30 First Dates by Stacey Wiedower Read Free Book Online

at least.
    "Oh. Well, shit. I'll ask Sherri then. I'm not asking Hilary. She's going to be too busy with the wedding anyway."
    Ben, to his credit, looked disappointed. "So you're going that soon? I would've come. But this is the blog thing anyway, right? Wouldn't it cramp your style to have me with you on your bachelorette tour of Europe?"
    "Not Europe, just France," Erin mumbled.
    "Bachelorette trip?" Melody looked down conspicuously at Erin's left hand, which was resting on the tabletop. "Are you getting married?"
    Erin's cheeks colored. "No," she said. "I'm just…conducting a little experiment."
    "Erin's creating her own online reality show," Ben said. "Misadventures in dating, or something like that. Hell, with my luck, I should be a contributing editor."
    Erin smiled. "That's actually a great idea. You can write guest posts from the male point of view."
    Nate, who'd been staring into his pint glass throughout this conversation, looked up. "I could, too," he said. "I have more bad dates than anybody."
    Melody rolled her eyes. "That's because you're a Neanderthal. Nobody'll go out with you twice."
    "Twice?" Nate shuddered. "Why would I want to go out with the same girl twice? I mean, I guess if I can't get her to Casa de Nathan on the first date, maybe. But that never happens."
    Melody shot him a look of disgust. "Pig."
    Erin gave him an appraising look. Nate was in his early thirties and somewhat short, with wavy, dark hair. He had crinkles at the corners of his eyes, a perma-smile, and a build that was lanky but athletic, like a soccer player.
    He was a player, all right. She'd heard the stories.
    Her eyes narrowed as a plan formed in her mind. Knocking Nate off his self-constructed pedestal might be good fun—and more importantly it might make a good Date 1 blog post.
    "I have a different idea for you," she said. "You busy next weekend? I need dates. If, that is, you don't mind being my first 'reality show' subject."
    Nate's eyes lit up.
    "Sure," he said at the same time Ben said, "Hell, no."
    Melody stared wide-eyed at Erin, her face flashing through a range of emotions: shock, then incredulity, then a sort of smug awareness Erin didn't understand. Nate stared at Ben, who'd fixed Erin with a disapproving glare.
    "What's wrong with you, man?" Nate said. "The girl just asked me out. I can make my own dates."
    "And I can take care of myself, if that's what you're worried about," Erin added, galled. That was the whole idea.
    Ben's cheeks, already ruddy from his elevated blood alcohol level, turned a deeper shade of fuchsia.
    "I want to be your first date," he said. He looked surprised at having said it.
    Erin's mouth opened and closed again. Is he…jealous? That was new. "Oh…kay," she said, her face impassive. "That could be good. First date with my best friend. Introduce the guy who's going to guest post. I can work with that."
    "Yeah, that's what I was thinking," Ben said. His color returned to somewhat normal, and Erin decided he was just being protective, as usual. Nate was a dog, after all.
    Melody, meanwhile, swiveled her head from Erin to Ben to Nate, her blonde eyebrows knitted together and her thin lips forming an O . Erin thought she looked like a fish out of water—real, not proverbial. Her fiancé, meanwhile, was actually passed out now, his head resting on his forearm and his eyes closed. The band wound up to a cymbal-crashing crescendo just as a guy at the next table knocked a pilsner glass onto the concrete, but Ryan didn't stir. How do men do that? Erin wondered. Every guy she'd ever known could sleep through a volcanic eruption. Her, she'd wake up if a cricket outside her bedroom window chirped too loud.
    "What about me?" Nate asked, pulling her attention back to the matter at hand.
    Erin smiled widely. "You can be Date 2."
    Ben glowered at him, and she felt a little rush. Sure, it was only Ben and his roommate, but she had guys fighting to be on her blog. That was the opposite of what she'd expected