The Boyfriend Bylaws

BY

SUSAN HATLER

The Boyfriend Bylaws

Copyright © 2011 by Susan Hatler

My Last Blind Date

Copyright © 2011 by Susan Hatler

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

The Boyfriend Bylaws:

“The Boyfriend Bylaws is sweet, witty, and oh so very touching. Hatler warms the heart while still bringing the funny.” 
—
Eileen Rendahl, National Bestselling Author

“
Now
this is sweet romance that has you rooting for Melanie right from the beginning. I was laughing and smiling throughout the story...I would recommend this read and will be following Susan Hatler and awaiting her next book.
” —
Tifferz Book Review

“
A
bsolutely a cute little story about how that perfect someone is sometimes the person right under your nose.
” —
Beck’s Book Picks

My Last Blind Date:

“Susan Hatler’s “My Last Blind Date” is a totally fun and absolutely delightful short story. Treat yourself to this charming little tale–the perfect Valentine’s Day gift for yourself or anyone who loves romance.”
—
Patti Berg, USA Today Bestselling Author

“Susan Hatler writes stories filled with light-hearted humor and sweet, adorable moments guaranteed to warm your heart and leave you with a contented smile.”
—
Kimberly Van Meter, Contemporary Romance Author

“A charming, fun read that will put you in the mood for Valentine’s day.”
—
Melinda Curtis, Award Winning Romance Author

“Amazing depth for a short story. Hatler creates an immediately identifiable heroine and a yummy hero who could be found in any real-life office. You’ll ache with Rachel’s loneliness and longing, and rejoice when she finally finds love.”
—
Natalie J. Damschroder, Romance Author

“
Short, sweet, and so much fun! This short story was perfect.
” —
One Good Book Deserves Another (5 star review)

Writing a story evokes a plethora of emotions. It’s exhilarating at first—an amazing ride of imagination and creativity meets keyboard. Then comes the editing. This is hard, gut wrenching, and eventually leads to the strong desire to throw my manuscript against the wall. Getting to the point of completion while keeping my sanity (well, most of it) is no small feat and by “The End” there are a number of people who helped me get through.

I’d like to send big thanks to my writing buds Virna DePaul, Cecilia LeBaron, Rochelle Davisson, Lea Nolan, Nancy Naigle, Tracy Mastaler, and Poppy Reiffin for all of your wise words, feedback, and support.

I’m so grateful to the incredible writers I’ve met through the Romance Writers of America (
www.rwa.org
). RWA is a fantastic writing organization and what I’ve learned as a member—from craft to business—has been invaluable.

Thank you to my sissy, Ellen Price, and my wonderful friends Karen Scofield, Christa Shedd, Vicki Snyder, Carol Ribet, and Kate NallyMadigan for their endless enthusiasm and excitement in my writing progress and adventures.

Hugs and kisses to Ann Rego who loves everything I write and to Roger Rego for passing down the writing gene. Mom and Dad, you’re the best.

Much love to Pat and Dan Finn who have cheered me on every step of the way.

I shudder to think what I’d do without Virna DePaul. Whether we’re brainstorming an idea, sharing a pitfall or triumph, or chatting about fictional characters who mean the world to us…you make everything about the writing journey more fun. You’re the best critique partner and friend a girl could ever ask for and I’m lucky to have you.

I’m forever thankful to my amazing husband, Mike Hatler. You pick up the slack so I can stay at the keyboard, support my passion with endless sacrifices, and above all you always believe in me. Love you, baby.

After three glorious weeks of dating Brad Jones, I’d picked out the perfect lingerie and tonight I’d put it to good use. I burst through the front door of Totally Fit, happier than I’d ever been, especially considering it was five-thirty in the morning and I had to teach an aerobics class.

“What’s the word?” Matt Thompson, my co-worker and friend, sat behind the front counter of the gym reading a book, as usual.

I dropped my athletic bag on the tattered linoleum floor and set my portable iPod docking station on the counter. “The word of the day is yumzy.”

He stood, leaned against the counter, and raised a brow. “Yumzy?”

I thought of my date last night with Brad. We’d gone to the Sacramento Kings game at Arco Arena, which had been super fun. Afterward, we’d had drinks downtown, then taken a romantic moonlit walk to my apartment where things had gotten hot and heavy. Remembering his delicious kisses, I sighed. “Yumzy.”

Matt drummed his fingers on the bright blue countertop. “Is it safe to assume you’re not talking about food?”

“Definitely not talking about food.” I shook my head and my ponytail flopped to the opposite shoulder. “Actually, he could be considered dessert.”

Matt frowned. “Is he that guy you’ve been flirting with over in free weights?”

“Brad.” I smiled, picturing how our names might look in Monotype Corsiva on our eventual wedding invitations. Melanie Porter and Brad Jones—forever.

“Mel.” Matt slipped his hands around mine and traced my knuckles in slow circles with his thumbs, sending goose bumps up my neck. I hated that he had that effect on me. “When are you going to give up on other guys and realize I’m the one for you?”

He loved to flirt but, thanks to Erica, I knew not to take him seriously. Erica Conner, the other aerobics instructor at Totally Fit, had dated Matt a few times after he’d started working here last year. She’d told me, confidentially, that she’d broken it off after finding out he was a player. That was so not my scene, no matter how sweet he could be. “Aren’t you already dating someone?”

“I’d drop all women for you.”

“No, really.” A petite brunette, dancing in a red dress, flashed in my mind. “You’re dating that girl. The one you introduced us to at The Oasis a few weeks ago. You know, when The Girls and I were celebrating Erica’s final laser hair removal.”

“Laser hair removal?” His shoulders jerked as if ants were crawling up his neck. “That’s way more than I needed to know.”

“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes. “My point is you had a girl with you.”

“Eileen. That’s over.” He was still holding my hands and caressing my knuckles with the perfect amount of pressure. “So? Would you like to go out? Anywhere you want.”

A little tingle curled its way up my spine. The guy was truly talented at hand massage and it made me wonder what his other talents might be. But, at twenty-five, I couldn’t afford the distraction—no matter how tempting. Regretfully, I slipped my hands free. “You know, Matt...”

“I know only what you tell me.”

He made me laugh, but I refused to fall for someone who wasn’t looking for a serious relationship. Besides, I had Brad now. “I can’t date you.”

“Why would you want to go out with me anyway?” I asked casually even though I was secretly dying to know. “I mean, you’re getting a PhD in philosophy and I’m an aerobics instructor. We have zilch in common.”

I recalled the time he’d told me how Plato fascinated him. In response, I’d confessed that, as a kid, I’d eaten my fair share of play dough and loved the salty taste. Matt explained that Plato had been a Greek philosopher. To his credit, he hadn’t laughed at my mistake, but I’d obviously supplied him with enough ammo to fire off an entirely new batch of blonde jokes.

“Are you kidding, Mel? Why wouldn’t someone want to go out with you? You’re smart, beautiful, and you brighten up a room just by walking into it.” He seemed deadly serious, which was so unlike him. Then, he smiled, lightening the mood again. “You even make cleaning toilets fun.”

Rudy, the owner of Totally Fit, had cancelled the janitorial service last week in an effort to save a few bucks. That left the staff with the task of cleaning the toilets. Yuck. To make it bearable, I’d created The Echo Competition. We each took turns singing at the top of our lungs while scrubbing, to see who could make the worst sounding echo. I’d never have guessed our voices could crack like that. I laughed, secretly loving his compliment. “You’re sweet.”

“Yet, you still don’t want to go out with me.” He started sorting through the various business cards, brochures, and workout schedules displayed on the counter—even though they were already in impeccable order.

The tension thickened like a wall between us. Matt was an amazing guy, but what could I do? I was a commitment kind of girl. My mom had told my dad “until death do we part,” then she’d skedaddled when I was a sophomore in high school, saying that he’d been suffocating her and she needed to breathe again. It was my life’s mission to be the exact opposite of that woman.

Thinking of my mom, a slice of pain stabbed through me. Dad had moved on and remarried two years later, but my step-mom had her own daughter and I was too old for her to try to fill my mom’s hiking boots anyway. My mom and I hadn’t spoken in two years and I couldn’t tell which felt worse: talking to her or not talking to her. “It’d just...never work.”

I wasn’t sure if I meant dating Matt or forgiving my mom.

****

With Matt back to reading his book, I picked up my iPod station, and breezed past the counter as the front door opened behind me with a
ding ding
.

Mid-stride, I glanced over my shoulder and saw Steve Burns, “trainer extraordinaire,” or so he liked to call himself.

“Mornin’ all!” he called. “What’s the word?”

“Steve.” Matt nodded and rubbed his hands together. “Give me the skinny on that yumzy guy Mel’s obsessing over. She’s under the absurd impression he’s right for her.”

I spun around and faced them, my brows shooting up in alarm. Was there really some skinny—that had been yesterday’s word—on Brad?

Steve sidled up to the counter wearing his regular uniform: white shorts and a red t-shirt with STEVE BURNS printed underneath a dumbbell logo. “What’re we talking about? Don’t we have a word yet? How can we not have a word?”

“The word of the day is yumzy.” Matt shot him an annoyed look and stuck a thumb in my direction. “Her choice, not mine.”

“Fill me in, people.” Steve rotated his hands in circles toward himself. “Fill me in.”

In a sudden panic, I slapped my palms on the counter and searched Matt’s deep brown eyes for the truth. “Is there really a skinny on Brad? Something I should know about? Spill it, Bookworm.”

“Because you’re paranoid.” I laid a hand on his arm as the front door dinged open again. “Trust me, everything’s zippy. The word is ‘yumzy’ because I have a hot date tonight with you-know-who.”