The Penetration Test

By Amalia Zane

Hailey makes epically bad dating choices. Losers, jerks, unrepentant bad boys - she loves them all. It keeps things simple - when she knows the relationships will fail, she doesn’t have to put her heart on the line. After all, if you never risk anything, you can’t get hurt. And the hurts in her past are quite enough, thank you very much.

When Hailey’s BFF intervenes and puts her on dating probation, she agrees to ditch dating and stick to no-strings-attached flings for a while. Who needs commitment when you have an inbox full of messages from would-be hook-ups, two awesome BFFs, several bottles of wine and episodes of Bridezilla at the ready? But a chance encounter with a mysterious, tattooed surfer (and his unbearably sexy arrogance) turns her plans, and her world upside-down.

Ryder keeps his life simple and drama-free. He avoids relationships because caring and being connected to others causes pain. It makes messes that can’t be cleaned up, inflicts wounds that never heal. And that’s why it’s best to avoid it. But when Hailey appears in his life, his normal resolve to stay cool and detached is tested in every possible way. He sees echoes of his own pain in her and wants to move closer, but his own fears keep him at arms length, time and time again.

Is it possible for Ryder and Hailey to have a happily ever after? Dive into The Penetration Test, a sexy, steamy romantic comedy about friendship, love, and trust. Inside these covers you'll find a smoldering hot bad boy, a trio of zany BFFs, jokes about punching sharks, and a window into life in California's famous Silicon Valley.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amalia Zane
• Release date: Jul 17, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311955616

Amalia Zane

Amalia Zane grew up in Palo Alto, California, and hopes to share her love of Northern California and the unique culture of the Bay Area with her readers. When she's not writing super steamy romance novels, or daydreaming about finding her very own Ryder, she can be found geeking out about plants in her enormous vegetable & flower garden, taking long walks by the Bay, binge-watching shows on Netflix, and hanging out with her wonderful, equally dorky friends.

Book preview

HAILEY

That’s it. I’ve had it. Hailey, I’m putting you on Dating Probation, Officer Perez says, scowling as she crosses her arms over her chest. I’m sick of this nonsense. You need to get a grip.

I pivot around on the couch and glare at the policewoman staring at me from our cramped apartment kitchen. I’m not scared of you, Officer, I retort, stifling a grin. I hitch up my sagging pajama pants and wipe a smear of pizza sauce off my chin, then return her scowl in a silent dare.

My roommate and best friend places her hands on her hips, and my eyes drop to the shiny weapon hitched to her side. Her midnight-blue police uniform, the handcuffs hanging on her duty belt, and her hard expression almost put me on edge.

Almost.

Well, you should be scared, she says, choking back a laugh. A variety of important authorities in the State of California have deemed me fit to enforce the law. So I’m going to take some liberties and rain a little bit of hell down on you, Miss Williams. Starting right now, with Dating Probation. The toughness of her words contrasts with the relaxing smell of the chamomile tea steaming up from her favorite mug, an old chipped pink thing I gave her in college that says I Love Hugs.

I flop back into our old, cushy couch and search for the TV remote between the piles of dirty dishes at my side. Once I find it, I hit mute, then cock my head and frown at her.

"You cannot put me on Dating Probation, I scoff. That’s not a thing!"

It’s totally a thing. I just invented it, she says, semi-distracted as she blows on her tea to cool it down.

I exhale deeply, knitting my hands behind my neck. Fine, Officer Perez. I’ll hear you out. At least tell me why I’m in trouble before you and your big cop ego rain this ‘hell’ down on me, I tease. Humor me and try to look tough and intimidating while you do it.

Zoe bites back a grin. She’s tough as nails with everyone but me and our other best friend, Piper. I know she secretly loves it when we give her shit, since no one else dares to. She does know how kill a man with her bare hands, after all.

You’re wallowing. This, she says, crinkling her nose and jabbing a finger in the direction of the dirty dishes and candy wrappers that surround me, is characteristic ‘Hailey wallowing’ behavior. You broke up with Spencer four months ago, and since then, you’ve been bingeing on crappy reality TV and junk food. I haven’t seen you eating anything but Hot Pockets for days.

I’m doing a study on the effects of tiny meatballs on humans, I protest. Important, scientific results are at stake! I punch the air for emphasis. Science, Zoe!

Zoe splutters out a sip of her tea, snickering as she wipes droplets of liquid off the kitchen countertop. She’s always busting my chops about my junk food addiction. I’m immune to your distraction techniques, Hailey, she chides as she walks over to the gun safe in our coat closet and safely locks her duty belt and weapon inside. Are you denying that you’re in a fit of post-breakup, dating-induced wallowing?

Absolutely. I’m definitely not wallowing.

Oh no? She gives me a silent look that pokes at some tender, guilty spots inside of me. What are you doing, then?

Uhh… Hmm. Time to hedge.

Aside from important research on tiny meatballs? I’m patiently waiting for the former members of any of our favorite defunct boy bands to get back together and make a collective decision to be in a committed relationship with me. Then we’ll all live happily ever after together. I flash Zoe a honeyed smile. Zoe, just imagine it — The singing. The romance. The dancing.

Zoe’s stern cop demeanor evaporates as she breaks into laughter. Her shoulders and posture relax, and the megawatt smile that bursts across her face sends laugh lines radiating from the corner of her eyes. Zoe is stunning — especially when she’s laughing her butt off, usually at me.

Oh, Hells Bells, she sighs, using a nickname she gave me in college. I guess I can’t argue with that. A polyamorous relationship with a boy band is an excellent life goal. She flops down on the couch across from me and begins undoing the tight bun that’s a required part of her work attire. I watch the practiced movements as she unwinds her long, black hair.

I’m serious, though. Dating Probation, she scolds, eyeing me. I hate seeing you so miserable, and you’re only unhappy like this after you get out of bad relationships. And you have nothing but bad relationships, because you pick assholes on purpose. She raises an eyebrow and stares me down, daring me to argue with her.

Dammit. She knows me too well. That’s exactly what I do. I curl up my knees and rest my chin on them, avoiding her penetrating gaze. Why did I have to choose a cop, who can read people from a mile away, for a roommate?

I totally do not do that, I protest, in my most convincing voice.

She gives me a calculated stare. "Don’t bullshit me, Hailey. How many times did we agree that Spencer was the worst?"

My eyes glaze over as some happy sex memories flash through my mind. "Yeah, he was a twat, but all litigators are assholes, right? Putting up with him was so worth it for the sex."

Including the sex he had with his co-worker behind your back? she presses, annoyance tinging her voice.

No, not that sex, I mumble. Point Zoe.

Zoe rolls her eyes and lets out an exasperated sigh. You need to stop making dating and boyfriend decisions with that. She points her index finger in the direction of my pelvis and makes her intimidating cop face, which of course causes me to burst out laughing. I pause, thinking back on my string of failed relationships, desperately searching for some evidence to prove her wrong.

What about Tommy? I ask. He was a pretty good guy, right? I still almost spontaneously orgasm when I think of how dominant he was in bed. Plus, he really knew his way around the kitchen. If I were still dating him, I wouldn’t be eating these Hot Pockets! I gesture hopefully to the half-eaten Hot Pocket on the plate next to me.

Zoe rubs her temples. "Hailey, he was hot, but he is also too stupid to live. He knows I work in law enforcement, but he made pot brownies in our kitchen! Have you forgotten that I found ten pounds of weed hidden behind our baking supplies?"

I cringe at the memory. Yeah… I guess you’re right. It was kind of hard to date him after he went to jail. Orange jumpsuits don’t really do much for me.

Zoe snorts, then folds her hands in her lap. Look. I’m not trying to give you a hard time, Bells, she says, her voice softening. But you know I’m right. She pauses for a moment, becoming unnaturally still as her face fills with compassion.

Shit. I know that look. I grimace because I know what’s coming next.

I know what your dad did hurt you. And the other thing with your idiot high school boyfriend. But you can’t go through life expecting every guy to disappoint you, she insists.

I cross my arms over my chest, as if physically closing my body off will protect me from this conversation. I don’t want to talk about that stuff.

I know, Hailey. But you have to admit that there are things in your past that are affecting your choices, she says, stretching her arms over her head as she stifles a yawn. You deserve better. There are good guys out there, but you have to be willing to take a risk, instead of choosing someone where you know the outcome at the beginning. Like asshole litigators and drug-dealing losers. She smacks her hand on her thigh, the physical gesture telling me without words that I damn well better be listening.

I don’t respond. Why? Because the frayed patch on my pajamas has suddenly become very interesting. And this conversation has veered dangerously close to territory I’d prefer to avoid.

Zoe pulls me into a side hug, clamping her arm around me protectively. "I’m serious, Hailey. Dating Probation. It begins now. No dating. Don’t make me get a chalkboard so you can write ‘I will not date assholes’ a la Bart Simpson. Because I will do that."

I groan and halfheartedly swat at her. "How long am I on this… ‘Dating Probation?’" I make finger quotes around the phrase as I shoot daggers out of my eyes at her.

Until you have a ‘Come to Jesus’ talk with yourself and your vagina, and admit that you both need to make better choices when it comes to potential boyfriends. Zoe is silent; her look alone says a thousand words.

I sink further into the couch and rest my chin on my chest in defeat. Zoe is always looking out for me, and the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me that she’s right.

Ughhh. Fine, I grumble. Why are you always right, Zoe? I hate you. I frown at her for a long moment. Also, I love you.

She laughs and then tilts her head to touch the side of mine, gives my shoulders a final squeeze, and then scoots over to her side of the couch, tucking her legs underneath her. "I know. Right back at you. Now let’s continue drowning your sorrows in television, at least temporarily. Do we have any Bridezilla episodes?" She grabs the TV remote and starts flipping through the menu.

All of a sudden, something occurs to me, and I turn to face Zoe. Wait just one hot second, girlfriend. I don’t think this conversation is finished. I will agree to ‘Dating Probation’ if you agree to ‘Not Dating’ Probation.

Zoe turns to face me, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Say what now?

Don’t make that face. You know exactly why I’m suggesting it, I say, pivoting my body on the couch to face her. Zoe props her feet up on our coffee table and sighs, surrendering to what she knows is coming next.

"You have watched Love Actually about six hundred times since your last break up. And I saw the wedding magazines on your bed the other day, I tell her. Her cringe intensifies. You may fool other people with this ‘badass cop’ business, but I know you’re all soft and squishy on the inside." I reach over and poke her in the ribs, which, given how ticklish she is, makes her jolt back and gasp. I’ll tell you, there’s nothing funnier than watching a cop laugh while being tickled. She clutches her arms around her ribs and grimaces, then frowns because she knows she’s not the only roommate in this apartment who’s capable of busting some serious chops.

Fine. Sue me, she says with a frustrated huff. I like the fairy tale. I want the pretty white dress, a majestic cake, and my very own Prince Charming. But lately I’ve been thinking that the fantasy is better than what’s possible in reality.

Zo Bag, you’ll never find Prince Charming if you stay in our apartment. I already checked, and he’s definitely not here.

Geez, Hailey, it’s not like I haven’t been looking! she says, exasperated. You know how much I hate dating.

Yeah, I know that, I say, patting her gently on the arm. But I also know that you’ve been using work as an excuse to avoid it. And when you’re not working, you’re hiding out at home just as much as I am. These trashy reality TV shows are not watching themselves, I say, gesturing towards the Bridezilla and her mother on the screen in front of us.

Zoe sighs and taps out a rapid tempo on the arm of our couch, lost in thought for a few seconds. Screw dating, she blurts out. It sucks. All the awkwardness… trying to be on your best behavior… I hate it! And once guys hear I work in law enforcement, they tuck their tails between their legs and run for the hills. They’re afraid of me. She turns to me and pouts dramatically, trying to garner sympathy.

I laugh. I can’t blame them. You’re a scary bitch sometimes.

Her face breaks into a wide grin. I’ll take that as a compliment.

And it was meant as one, I say with an enthusiastic nod. You need a real man. Someone who is confident and not intimidated by what a badass bitch you are. You need to find a dude who’s like, ‘Damn, your weapons belt and work in law enforcement are so sexy! I want to show you how much I appreciate the way you protect and serve the public by providing you with non-stop cunnilingus.

Zoe bursts out laughing. That sounds awesome. I would happily wait forever for a guy like that. She makes an exaggerated, porn star pleasure face and moves her knees slightly apart as if she’s imagining it, making me snicker.

That’s the problem, pretty lady, I say, affectionately pinching Zoe’s cheek. You can’t just sit around and hope that your future husband just waltzes into your life and says, ‘Hello there! I’m here to provide you with multiple orgasms. Also, I would love to massage your feet and listen attentively while you talk about your day.’ You have to date some frogs before you find the guy who’s going to do that. That’s just how dating is.

Zoe frowns. I’m about as likely to find a guy like that as I am to immaculately conceive an alien baby.

I snort. Don’t give up, Zoe. Go on dates. That’s all I’m saying. If I have to be on Dating Probation, you have to be on Not-Dating Probation. Give it a chance. I give her my best stern look. Now. Enough serious discussion. We need ice cream. I rise from the couch and scope out our freezer, where hidden in the midst of packages of Hot Pockets are several cartons of ice cream (which, in my estimation, counts as the ‘dairy’ food group.)

There’s one more thing we have to talk about, Hailey, Zoe says as I pull the lid off a carton. We need to discuss the battery situation. I freeze mid-scoop, and watch as Zoe walks into the kitchen behind me and begins rifling through our junk drawer, fairly certain that I know what’s coming next. When she holds up an almost-empty gold and black package, I frown.

Don’t tell me we’re running out of batteries again. I thought we just got a new package last week at Costco!

We did.

Oh. Shit.

No kidding. She walks over to me and shakes the almost-empty box in my face, with, if I’m not mistaken, a gleam of amusement in her eye. Well?

Stop smirking at me, I mumble, glaring at her as best I can out of the corner of my eye.

I’m not smirking. This is just how my face looks, she says, smirking even more.

I can’t hold back the giggle that erupts from the back of my throat. She’s right. It’s the truth.

This is like… the third time this has happened, she says.

What can I say? We use our vibrators a lot, ergo, we use lots of batteries, I say, gesturing defensively with the ice cream scoop.

Zoe chuckles. Yeah, but we are basically keeping Costco in business with the amount we’re buying. That’s the final proof that we are in desperate times, and that we must take desperate measures.

Hey! I turn towards her and jut out my chin. I will not take the blame for the vibrator manufacturers making energy-inefficient products. I personally am quite outraged and plan to write some angry letters.

Pfffft. You know what I mean, Bells. She reaches around me to grab the bowl of ice cream I filled for myself, then darts out of my reach.

I huff, then begin filling a second bowl. Yeah. I do know. I can see our future now. I’m going to end up married to a vibrating sex toy, and you’re going to be a pervy old lady cop who rubs up against handsome criminals when you cuff them.

Zoe chokes on a bite of her ice cream as she laughs. She puts her spoon down and throws the mostly-empty battery box onto the counter in between us, and I stare at it, annoyed at its very existence, but possibly even more annoyed that it's almost empty.

OK, I say, resigned. What should we do?

She’s quiet for a moment as she works through a bite of mint chocolate chip. "Well, we have to do something dramatic. Something we haven’t tried before. Because we are right on the precipice of throwing in the towel, adopting, like, sixty cats, and never washing our hair again. We don’t want to be those people." She pokes her tongue lightly into her cheek and inhales a long breath, eyes wide with mock terror.

"What’s wrong with being ‘those people’? I ask, already defensive and aware of exactly which people she’s talking about. We’ve always joked we’ll be animal hoarders when we’re old and crazy, given our shared love of all furry four-legged creatures. I would love to drown all of my sorrows in kickass animals, I state emphatically, stuffing the ice cream back in the freezer. Bring on the cats. Hell, bring on all the animals. I want a porcupine, an iguana, an ocelot, a flamingo, and a variety of marsupials. To start with. Forget men! My little animal friends won’t judge me. They’ll be like, ‘Heck yeah, Hailey! These food pellets and/or dead mice are awesome! You’re the best person ever!’"

Zoe begins convulsing with laughter. You’re hazardous to your own health, you know that, Hailey? Marsupials won’t solve our problems.

Well we won’t know until we try, will we? I wave a bite of ice cream in the air theatrically to make my point. Zoe looks at me like I told her I’m going to wear underwear outside of my pants from now on.

Fine, I scoff. Then it’s your turn to make a suggestion.

Zoe is silent for a minute, focused on her hands as she twiddles her thumbs. She glances up at me, then returns her gaze to her thumbs.

I raise an eyebrow. What is it Perez? Spill.

Well… what about online dating… at least for me? she says, her eyes darting between me and the floor. Our dispatcher is on a couple of sites. She’s gotten a lot of messages and has met some nice guys.

And then my best friend, who is not afraid to strip search criminals, starts nervously wringing her hands at her side. About online dating.

Are you thinking about trying it? I ask, raising an eyebrow.

Zoe looks down at her hands. Yeah… I mean I want to, but I’m kind of nervous. Do you really think normal people do it?

Yeah. In fact, I think we might be the last people on earth who haven’t tried it.

How do I know the guys online aren’t total weirdoes? Zoe asks, swirling her spoon around in her bowl, looking hesitant.

How do you know that the guys you meet at work or at a bar aren’t total weirdoes?

Zoe purses her lips, considering what I’ve said. What if their profiles are total lies?

Anyone can lie about anything, online or in person, I state emphatically.

What if their pictures are fake?

Then arrest them for committing love fraud.

Zoe snorts. Oh Hailey. Love fraud? Really?

I shrug my shoulders. You don’t have anything to lose, right? I mean, if you hate it you can delete your profile. You could always just check it out and see what happens.

Zoe sighs and absentmindedly twists a lock of hair. Well, you’re right… I do always have handcuffs with me… Yeah… What’s the worst thing that could happen? I see her confidence growing as she squares her shoulders bravely and picks up her laptop from the coffee table.

Yeah! Get it, girl, I squeal, holding up my hand for a high five. She high fives me and a stupid grin breaks out on her face as she sits down and opens the laptop. The muted tapping of her fingers on the keyboard is music to my ears. Zoe can be stubborn about change, and yet here she is, trying something scary and new. I love it.

Oh my God. Hailey. Zoe looks over at me, after several minutes of silence. You can say what you’re looking for one here. Like, ‘Dating,’ ‘Friendship,’ or whatever, and there’s a ‘Casual Sex’ option.

I snort. Classy. I don’t think you should choose that one.

Yeah but maybe you should! she hoots, wiggling her eyebrows. "You’re on ‘Dating Probation,’ not ‘Sex Probation.’ This might be the ideal solution to both our battery situation and your dating problem. Why don’t you just bang all the idiot guys you’d normally date? Have lots of orgasms and practice NOT dating the losers you’re attracted to at the same time?"

I’m almost struck dead by the brilliance of her suggestion. No-strings sex, and scratching my psychological itch to be with guys who are bad for me? Hmmm…

Zoe’s voice rises an octave, as it always does when she’s excited. You could create a profile, maybe as a joke, maybe for real, and see who writes to you. You can list exactly what you want! You could say, ‘Please contact me if you’re an arrogant jerk who my mother would hate,’ she squeals, her eyes flashing with amusement.

I sit up straighter on the couch. Holy shit. You think being all upfront like that could work? Lord knows I love me some arrogance.

Who knows. There’s only one way to find out! And if the only people who write you are creepy weirdoes, at least we’ll get some laughs out of it. Zoe wiggles her fingers in a signature gesture I call her demented jazz hands.

Oh my God, Zoe. This might be the best idea you’ve ever had. Or maybe the worst. I’m not sure yet. The wheels are turning in my head. If you think about it, this isn’t that different than going to a bar to pick up a random guy. I seem to recall that we spent a good part of our twenties doing exactly that, and we lived to tell the tale.

Exactly, she exclaims. And you can sift through messages while sitting on the couch in your pajamas! Eating Hot Pockets!

SOLD! I yell, fist-pumping the air. Really, what do I have to lose? I don’t think I could do any worse than I’ve already done.

Oh, shit. That’s a depressing thought.

See, Hailey? Zoe says, beaming at me. Look at us. We are officially two steps further away from being arrested for animal hoarding. Let us go forth and find some delicious man candy. She holds up an invisible drink, miming making a toast. May you have many orgasms, handsome heads between your thighs, and opportunities to fuck your bad dating judgment out of your system.

I laugh and clink my imaginary champagne flute with hers, then flip open my laptop. A little while later, my profile is complete:

HOTPOCKET_LOVER'S ONLINE DATING PROFILE

MY SELF-SUMMARY:

I’m a normal kind of girl in the middle of a sex drought.

Yep, that’s all you’re getting for now :)

WHAT I'M DOING WITH MY LIFE:

not having enough sex. hence, this profile.

MY FAVORITE BOOKS, MOVIES, SHOWS, MUSIC, AND FOOD:

The Kama Sutra

And Hot Pockets. Duh.

THE SIX THINGS I COULD NEVER DO WITHOUT:

condoms. x6

I SPEND A LOT OF TIME THINKING ABOUT:

bossing arrogant jerks around in bed

ON A TYPICAL FRIDAY NIGHT, I AM:

using my vibrator and wishing it was your tongue

YOU SHOULD MESSAGE ME IF:

You’re confident/arrogant and not a crazy person. You’ll do what I want, when I tell you to. You should be adventurous, open-minded, and ready and willing to service me. :)

***

You’re crazy, you know that? Zoe says after reading my profile. You sound like a man-eating sexpot! They’re going to expect you to show up in latex pants and six-inch heels! She giggles, and I can’t help but join in.

Aww… c’mon, Zoe. It’s just an experiment. If no one writes, who cares. It was good for a laugh at the very least. Right?

Right. Now you have to upload pictures.

I jerk my head back and stare at her, aghast. I’m not putting a picture of my face on there! Did you read what I wrote? What if someone I know sees my profile?

So take a butt selfie. Or a boobs selfie. Then use those.

My mouth drops open. You know, you give really bad advice for a cop, sometimes!

Zoe just laughs. Hailey, you want to know what’s bad? Homicide. Drug trafficking. Organized crime. Two adults exchanging sexy pics and having consensual sex? Nothing in the world wrong with that.

Zoe grins and returns to working on her profile as I mull over her suggestion. What could possibly go wrong, putting a picture of my mostly-naked body on the Internet? Well… there’s pictures of me and some friends at the beach this past summer on our various social media profiles, and we’re all wearing bikinis. That’s not really much different, right? And these won’t even have my face!

OK. Decision made. Oh, Lordy. I hope this doesn’t come back to bite me in the butt.

Alright. I’m doing it, I say, standing up and grabbing my phone.

That’s the spirit! God Bless America! Zoe shouts over my shoulder as I walk towards my bedroom. I rifle through my dresser and pick out my favorite lingerie: delicate, lacy black panties and a matching bra. Butt selfie? Don’t mind if I do!

Damn, it’s harder than it looks to get a flattering angle. Especially without my face! The boobs selfie is a little easier. Just had to bend over and get a picture of the girls spilling out.

Hmm… that should do the trick. I double-check the photos for any identifying information, but you can’t see my head or anything but a white wall behind me. I’m good to go. Nice and anonymous!

I return to my laptop, upload the pictures, and then walk out of my room and rifle through the kitchen junk drawer to grab a couple of AA batteries before heading back to my room. Zoe smirks at me as I go, and