The Last Single Girl by Caitie Quinn, Bria Quinlan Page B

the internet.
    But as I glanced over my ad, I knew there was no way around it. Jane was going to have to be my voice of reason. Every time I reread it, all I could think was any sane person would assume a golden retriever puppy was looking for a date.
    I'd actually said I liked sunny days and enjoyed a nice hike before curling up in front of my fireplace for a cozy night in.
    Why didn't I just add a picture of my favorite chew toy?
    Of course, I was a golden retriever with very expensive shoes and a condo in town, but still.
    I hit send and tried to pretend my best friend wasn't somewhere looking at her iPhone and laughing hysterically.
    It took a lot more effort than I wanted to admit.
    While I waited to hear back, I did what any logical woman would do—I went to the library and got every book on dating written in the last four years.
    Yes, I used the self-checkout line.
    I skimmed through them all, glancing at 'rules' and making notes about profiles. I created lists of what were Must Haves and No Ways and then crossed half of them off after every book added you couldn't be too picky.
    Most of the books had dual personalities like that.
    Part of me wanted to ignore the phone when Jane's ringtone sounded. She'd gotten back to me about four hours faster than expected. Obviously my message—or personal ad—warranted a fairly immediate phone call. That couldn't be a good sign.
    I hit the answer button and started before she could. "If you laugh, I'm hanging up, moving out of state, and you'll never see me again."
    "I'm not laughing. I've been married less than two years. I remember how much it stunk trying to find the right guy."
    I knew she did. She never pulled any of that married crap. That, Oh, just wait and the right guy will show up OR If you just did fill-in-the-blank you wouldn't be living your life alone.
    "Honestly, I'm glad you sent it to me. I made a bunch of changes." Jane made a soft cooing sound. I could only assume it was for the baby. Although, if I were being honest, it was an oddly reassuring noise. "Who knows you better than I do, right? I may be partial, but I love you and I'll kick anyone's rear-end who doesn't appreciate you the way he should."
    My eyes teared up. I held the phone away from my head and sniffed, not wanting her to know how much her words affected me.
    "I just sent it. You should get it in a second." More cooing, then a soft splash. "I'm giving Dahlia her bath. Or she's giving me a bath, one or the other. Tell me, why the sudden urge to e-date?"
    I didn't want to own up to my impending spinsterhood, but she probably saw it coming anyway. I filled her in on our New Year's plans and how everyone magically came home from Thanksgiving weekend with a boyfriend. How girls' night out had become the third—make that seventh—wheel fiasco.
    "So, The Alphabet just changed all your plans and expected you to hang with them and their new boyfriends?"
    Jane had been calling them The Alphabet since before she'd gotten married. The three of them—Angie, Becca, and Claire—had known each other the longest. As the single girls fell to the wayside, Claire had scooped up her compatriots and made herself Alpha-something-else-that-starts-with-B.
    I think they'd been surprised to find me among their ranks. Maybe if my name had been Deirdre….
    "Yup. Claire got four seats added to our table."
    "I never liked her." Jane was, among other things, fiercely loyal. "And it's not just that she treats you like an afterthought. She's never kind to anyone. Kittens couldn't melt her."
    "Well, the girl has connections. There's no party she can't get us into."
    "Right. Because you've always been such a party girl. I know how those museum curators are. Crazier than rock stars."
    "You totally underestimate the rock star'ness of some of my sistren."
    "Why don't you just come here? You know you're always welcome. You don't need a guy to get into my house."
    The best part of the statement was I knew she meant it. It wasn't a