“So what was that all about?” Hannah asked a second after the door shut behind Fanny’s two friends. Did they buy the sexy teddies they had been eyeing at one point? No, they both settled on bubble bath from the romance line—a sweet blend of vanilla and roses.

I liked the bubble bath, but my favorite was the one that should’ve said, “Warning: one sniff of this and you’ll be jumping your man’s bones,” on the label.

Which was great if you had a man for bone jumping. Not so great if it was just you and Alejandro.

Alejandro? What did you expect me to call the one thing capable of giving me regular orgasms?

Alejandro and I went way back. He was the ultimate boyfriend. He never broke my heart. He was always there for me—unless his batteries died.

Reminder to self: buy new batteries on the way home.

“Earth to Emma,” Hannah said, waving her hand in front of my face.

“Huh?”

“You wanna explain why you were scowling at that hot guy with the old women?”

“He wasn’t with them. He came to pick up his grandmother.” And yes—I did think it was incredibly sweet that he was taking Fanny to her medical appointment when it was clear she didn’t want to go.

He loved his grandmother, and that’s what you did for people you loved.

What you didn’t do was walk away from them because you couldn’t be bothered to care.

Too bad my parents hadn’t figured that one out on their own.

“And you felt the need to scowl at that, why?” Hannah asked.

Hmmm. This counter sure is messy. Maybe I could polish it or something.

“I wasn’t scowling,” I said, concentrating on the invisible mess and doing an awesome job of not looking at Hannah.

“Right. And I’m engaged to the Prince of England,” she deadpanned.

I grinned. “Congratulations! Do I get to be a bridesmaid? I mean, unless you’re planning to select a dress in some hideous color that will clash with my hair.” That was a disadvantage of being a redhead. Blondes and brunettes didn’t know how lucky they had it.

Hannah rolled her eyes. “Ha, ha. Very funny. But switching the topic won’t change anything.”

“Honestly, there’s nothing to tell.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Emma.”

I slapped my hand against my chest, doing my best not to giggle. “That seriously hurt.”

“Okay, so you’re not going to tell me. I guess that means I’ll just have to eat your birthday cupcake myself.” With a devious grin, she lifted the small white box I hadn’t noticed she was holding. “Maggie’s Bakery” was embossed in gold on the side.

I squealed—because we were talking about a cupcake from San Francisco’s finest bakery.

Hannah set the box on the counter and opened the lid.

“Is that…?” I asked.

She nodded. “Chocolate raspberry lava. I placed an order for it last week.” You had to either do that or camp out overnight just to be the first person in the store when it opened. Sleep in—your loss.

She glanced at the ceiling. “I guess the sprinklers will go off if I light the candle.”

I looked up. “That’s my guess, too.”

“All right, you can pretend to blow it out. I’m pretty sure your birthday wish will still come true.” She pushed the red candle into the thick chocolate frosting and waited for me to make a wish.

I wish…I wish that a guy would become my sunshine on a rainy day. Yes, my coffee mug might’ve been the inspiration behind it. But I figured I might have better luck with a more poetic wish than a straightforward, “I wish I could find Mr. Right.”

Because dating a string of Mr. Wrongs had quickly grown old.

Which was why I was currently on a vacation from dating.

“Okay, I’m ready,” I told Hannah.

She removed the two plastic forks taped to the box lid and handed one to me. “Happy birthday to the bestest best friend a girl could ever want.”

It was the same thing we said every year on each other’s birthday, starting from the time we met in foster care during our final year in the system. I had just been transferred yet again to a new home. The same home Hannah had been in for the past year. Whereas some girls became territorial when a newbie was dumped into their space, Hannah and I had instantly bonded.

Best friends forever.

Which was how I knew she craved the same thing as me: to be loved.

Because when you grew up in the foster care system, love was in short supply. What wasn’t in short supply? Rejection. Abandonment. The I-don’t-give-a-damn-about-you-so-get-out-of-my-fucking-way attitude.

Hannah and I devoured the cupcake in record time. You know what they say about chocolate? It’s a replacement for sex. And given that neither of us had fucked a guy in a while (two years to be exact for me), the cupcake never stood a chance.

“Sorry I have to work tonight,” Hannah said. She was a nurse at the children’s hospital.

“That’s okay. I’m looking forward to a Sex and the City TV marathon. Plus I need to write next week’s column.”

Maybe my Sex and the City marathon would help me with the article. One could always hope.

“Well, have fun with that.” Hannah waved good-bye and left the store.

Like most days, the afternoon was a combination of slow and busy. I spent the next few hours setting up several new displays, accompanied by the soothing sounds of the fountain and the upbeat music in the background. I played all kinds of music in the store. Rock. Pop. Country. Anything romantic that had nothing to do with being dumped.

I used to play music from the local radio stations, but it must have been a bad year for the major recording artists. I swear most of them had been singing about broken hearts. Not exactly the ideal music to play in a store that was all about romance.

Just before Lisa was scheduled to arrive for the evening shift, a couple entered the store, holding hands.

For me, the handholding was a sign of love. He wasn’t afraid of showing the world that she was his. No, I don’t mean in the caveman, asshole way. That would involve tossing her over his shoulder and grunting. The handholding was sweet and swoony.

I released a dreamy sigh—fortunately too quiet for them to hear me. They walked past the fountain and headed for the section in the back where I kept the sex toys. This was the one place in the store where kids weren’t permitted. Did I get a lot of kids in here? Only the young ones with their moms—who were looking to spice up their sex life. The moms, that is.

Lisa showed up a few minutes later. “Anything exciting happen today?” she asked after stowing her coat and purse in the staff room.

“Not really.” I brought her up to speed on what I’d like her to do if things got slow, which usually wasn’t the case in the evenings. Thanks to the store ads near my weekly column, business was good. The paper had been nice enough to run the store ads whenever I had the column.

By nice, I meant they paid me less than the other weekly columnists, but who was I to complain? Hello, increased business.

After grabbing the paperwork I needed to do that night, I headed back to my apartment building, which was an easy twenty-minute walk from the store.

I unlocked my door and called out, “I’m home,” as I entered. Like I did every time I came home. Deep down, I kept hoping that one day someone would answer and tell me how much he’d missed me.

That he would come out of the kitchen, hug me, and give me the most passionate kiss known to womankind. Then we would head to the bedroom and have the most amazing sex.

Of course, this was based on the assumption that sex really was as amazing as the romance novels claimed, especially when you were in love. Or maybe that was just a myth—like Santa and the Easter Bunny.

That’s right. Those times I’d had sex were hardly what I’d call spectacular. And this included the one time with my old college boyfriend, the guy who claimed to love me, then walked out the door after taking my virginity and never called again.

I know. I should’ve seen it coming. Oh, well. Live and learn.

While dinner simmered on the stove, I caught up on my bills. Once the food was ready, I ate it and watched Sex and the City. But by the end of the third episode, my deadline called to me.

How did I get the job of writing the Dear Dr. Lovejoy column? Simple. An editor from The SF Metro paper came into the store one day. After I talked to her for a bit, she suggested I write a guest column. So I did—as a joke.

I never expected the joke to become a regular gig.

I booted up my laptop and stared at the blank page.

And stared.

And stared.

Usually I answered questions the paper sent me. But when there weren’t any that week or my editor hadn’t forwarded them yet, I made up my own.

Dear Dr. Lovejoy, I finally typed. Always a good start.

I’ve been friends with this one guy for five years now. Recently I’ve begun fantasizing about him as something more than a friend. What should I do?

Sincerely,

Falling For My Best Friend

Hmmm. Too boring. I deleted it and started again.

Dear Dr. Lovejoy,

I’ve been going out with my boyfriend for a year now. Sex is good, but I would love it if he would go down on me. What should I do?

Sincerely,

Need A Little More Sexy Fun

This fell within the independent paper’s guidelines. Just.

Dear Need A Little More Sexy Fun,

The most important thing in any relationship is communication. If you aren’t able to tell him that you would love for him to go down on you, how will you be able to talk to him about more difficult topics? The first question I have for you is, are you going down on him? Because if you aren’t, this would be a good time to start and see if he reciprocates.

If you are and he hasn’t been doing the same for you, then you need to give him some not-so-subtle hints of what you want. Men aren’t so great when it comes to subtle. But do it in a way that makes him think he’s the one in control—not you. While you’re moaning and writhing at his touch, tell him how you would love it if he went down on you.

If he balks at the idea, don’t say anything then, but casually bring it up at another time. There might be a reason he doesn’t like to go down on women—something to do with his past. Be gentle. Again, let him feel like he’s in control. If he doesn’t give you an answer or still isn’t willing to go down on you, then you have two options. The first one is to accept him as he is. Him not going down on you isn’t the end of the world…or your sex life. But if this is really important to you and he just won’t bend, maybe it’s time to end the relationship and find someone new.

I edited the column and emailed it to my editor. Then I retired to my bedroom for a good book and another satisfying night with Alejandro.

Except he wasn’t performing his magic this time. Without meaning to, I let my thoughts drift to someone else. The someone I shouldn’t have given a moment’s consideration to, the someone I hadn’t thought about in years—but that didn’t stop the sudden image of Travis’s fingers against my clit from sneaking into my mind.

With my eyes closed, I pushed away the thought of Travis’s imaginary fingers and let Alejandro guide me to the edge of euphoria. Warmth filled my lower belly, then an orgasm rocketed through me, and I cried out.

But as good as it had been, something about it felt lacking.

I mean, other than a real man taking me to happy land.

Fortunately, this was just a momentary glitch when it came to my love affair with Alejandro.

The laughing? Ignore it. That’s just the voice in the back of my head completely disagreeing with me.

But what the hell did it know?