved-as if she had no patience, no discrimination, no self-restraint.

And, okay, it had been a long time since she’d made a guy wait so long. She knew that Beth was still a virgin, knew that sleeping with Adam would probably be the fastest and surest way to win his affection-but she wanted more than that. Adam was worth more than some guy, more than all of them put together.

Feeling like she was about to pass out, Harper sighed and stopped pedaling.

“Oh, thank God,” Miranda breathed, staggering off the treadmill and taking a long gulp from her water bottle. She tossed it over to Harper. “Here-you look even worse than I feel.”

Harper bristled at the suggestion (okay, observation of the obvious) that she was a tiny bit out of shape, but gulped down half the bottle before passing it back. “I didn’t have to stop,” she boasted. “I’ve just got a lot of errands to run before I go to work.”

Work. The word still sounded strange coming out of her mouth.

“Work?” Miranda repeated incredulously. “Work on what? Your nails?”

Harper looked away-she’d held off on telling Miranda about her little problem, but this moment would have had to come, sooner or later. “I got a job,” she mumbled, staring over her shoulder as Jerry’s guest tried to strangle her cousin with the microphone cord.

“A what?”

“A job,” Harper spit out, finally facing her. “I got a job, okay? My stupid parents wouldn’t pay for the ski trip, and I needed to go, so I just-oh, forget it.”

It was so humiliating. She was, after all, Harper Grace-as in, Grace, California. The town had been named for her family’s mining company, and for decades they had ruled like desert royalty. And then, years before Harper had been born-no more copper. No more mines. And just like that-no more money.

At least, if you believed her parents’ endless whining. But they had enough to get by. Enough for “important” things-they just didn’t understand the meaning of the word. And so Harper had to carry on the Grace name, the Grace legacy, all on her own. And if that meant a few weeks of menial labor-she shivered at the thought-so be it.

Miranda frowned, knowing better than to make light of Harper’s situation-not when it involved cash flow, and definitely not when it involved working hard, working for other people, working in public.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, quietly. “Maybe I could have-”

“Don’t even say it,” Harper snapped. Graces didn’t accept handouts. Not from anyone.

“So, where are you working?” Miranda finally asked, after a long and awkward pause.

“It doesn’t matter.” Like she was going to tell Miranda about her humiliating saga, traipsing from one bar to the next, only to be turned away for being too young. Not too young to drink-or too young to flirt with-but that was as far as any of these loser bartenders had been willing to go. She’d tried the Lost and Found, the Cactus Cantina, and then in desperation even Bourquin’s Coffee Shop and the decrepit vintage clothing store, Classic Rags-but in the end, only one place had had any openings. And no wonder-it was the last place any sane person would have chosen to work. Which meant plenty of openings for those poor saps with no choice at all.

She made a show of checking her watch and frowned as if she had somewhere far more important to be.

“I have to get out of here, Rand,” she lied, hurrying toward the locker room as fast as her weary, leaden legs could carry her.

“Is this weekend really worth that much to you?” Miranda called, scurrying to catch up.

Harper just shot her a look-the WFS look-and Miranda nodded. That said it all.

On her walk home, Miranda couldn’t stop thinking about Harper-maybe that’s why she didn’t see him. Her brain was stuck on the fact that her best friend, who usually told her everything-usually more than she wanted to know-had started keeping secrets. There was the job thing. The WFS-did that count as a secret too? Harper had clearly gone out of her way never to mention it-but then, she’d kept unnaturally quiet on almost everything having to do with her relationship with Adam. Oh, she talked about Adam plenty. Adam was, these days, almost all she talked about. How wonderful he was. How happy he made her. How much he loved being with her. And on, and on, until it seemed like their friendship had turned into nothing more than an Adam Morgan love-fest. But they never talked about anything real, like how Harper felt about being in her first serious relationship. Or how Miranda felt like her best friend was slipping away from her. And they never, ever talked about the biggest secret of all: how Harper and Adam had gotten together in the first place.

What had happened that day, when Adam went off to a swim meet, Beth stayed in town, and Harper inexplicably showed up the next morning with Adam hanging on her arm?

To be fair, Miranda had never come right out and asked Harper what had happened-that same night, they’d had a massive fight, and Harper had left Miranda crying and alone in the middle of the woods. Left her there for no good reason-and come home with everything she’d ever wanted, while Miranda had, as always, come home alone.

Harper had never really apologized. Miranda suspected, in fact, that in the warm glow of Adam-inspired happiness, Harper had totally forgotten. Miranda forgave her anyway. Like always. But that didn’t mean things had gone back to normal. Miranda and Harper had always been a twosome-but now, Harper plus Adam made two. And two plus Miranda made a crowd. There was this new part of Harper’s life that Miranda couldn’t have access to, couldn’t really understand. She was too embarrassed to even mention any of this to Harper, didn’t want to be seen as a lonely and pathetic third wheel, someone to be included out of pity. Out of obligation.

So there was another secret.

How many secrets would it take, Miranda wondered, to kill a friendship?

The question kept bouncing around in her head-it was all she could focus on. And that’s why she didn’t see him-not until he was, literally, on top of her.

“Can you watch where you’re going?”

The boy who’d slammed past Miranda turned back at the sound of her angry snarl. He froze in the middle of the sidewalk when he realized whom he’d hit.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Miranda stammered, backing away. “I didn’t-”

“No, I’m sorry,” he interrupted, with exaggerated solemnity. “I didn’t realize that I’d bumped into the high and mighty Miranda. What a fool I am.”

“Greg…,” she began, then stopped herself. What could she say? Sorry I went on a few dates with you and blew you off? Sony that, even though you’re smart and funny and liked me a lot, it just wasn’t going to work? Or how about, Sorry that you overheard me telling my best friend that I deserve better than you? Miranda didn’t think there was a Miss Manners-prescribed etiquette for the situation, but none of the most obvious options seemed particularly appropriate.

“Sorry I yelled, Greg,” she finally continued. “I didn’t realize it was you.”

“Oh, she remembers my name,” he crowed, not meeting her eyes. “I’m so honored.”

“Greg, can we just-do you have to…”

“Do I have to what?” he asked loudly, drawing curious stares from two women pushing their strollers across the street. “Do I have to stand here and pretend I care what you have to say?” He paused, and pretended to think it over. “Now that you mention it-no, I don’t.”

He brushed past her and strode down the street, pausing a few feet away to shout something back to her.

“I do sincerely apologize for bumping into you-you deserve much better than that.”

If nothing else, the encounter-her first run-in with Greg since the “unfortunate incident”-should have proved to Miranda that her instincts had been right: She was too good for that immature jerk. But telling herself that didn’t help much. She’d been feeling guilty for weeks about the things she’d said about Greg-and the look on his face when he’d overheard.

She had hoped that maybe, since all this time had passed, he’d have cooled down, be willing to forgive her, assure her that she wasn’t such a cold and horrible person. That maybe they could even be friends.

Apparently not.

Harper had lied-not a first. She had hours to go before she officially entered the miserable ranks of the employed. But she’d needed to escape before Miranda pried more information out of her about her job, or her boyfriend. It was exhausting, trying so hard to keep her best friend out of the loop. Sometimes, it was easier to just be alone.

So here she was, hours to kill on Grace’s main drag. As a general rule, the town offered only two leisure options: shopping and boozing. And since she didn’t plan to show up plastered for her first day of work, those options narrowed to one.

Time to pre-spend that first paycheck. (The second one would go to her parents, to pay back the money they’d loaned her-but as far as she was concerned, the first money she’d ever earned for herself was already earmarked for a fabulous new ensemble that would make her shine up on the slopes as much as she shined on the ground.)

First stop had been the local video store. She’d snuck in, skulked around the sparse fitness section for a few minutes, and then grabbed the cheapest and most painless-looking workout videos she could find: Sweatin’ to the Oldies, Pilates for Beginners, and a Paula Abdul dance aerobics tape clearly left over from 1987. After throwing a wad of cash at the clerk, she stuffed the tapes into the bottom of her gym bag and raced out of the store, hoping no one had spotted her. She wasn’t about to break a sweat in public again, not after her pathetic showing this morning, but she also wasn’t about to let anyone know she’d be sweating to the oldies at home with Richard Simmons. The potential humiliation factor was through the roof.

Next stop: Angie’s, Grace’s only “fine clothing shop.” Harper usually shopped online-most Grace gear was pretty much a fashion faux pas waiting to happen-but the ski trip was fast approaching, and she had no time to waste waiting for a package that, given the incompetence of her local postal workers, might never arrive. Just one problem: Angie’s was a desert clothing store, and even in the middle of winter, their cold-weather selection was limited to a shelf of thick socks, thin gloves, and a few wool sweaters covered with giant snowflakes.

“Pathetic, isn’t it?”

Harper recognized the voice and turned around slowly to meet the familiar smirk.

“Fancy meeting you here,” she greeted him with a smile.

“A true delight,” Kane drawled sarcastically, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting up-despite the prominently placed NO SMOKING sign just above his head.

If Harper was surprised to spot him in a women’s clothing store, she didn’t let on, nor did she reveal her true delight at running into him. They had so few chances to speak privately these days-and of course it was only in private that they could crow about the triumph of their secret plan. Harper never got tired of winning, and she never got tired of rehashing her victories. Too bad Kane and Kaia were the only ones who could ever know about this, the greatest victory of all.

“See anything you like?” Kane asked.

Harper dropped the light blue cashmere scarf she’d been fingering-it was the only worthwhile item in the store. And it was gorgeous. It also cost about as much as the entire ski trip-and thus was way out of her league. Not that she’d ever admit it to Kane.

“Nada. This place is a fashion wasteland,” she complained, grabbing a cigarette from him after deciding that the clerk was too immersed in her latest trashy romance novel to notice. “So, having a good time?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Shopping? Surely you jest.”

She smacked him lightly on the arm. “Not the store, Kane-the girl. You. Beth. Is it everything you’d hoped for?”

His face finally broke into a wide grin.

“And more,” he confided. “She can’t get enough of me. And no wonder. You should have seen the look on her face when Adam showed up raging about what she’d done. She had no idea what the hell he was talking about. Totally crushed.” He waggled his eyebrows at Harper and smirked, as he did every time he fondly recounted this point in the story. “I, of course, was there to pick up the pieces. You can imagine she’d be quite grateful.”

“That’s nothing,” Harper claimed. “You should have seen the look on Adam’s face when he saw the pictures. He…” But she trailed off, for there was nothing particularly amusing about the memory of her oldest friend’s reaction to seeing the doctored photos of Beth and Kane. He’d collapsed in on himself, and Harper had been the cause. Knowing she could alleviate his pain with a few words-confess that the pictures were fake, that she and Kane were to blame, that Beth was, as always, pure and innocent-that had been the hardest part of the whole thing. But she couldn’t do it-wouldn’t do it. She wasn’t proud of what she’d done, but there had been no other way.

“Come on, Grace, don’t get sentimental on me now,” Kane charged. “This is a time for swagger and celebration.”

“Sometimes I just wonder…”

“What, whether we did the right thing?”

“Well, don’t you?” she countered.

“Why bother?” he asked, smirking. “What’s done is done. Adam and Beth were doomed-we just helped things along a bit. Think of it as a mercy killing.”

“I suppose Adam is much better off now without all that dead weight,” Harper mused.

“Hey, watch it,” Kane cautioned her in mock anger. “That’s my girlfriend you’re talking about.”

“Your girlfriend, right.” Harper took a long drag on her cigarette, relishing the sharp taste of the smoke billowing out of her mouth. Adam hated it when she smoked, so she’d been trying to cut back. It had seemed a small price to pay, but God, she missed that nicotine buzz. “I guess I should congratulate you, now that we’re coming up on two months. What is this, your longest relationship ever?”

“Very funny, Grace.” But the smile had disappeared from his face. “Did you ever stop to think this one might be different?”

“Did I ever stop to think that the great Kane Geary, who’s made a life’s work of dating his way through town, who gets bored after about ten minutes of anything, might actually be tamed by Beth, of all people? Blond, bland, boring, Beth?” She finished off the cigarette and pondered the question. “No, I guess the thought never occurred to me.”

“You underestimate her, Grace. You always have.”

“And you overestimate her, Kane,” she pointed out. “That’s the part of this I’ve never understood. Why Beth, of all people? She thought you were scum, she was dating Adam, she’s so not your type. Why her?”

Kane smiled cryptically.

“Why not?”

The most memorable moment in my life was the time when I…

Growing up in a small town, I always believed that someday I would…

If there’s one thing I know in life, it’s that I…

Pathetic!

Beth slumped against the wall of the kitchen, ignoring the sticky grease patches that quickly dampened her polyester uniform. Her college applications were due in a couple weeks, and if she wanted to make up for her horrible SAT scores… She shivered at the memory of filling in all those tiny bubbles as tears spattered against the test booklet. It was bad enough Adam had broken up with her without any warning, had accused her of cheating on him, had tossed her away without a second thought-but she could never forgive him for doing it all the night before the SATs. If he were trying to ruin her life, he’d made a pretty damn good start.

No, if she didn’t come up with an amazing application essay, something that would blow the mind of any admissions officer who read it, she could kiss her future goodbye.

“Manning! Table seven’s still waiting for their food!” her manager called. One of the other waitresses, blowing past on her way back to the main dining area, shot her a dirty look: You may think you’re better than us, it said. You’re wrong.

Without college, she’d have a future, all right-a long and unprosperous life of flipping burgers at the Nifty Fifties diner, smiling pathetically at all her former classmates as they breezed through on spring break before heading back to their real lives in the real world. Not like she had any time to deal with her applications, the magic ticket to a new life-she was working double shifts to pay for this ski trip that Kane was insisting on, and every spare minute was spent at home, babysitting her little brothers. Leave it to me to get busier over winter break, she thought bitterly.

Beth stood up and tried to muster enough energy to face her customers, still furiously writing and rewriting in her head.

I’m a boring girl from a boring town, but I make a mean burger and fries…

“Waitress! We’ve been waiting for our food forever!”

Beth looked over to table seven-and almost turned on her heel and fled back to the kitchen. Spending her vacation at the diner, mopping up spilled milk shakes, ducking grease spatter, and taking orders from every surly, hygienically challenged customer who walked through the door, was bad enough. This was worse. It was what she hated most about this job: taking orders from her friends.

Scratch that-her former friends.

Christie, Nikki, Marcy, and Darcy were all dating guys from the basketball team. Which guys? Beth could never keep track-sometimes, she wondered if they could, either.

Before she’d started dating Adam, back when she was just another faceless nobody, they’d refused to acknowledge her existence. Oh, they knew her name, all right-the Haven High seniors had been trapped in one building or another together since kindergarten. There were no strangers in a small town. But you would never have known it, not from the blank stares when she crossed their path, from the way they looked right through her, as if she didn’t exist. As if she were nothing.

Then she’d started dating Adam-captain of the basketball team (and every other team that mattered), perennial homecoming king, Haven High’s golden boy-and suddenly, the Nikkis and the Christies of the world had welcomed her with open arms. More than that, they’d begged her to join them.

Come to Christie’s sleepover party and home spa day!

Hang with us at Nikki’s for tanning and iced Frappacinos!

Let’s all buy this super-cute pink scarf-and then wear them on the same day!

And so, despite her overstuffed schedule, despite never trusting them or her newfound status, she’d given in. Any free time she’d had that didn’t go to the newspaper or to the diner or to her family or to Adam-and granted, after all that, there wasn’t much left-went to the girls. It had been fun; it had also been, as she now realized, a mistake. A big one.

For as far as they knew, she’d cheated on Adam, broken his heart. So in their eyes, he was still Prince Charming, while she’d been transformed into the wicked witch.

She’d been a stranger, she’d become a friend-now, apparently, she was the enemy.

“Waitress!” Nikki called, waving her over. “Is there a problem? We’re starving.”

You know my name, Beth retorted-silently. Aloud, she said only, “It’ll be here as soon as possible, Nikki.” Through gritted teeth.

“It better be,” Nikki growled.

“Or what?” The words slipped out before Beth could stop herself.

“What did you say?” Nikki asked with incredulity. She turned to her left. “Christie, is it just me, or is the waitress being rather rude?”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t be rude, Nikki,” Christie responded in a voice oozing with false goodwill. “Since she knows that then we’d simply have no choice but to complain to the manager.”

“You’re right. I’m sure I must have misheard,” Nikki conceded. “You can go now, waitress,” she said haughtily, flicking Beth away like a speck of dirt on her white pants. “Just bring us the food when it’s ready-and try not to cheat us on the bill. If you can help yourself.”

Beth forced a smile and walked away with a steady step. Maybe, if she pretended hard enough that the mockery didn’t bother her, it would stop. Or, at the very least, her feigned indifference might eventually transform itself into something real. But for now, it was all still an act-and the show wasn’t over yet. She was only steps away when she heard Marcy’s intentionally loud complaint: “I just don’t know what’s wrong with the service these days.”

In spite of herself, Beth hesitated, and turned around.

“Well, you know what my mother always says,” Nikki replied, glaring directly at Beth. “These days, it’s impossible to find good help.”

Beth wanted to crawl into a dark hole. She wanted to quit her job, run home, hide under the covers, and wait there until graduation. But instead, she just strode across the restaurant to take her next order, figuring that, at the very least, her shift couldn’t get any worse.

Wrong again.

“Hi, beautiful.”

Kane peeked his head out from behind a menu and smiled up at her. Surprise.

Beth nibbled on the inside of her lip and hoped he wouldn’t notice the tears that had formed at the edges of her eyes. She hated for him to see her like this-in uniform, serving people, being humiliated. Had he seen her with Nikki and crew? Had he heard?

“What are you doing here?” she asked, masking her distress with annoyance.

“I heard the place has the cutest waitresses in town,” he deadpanned, grabbing her hand and twining her fingers through his own. “Thought I’d come check it out.”

“So what’s the verdict?” Beth asked, flushing.

“Jury’s still out,” he said, rising to give her a kiss. “But maybe you’d like to offer a bribe that would tip the scales?”

Beth wriggled out of his grasp.

“Kane, stop,” she protested, backing away. She didn’t want him near her. Not with grease patches dotting her shirt, not when she smelled like coleslaw and onion rings. “I asked you not to come here when I’m working,” she snapped. “It’s distracting.”

“Your wish is my command-I’m out of here,” Kane promised, a knowing smile fixed on his face. “I just wanted to give you this.”

He handed her a small box, elegantly wrapped in light silver paper. Beth didn’t know what to say.

“It’s not my birthday, and-”

“I just saw it and thought of you,” he explained, resting a hand on her lower back. “Open it.”

Slightly flushed, Beth carefully pulled off the wrapping paper and lifted the lid of the box. Inside lay a beautiful sky blue scarf. It was exactly the same shade as her eyes.

“Kane, it’s beautiful!” she exclaimed. She lifted it to her cheek and sighed at the soft caress of the fabric.

“Is this-?”

“Cashmere,” he confirmed.

“But it’s too nice, I couldn’t-”

“You’ll look beautiful in it,” he assured her, wrapping it softly around her neck. “And this way, you’ll be nice and cozy up in the mountains this weekend.” He raised an eyebrow. “Just in case I’m not enough to keep you warm.”

Beth laughed and snuggled against him-suddenly, she didn’t care what she was wearing, or how she looked or smelled. She just cared that she had a warm body to lean against, warm lips to kiss.

“Meet me back here at the end of my shift?” she whispered as they finally broke apart.

“You can count on me.”

And she was beginning to wonder if it might just be true.

www.matchmadeinhaven.com

username: Spitfire

password: MStevens88

Friday’s entrée at the Haven High cafeteria: meat loaf

(Miranda thought this last log-in requirement was a master stroke-how else would the Web site screen out all the perverts and cyberfreaks?) She hit enter, and the final version of her profile popped up on the screen.

User Profile: Spitfire

Sex: female

Age: 17

Height: 5′2″

(Okay, so she’d added an extra inch and a half-but who knows, maybe she was still growing.)

Favorite color: scarlet

Favorite food: ____________________

If I were an animal, I’d be: an elephant

(It wasn’t sexy, but had the virtue of being true.)

Best lie I’ve ever told: Mom, you look great today-have you lost weight? And can I have a raise in my allowance?

Celebrity I most look like: Scarlett Johannson

(Um… maybe if you squinted? While you were high?)

Three things I can’t live without: 1) my iPod, 2) my best friend, 3) chocolate chip cookies

I am… always ready to laugh, or to make you laugh. Honest, loyal, fun (and totally willing to hold a grudge on your behalf).

You are… someone who thinks these questions are as stupid as I do. Someone who knows how to have a good time without making an ass of himself-and if the latter can’t be helped, at least is able to laugh at himself. Someone who knows what the word “latter” means. Basically, you’re smart, funny, confident, and you love that I’m all those things too.

The confident thing was a lie, of course, but she’d thought it would look good, and might attract the right kind of guy. The kind who wasn’t a desperate freak too pathetic to find his own flesh-and-blood dates. If any of the guys on matchmadeinhaven.com actually fit that profile-Miranda was seriously skeptical.

But, crazy or not, she’d decided to go for it. What, other than the final shreds of her dignity, did she have to lose?