The Bookworm's Guide to Dating

wear. Was it any wonder I rarely dated? It was all too stressful and confusing and that was before I’d even left my own house.
The one thing I could decide upon was heels. No matter where we went, a good pair of black pumps would be suitable, so I pulled out my favorite, most comfortable pair of black stilettos that I’d owned for three years.
Progress.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t getting in any restaurants wearing just shoes.
Damn Josh. I knew why he was testing me like this, but I wasn’t happy about it at all. At least with Jamie it looked like he would tell me where we were going so I’d know what kind of outfit to pull together.
This one was a crapshoot.
Okay, jeans. Jeans were good. Jeans were versatile. Jeans and heels didn’t make one look like a whore, did they?
God, why weren’t there guides for this? Dating guides for bookworms and introverts. That would make life so much easier than it was.
Josh and his attempt at advice didn’t really cut it, did it?
I groaned and pulled out underwear. Now there were two items where it didn’t matter—one, I wasn’t going to have sex with Josh tonight, and two, I didn’t have sex with anyone on the first date.
Fat panties it was.
Yessss.
My feet might be sore by the end of the night, but at least my vagina wouldn’t be getting a wedgie from my panties.
Silver linings.
I eventually settled on a simple white tank top that looked good with the bleached blue jeans and a light pink blazer. It was casual yet still smart, and it was the kind of thing I was comfortable wearing to both Bronco’s or somewhere fancier like Moti Mahal.
Granted, I was literally asking to spill food on my shirt with it being white, but still…
I did my hair and makeup before I got dressed, just in case. I had been known to drop my mascara wand on myself more than once, and I wasn’t sure I had another white t-shirt that wasn’t languishing in my laundry basket.
What could I say? I liked to split my washes by color, and I didn’t wear white often.
Except bras, but that probably explained why most of those so-called white bras were now a little on the greyer side of the color wheel.
I miraculously had five minutes to spare, so I slipped my feet into my heels and, after retrieving my phone from the mess that was my unmade bed, went downstairs. I was going to wait in the living room for Josh so I could see his car coming, but when I got there, I could see his black pickup truck pulled up on the sidewalk.
If he’d driven over my lawn, I was going to kick him.
And let me tell you, with these heels, it was going to hurt.
I dropped my phone into my purse and grabbed my keys from the door. I waited until a string of knocks hammered at my door before I swung it open.
Josh stood before me looking probably more handsome than I’d ever seen him. Honestly, if my life were a romance novel, this would be the moment when I’d look at my brother’s best friend as anything other than, well, that.
But my life wasn’t a romance novel, so here we were.
Or rather, here I was, standing in front of my brother’s six-foot-two best friend, with his dark hair brushed to one side, his green-gray eyes staring down at me, and his full pink lips curled up in a smile.
And that was before you considered the white shirt that hugged his builder’s body with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
Did anything below that matter?
I think not.
I shook off all those unwelcome thoughts and cleared my throat. “Well? Do I pass the test?”
His gaze danced over me, flitting from the top of my head to the tips of my toes and everything in between. It lingered for a moment on my chest where my cleavage was enhanced by one of Victoria’s push up bra secrets, but he jerked his head as if he were shaking those thoughts off.
He met my eyes, and his lips curved into a small smile. “You look great. Good choice of outfit. Very diplomatic.”
I mock-curtsied to him. “Shall we go?”
Josh nodded and took a step back. I joined him outside, pausing only to lock the door and double check it was secure, then I followed him to his truck.
He opened the passenger side door for me and gave me a helping hand into the cab. I wasn’t sure if he’d jacked it up or not, but it had definitely been touch and go there for a moment with my heels, so I was grateful for the hand.
“How was your afternoon?” he asked as he pulled away from the curb. “Did you speak to Jamie?”
I nodded. “We spoke some this afternoon. He’s looking at places for dinner, or he was last time we chatted.”
“Where did you talk about?”
“Bella and Moti.”
“Good choices. You’re avoiding Bronco’s, then.”
“The gossip train stops less frequently at the Bella and Moti stations, so yes.”
He chuckled under his breath and turned on his blinker as we pulled up at a crossroads. “True story. Why do you think we’re going to Moti’s tonight?”
“We are?” I was sure my face lit up because my cheeks strained with my smile. “I haven’t been in ages!”
He peered sideways at me, lips twitching. “Neither have I. And a little birdie told me Taarush has a new meatball kufta special debuting tonight.”
My mouth watered at the thought. Taarush Laghari was the patriarch of the family and a third-generation American, but the family still held true to their Indian roots and culture while seamlessly living with ours. No other Indian food compared to his, and his specials were just that—special.
I could not wait to try it.
“Put your drool away, Kinsley. It’s unbecoming.”
Unbecoming. Was I in Jane Austen’s England?
“Oh, shut up.” I nudged him with my elbow as he made the final turn in the direction of the