Wasn't Supposed To Happen

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 1

“Your virginity can regrow, you know,” Britton told Connor, tapping one finger against the building plans spread all over his desk. “It happens when you don’t have s*x in forever.”

He sat back, speechless. After thirty-some years, he’d thought he was well past being shocked by his cousin. Apparently not.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said, pulling her dark red hair into a pile on top of her head and then stealing a pen from his desk. She speared the knot, glaring at him. “By my count, we passed forever about two years ago. This is an emergency. You need to get out and meet people.”

“I’ve had a date.”

Her eyes gleamed. “When?”

Seven months, two weeks, and four days ago…but who was counting? The first date had been the last thanks to Connor’s son putting a stink bomb in the poor woman’s purse. As his children had intended, their plan went off beautifully…or horribly depending on your stink bomb stance.

“It’s been a minute,” he said at last, returning his attention to the building drawings and hoping Britton would take the hint.

She didn’t. Her long-fingered hand, sporting a massive diamond engagement ring, slid across the drawings, preventing him from checking the roof truss calculations. “Just accept the dating app invitation I sent you.”

He frowned. She made it sound completely normal, and as far as Connor could tell, there was absolutely nothing normal about an app that “specialized in finding soulmates.”

“That’s a pretty bold statement,” he’d told Britton when she’d first brought it up. “Soulmates? Really?”

“It’s bold because it’s the truth. How do you think I met West?”

He’d clamped his mouth shut on that one. So far, West Stephens seemed like a stand-up guy, and most importantly, he made Britton wildly happy, but they’d met through a dating app called An Indecent Apposal, which sounded sketchy enough.

Then it got worse when he found out about the personal questionnaire. Questions about whether he was a dog or cat person were expected. Questions about what he wanted in bed were not.

But that’s what he got:

How do you like to be licked?

How do you like to be ridden?

What do you fantasize about?

What do you fantasize about? Thanks to the app, now he couldn’t stop fantasizing. His imagination didn’t want to create new buildings. It wanted to concentrate on pleasuring some imaginary, faceless, curvy woman.

Which was f*****g annoying considering he had a presentation tomorrow and needed his brain to go to work, not…daydream.

Connor sighed, coming back to the moment. “Look, Britt, I’ve accepted the invitation. It’s the questionnaire I can’t send in.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have pegged you as a prude.”

“I’m not! I’m…worried about who’s going to see it on the other end. You don’t even know who owns the app. What if the information is being collected for blackmail?”

Britton arched one brow. “Do you hear yourself? Paranoid much? I should introduce you to Tanner.”

He scowled. The comparison wasn’t welcome. Tanner was West’s brother, soon to be Britton’s brother-in-law, and had been convinced Britton was a gold digger. It still pissed Connor off to think about it.

Sighing again, he rubbed the bridge of his nose with the back of his hand, feeling a headache coming on. They sat in his home office, an early 1900’s carriage house Connor had converted so he could be closer to his kids. The redesigned interiors were bright and airy with whitewashed walls and huge windows. He’d stripped everything down to classic lines and the carriage house’s original details. Architectural Record had called it ‘history with modern sensibilities.’ His son had told him it needed a place to play video games.

“It’s an office,” he’d told Gage. “I don’t play video games while I’m working.”

“I don’t know, Dad. You’re in all these fancy magazines, but you can’t play video games at work? Doesn’t sound very impressive to me. By the way, did you know all that gardening fertilizer the landscapers left behind can be turned into bombs? Because Grier found an article about it on the internet.”

Connor shook his head, once again, coming back to the present. “Yeah, well, you try living with a future evil scientist and her henchman twin brother and see how paranoid it makes you. I can’t date right now. The kids need to grow up a little.”

“That’s a very tactful way of saying you want them to be a bit less feral, but Connor?”

“Yes?”

“They’re never going to be any less feral.” Britton brushed one hand down her vintage-looking full skirt and checked the time on her phone, frowning. As one of the most in-demand wedding planners in Atlanta, Britton was perpetually overbooked, which would totally work to his benefit if he could stall long enough she had to leave for her next meeting.

Britt looked up at him. “If anything, the twins are only going to get worse because in a few years, they’ll have drivers’ licenses and start branching out from stink bombs.”

“How did you know about that?”

“Don’t ask. My point is you need a life and that means you need a nanny.”

“I can’t get one.”

“Why?”

“I’ve been black-listed from four agencies.” He paused, glaring as Britton began to heave with silent laughter. “It’s not funny.”

“Oh, but it is.”

For a moment, they both fell silent. Britt was waiting him out and he knew it. She wiggled around in one of the leather club chairs he had in front of his wide antique draftsman desk, getting more comfortable.

“Don’t you want to find the one?” she asked at last.

“I thought Catherine was my one. Look how well that turned out.” His ex had moved to Amsterdam for a job promotion, leaving him with the twins. Connor had been excited for her, for all of them, and eager to follow her when he found out she didn’t want him to.

“I don’t want to be married anymore,” she’d said.

It was like the sky had just lowered. He hadn’t been able to breathe. “And the kids?” he’d finally managed.

Catherine hadn’t said a word, but she’d answered just the same: she didn’t want them either. She eagerly gave Connor full custody, and though Amsterdam to Atlanta was hardly an insurmountable trip, Grier and Gage only saw her once or twice a year.

“Besides,” he added, fiddling with the edge of the building drawings, “I thought you wanted me to get laid. When did we start talking about soulmates and one true pairings?”

“I love that you know about one true pairings. Let me guess, Grier?”

“It’s definitely not Gage. I can’t get him to sit still long enough to watch anything that has a fandom—and before you ask, yes, I know what a fandom is.”

She smiled. “Back to my original question: don’t you want to find the one?”

He hesitated. Admitting loneliness felt like saying parenthood wasn’t everything, like his children weren’t his world. They were, but they were also exhausting and feral and…fragile. “I’m interested in finding…the one for right now,” Connor managed. “How about that?”

“Great!” Britton’s smile went full-watt, the same one she used whenever difficult clients finally made the decision she’d told them to make weeks ago. “Because here’s the thing…the app’s going to match you with someone who feels the same way.”

“Someone who’s looking for Mr. Right Now?”

“Exactly.” It should’ve been impossible, but that smile of hers widened even more. “And the hilarious thing is…you’ll both be wrong.”

“How’s that?”

“The app specializes in soulmates, remember? You’re going to go into this thinking it’s just a good time and you’re going to end up with a woman you can’t live without.”

Unlikely. Connor raised one brow. “Is that a bet?”

“Definitely. Are you in?”

“Maybe. What do I get when I win?”

Britton’s eyes went bright. “Babysitting.”

“You’re on.”

“So sure you’re going to win?”

“Oh, yeah.” He sat back, pretty sure his own smile was as cocky and self-satisfied as hers. “Because here’s the thing…I don’t believe in love. Not anymore.”