Love on the Screen

By A.M. Willard

A romantic comedy where dating stinks, but if you're lucky you might click on the right profile. 

I've tried all the online dating sites, and they've all ended with a disaster... Which means my friends thought it would be funny to sign me up for the latest one. They even profiled me as HOT27RIDGE. Yes, I almost disowned them for that one. 

I agreed to one last and final try just to make them happy. I mean why not, right? That's until I meet Lennox Taylor. The construction worker by day and online dating site creator by night. 

Are we a match or is there a glitch in the system? 

• Language: English
• Publisher: A.M. Willard
• Release date: Jul 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533764720

Book preview

1

I’ve done the whole online dating thing. Actually, now that I think about it, I’ve done them all. My girlfriends keep themselves entertained with the horrible dating stories that I relive every Friday at dinner. It’s amazing how you spend a few weeks chatting back and forth with a total stranger, only then when you do work the nerve up to meet in person, have it become a complete nightmare.

Last Saturday, I met this guy who shall remain nameless for drinks. We’d been messaging back and forth for three weeks. After we had described what we’d be wearing that night, the date was finalized. What a mess it turned out to be. This guy was nothing like his profile. Instead, I get bald and lanky – the creeper kind of look. To top the evening off, in comes his wife, who’s hoping for a threesome. Needless to say, I high-tailed my butt out the door quickly. The ‘bald threesome’ is how we reference that episode.

As I stand here getting dressed for another first date tonight, I pray that’s not the case this evening. I look in the full-length mirror hanging on the back of my bedroom door and I shrug at my outfit. It’s nothing fancy, just simple jeans and an off the shoulder black silk blouse. Topping the outfit off with a pair of knee high boots, I throw on my jewelry and check again one last time. All five foot, six inches with a size twelve body are zeroing in back at me. I’m not considered small, or plus; just in the middle. I twisted my chocolate brown hair into a little messy sideways bun leaving a few trestles to hang loose around my face.

My impression of the evening is like any other, short and sweet. Dinner then home in a jiffy and tucked into bed before eleven. This is one of the reasons I refuse to allow anyone to ever pick me up from my home. We’ve gone as far as the emergency SOS text from the stall in the ladies' room to the fake vibrate with a sick friend on the phone. We call it ‘the map of dating’.

Living outside of Chattanooga, Tennessee in the town of East Ridge, we don’t have a ton of different options for dinner. Most of the places are locally owned and not the ‘first date’ type of place, so we have settled on our local Italian Restaurant. Lucky for me, Jeannette— my best friend— owns the place since it belongs to her family. Hence the dating map; hand gestures, a flick of the head, eye twitches, and the ‘oh no I spilled my water’ are all codes. Each employee in the place is aware of them all and has my number on speed dial.

I pull into the parking lot and look around to see if I notice anyone parked that doesn’t fit in. Not seeing anything out of the ordinary, I slide out and head in to grab a table.

Forty-five minutes later and I am still alone in the middle of the place. Staring at the red and white generic tablecloth that has seen better days, I look up and over to my waitress. Check please, I ask as I slide out my wallet to pay for my glass of wine.

It’s on the house tonight, Amalia.

Thanks, I’ll see you later, I say with an exasperated air leaving my lungs as I slide my chair out from the table. I should’ve expected this to happen tonight, I’d felt this strange vibe from him all week. I’m pretty sure the mere fact that he wouldn’t be taking me home after dinner was the deal breaker.

Guys want one thing, sex. It doesn’t matter their age, body type, or marital status, it equals the same. What ever happened to finding someone you could talk to for hours about nothing at all? Do they even make men like that anymore? If they do, I sure as hell haven’t found one.

Working every day from seven to three in the afternoon at our local retirement home doesn’t bring in a lot of the younger gentleman. Sure, each of my patients try to fix me up with their grandsons or children, but I’m only twenty-seven and I’m not on the prowl for an older man. Anyone between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-three would be fine. I do however require them to have a job and be able to form a complete sentence. It’s not too much to ask for, in my opinion.

On the drive home, I rack my mind over the hints that I should’ve picked up. Of course, I didn’t notice them at all and I’m honestly giving up this whole dating scene. I’ve got an excellent job that means something to me each day when I leave and a house that I’d always wanted. It’s not huge, as it’s only me and the cat that currently resides in my two bedrooms, one bath, and open floor plan.

A tiny garden grows in the back yard and I tend to the roses in front of the house. No, I didn’t plant any of it, they all came with the property. Usually, I kill everything but one of my clients, Mrs. Prescott loves to garden and has given me tips of the trade. In return, I bring her fresh cut roses weekly. A win-win for the both of us.

Shuffling into the dark house I lock up as I enter and bend down for Gizmo, my tabby cat. He’s the only man I need, well that, and my friend Julio tucked away in the nightstand by my bed. What else could a girl ask for? Oh, that’s right, companionship. And maybe someone to take care of you when you’re sick. Yeah, that’s not happening.

Fed up with the whole love topic, I march myself over to the couch and boot up the laptop. That’s it. You are all being closed, I say aloud as I wait.

Multiple tabs are open on the screen as I enter my logins and passwords. Clicking on settings I double click the deactivate button. Slapping my hands down next to me I swiftly release the air from my lungs.

I’m done with love and stupid men, I say to Gizmo; earning me a meow in return.

Tomorrow’s Friday, and with work and dinner with the girls, I close it all down and head off to bed. Tomorrow is another day.

2

Dragging myself into The Life Center where I work, I feel as if I need a break. Having close to a hundred hours banked in vacation time I make a mental note to request the time off. Maybe… I don’t know who I would go with, as my friends are all dating or engaged. No, I’ll save them for a rainy day when I might need them. Clocking in, I glance at the white erase board in the wing that I work. I notice that last night they moved one of the residents to the