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  Copyright © 2018 by Stefanie London

  Cover and internal design © 2018 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover design by John Kicksee

  Cover images © Mishela/Fotolia.com, YakobchukOlena/Fotolia.com

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks, Inc., is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  Fax: (630) 961-2168

  sourcebooks.com

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  A Sneak Peek at Bad Reputation

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  So bad it’s good? Save that for your Liam Neeson movie marathon. Bad has no place in your love life.

  With more ways than ever to meet your future Mr. Right, you’d think the women of New York would be at an advantage. But trying to find a soul mate in a world of Instagram filters and mobile dating apps is tough—expectations are high and attention spans are low.

  It’s all too easy for your date to check out potential matches while you’re in the restroom. He could be swiping right on a dozen other ladies in the vicinity. Chances are he’ll be out the door in less time than it took to read your bio.

  So how can you sort the good guys from the serial bachelors? That’s where the Bad Bachelors app comes to the rescue. Our app is designed for the women of New York to have their say. Going on a date? Simply search your bachelor’s name to see what his previous dates have said about him.

  How do reviews work? Well, it’s no different from leaving a review for your favorite restaurant on Yelp. Bad Bachelors uses a five-star rating system and allows users to share more detail in the review section. We’ll guide you through the process with review prompts—such as “Did he turn up on time?” and “Did he want to know more about you?”—to ensure that your review provides useful information.

  We respect that our users may not feel comfortable posting reviews under their real names, so we do allow anonymous reviews. However, only verified users can add a bachelor to the Bad Bachelors database—your profile must be linked to identifying information such as a Facebook profile or phone number.

  If your date moves to the bedroom, that’s great! However, we ask that you keep reviews PG-13. We don’t need to re-create Fifty Shades of Grey here.

  User MidTownMolly had her best date in weeks thanks to reading a positive review of her workplace crush. “The review spurred me to ask him out, and he said yes! We went for dinner and talked nonstop until he dropped me off at home. I’m already excited for date number two.”

  If you date a stand-up guy and it doesn’t work out, don’t be afraid to let your fellow ladies know he’s a potential catch. Remember, even if he didn’t knock your socks off, that doesn’t mean he’s not happy-ever-after material for someone else.

  We’re in the business of helping you make informed choices and we rely on our users to get quality data. So, next time you date, don’t forget to rate. Tomorrow, we’ll be posting a profile spotlight on our “Bad Bachelor.” This one should be avoided at all costs. I don’t want to spoil anything before our post goes live, but let’s just say he’s our worst-rated bachelor yet!

  With love,

  Your Dating Information Warrior

  Helping the single women of New York since 2018

  Chapter 1

  “Reed McMahon is a master manipulator. He knows exactly what to say and how to say it. Don’t believe a word he says.”

  —MisguidedinManhattan

  Sweat beaded along Darcy Greer’s brow as she smoothed her shaking hands over the full skirt of her wedding gown, her fingertips catching on the subtle pattern embroidered into the silk. Long sleeves masked her tattoos, turning her into a picture-perfect bride. Her mother had been so pleased when she’d chosen this dress because the priest wasn’t too thrilled with her ink. Truthfully, Darcy hadn’t been thrilled with looking like a cake topper. But she also hadn’t wanted any drama to mar her big day. Besides, it was only a dress.

  I can’t believe I’m doing this…

  She sucked in a breath and surveyed the picturesque blue sky with clouds so white and fluffy they looked like globs of marshmallow. A flawless day, the photographer had assured her, all the better to capture this important moment.

  Empty space stretched out from all sides, making her feel small, like a blip on the surface of the earth. A smile tugged at her lips and she tilted her face up, letting her eyes flutter shut as a cool breeze drifted past.

  Just breathe…

  Her best friends stood before her, looking immaculate in their bridesmaid gowns. They each wore a color that matched their personality—Remi, the ballerina, in soft pink and the ever-practical Annie in a classic royal blue. These women had gotten her through the toughest times in her life. They’d made sure she was here today in one piece, finally ready to release her old life.

  “All right, ladies.” The photographer raised his camera, the big lens pointing in Darcy’s direction, unblinking like a Cyclops’s eye. “Everyone get into position. I want this first shot to be perfect.”

  Darcy’s heart skipped a beat. This was it, her last opportunity to put a stop to this madness.

  You okay? Annie mouthed.

  Darcy nodded. She would be okay, she would be okay, she would be okay.

  Pop!

  The first shot hit her straight in the ribs and stung like hell. She gasped, her hands clutching at the spot where crimson bled across the white silk. The camera clicked. A moment captured.

  The pain was more than she’d expected, but there was something
deeply satisfying about seeing the splash of color against the ugly, white silk.

  Pop! Pop! Pop!

  “Wow, guys, give me a minute.” Darcy backed up, dodging a green balloon sailing through the air. “And don’t look so happy about being able to throw stuff at me.”

  She reached for a water balloon of her own and took aim, Remi’s soft-pink dress in her sights. Her throw was off and the balloon burst against the ground, splashing orange paint over Remi’s feet and legs.

  “Now you look like a beautiful sunset,” Annie said, hiking up her long skirt in one hand and reaching for a ketchup bottle filled with red paint. She ran over to Darcy and squeezed a stream of it all over the sweetheart neckline of her wedding dress. “Ah, much better!”

  “I look like I’m starring in a remake of Psycho.” Darcy glanced down at herself. Red paint dripped along her body, running in rivulets across the silk. “I need more color.”

  “Coming right up.” Remi grabbed a small paint can and a tiny brush. “Watch me unleash my artistic side.”

  She splashed purple paint in a flamboyant arc, turning Darcy from a horror movie extra into something out of a modern art exhibition.

  “This is wonderful, ladies.” The photographer clicked and clicked, capturing Darcy’s shock as Annie paint bombed her out of nowhere. “These photos will be amazing.”

  A high-pitched shriek pierced the air as Annie turned on Remi and the two girls battled it out with their respective weapons. Soon, the elegant dresses looked like a finger-painting lesson gone horribly wrong. Splotches of orange and green peppered Remi’s blond hair.

  They’d decided against using the proper paintball guns on advisement of the venue owner—safety first and all that jazz. Getting shot at close range apparently stung like a bitch. So they’d spent a painstaking hour filling up water balloons and other containers before the shoot.

  Darcy picked up another ketchup bottle filled with paint and used it to make a sad face on the bottom of her gown. “I hate this goddamn dress.”

  Annie covered her mouth in a failed attempt to stifle her laughter but instead smeared paint across her cheek. “Sorry, Darcy. I know you only picked it to keep your mom happy.”

  “You’re right.” She frowned. “The whole damn wedding was more about her than it was about me.”

  Annie slung an arm around Darcy’s shoulder. “Come on, this is your anti-anniversary party. Your ‘thank God I got out while I could’ bash. It’s time to celebrate, not mope about your family issues. That dress is ugly as hell anyway.”

  The beginnings of a smile tugged at Darcy’s lips. “It is ugly, isn’t it?”

  “Fugly even. Seriously, I didn’t have the heart to say anything because you know I love your mom”—Annie wrinkled her nose—“but I wouldn’t even bury my cat in that thing.”

  Out of nowhere, a balloon burst between them. “Hey!”

  “Two for the price of one,” Remi crowed, her Australian accent amplified as she raised her voice and pumped her fist in the air. “You beauty!”

  “We were having a moment,” Darcy said in mock protest.

  “Yeah, and now it’s a rainbow moment.” Remi toyed with two fresh water balloons, a cheeky grin on her face.

  “Do it,” Annie said. “I dare you.”

  “Do you double dare me?” Remi walked toward them, her arms swinging in that dainty, fluid way of hers.

  Annie tried to make a break for it, but Darcy wrapped her arms around her waist and held on tight. “Get her, Remi.”

  The balloons exploded and both girls screamed.

  By the time they’d run out of things to throw at one another, Darcy was famished. The owner of the venue—which was normally an outdoor paintball arena—had kindly allowed them space to conduct the photo shoot and let them make use of the open-air cafeteria as well.

  She glanced at the picnic table full of cupcakes and let her eyes settle on the top tier of what would have been her wedding cake. Apparently, you were supposed to save it for the first anniversary.

  But what if the wedding never happened? Surely that was an excuse not to keep it. Except her mother had; she’d saved it when the rest of the cake had been thrown into the trash. Now, a year after Darcy should have been married, her mother had foisted it on her like some kind of cruel joke.

  It said a lot about their relationship.

  The offending lump of cake—covered in thick, Italian-style marzipan icing—sat in the middle of the table. Poking at it with her forefinger as if it were an alien species, Darcy considered her options. Eat it or toss it?

  “Let me show you how to deal with this.” Remi picked up the cake and signaled for the photographer to follow her. She hurled it into the air and it landed with a satisfying splat on the ground a few feet away.

  “See?” she said. “No more devil cake.”

  Annie clapped her hands together. “Now we can get this party started.”

  This “party” was something that had taken a lot of convincing. Darcy had wanted to let the day come and go without ceremony or recognition. She would have been perfectly happy to sit in her sweats and eat ice cream straight out of the tub like a Bridget Jones cliché. But she was the kind of woman who could admit when she was wrong—the trash-the-dress party had proved far more entertaining than she’d first anticipated. Plus, it made for an interesting catch-up rather than their usual wine-and-vent sessions.

  Every week, the three friends got together to unload their latest funny stories and problems on one another. It’d been a tradition since high school, when Darcy and Annie would meet to do their homework together. Translation: talk about boys and update their Myspace profiles or whatever else sixteen-year-old girls did before smartphones.

  Remi had completed their trio when she’d moved to New York from Australia a few years ago and ended up being Darcy’s roommate. These women had glued her back together—and kept her that way—since her wedding had been canceled the previous year.

  “These look delicious,” Annie announced as she pored over the tiered cake stand filled with cupcakes supplied by Remi. “I wish I could bake like you.”

  “I wish I could bake something without setting the oven on fire,” Darcy quipped as she washed her hands at the small outdoor sink, scrubbing at the green paint under her fingernails. “But we can’t all be Martha Stewart, can we?”

  “Just don’t tell my family that I’m using sugar and wheat flour—they’ll think I’m poisoning you.” She cringed. “Everything in their house is hemp-infused, plant-based bullshit.”

  “Well, I can’t cook or bake,” Annie said. “According to my mother, that means I’ll make a terrible wife.”

  “Ugh.” Darcy forced down a wave of nausea. Nothing could recall her lunch faster than the thought of motherly expectations. “Please don’t use the W word around me. Mom’s been trying to set me up with her friends’ sons. Literally any and all of them. I don’t think she cares who it is so long as I get a ring on my finger.”

  “Did you remind her what happened the last time she set you up with someone?” Annie snorted. “Or won’t she take any responsibility for that?”

  “She dropped off the top layer of the wedding cake as a reminder that I should be trying to find ‘the one.’ And she had the audacity to tell me she hadn’t given up on me, like I’m some hundred-year-old spinster who’s about to be eaten by a houseful of cats.”

  Annie blinked. “Right.”

  “If only she could see you now.” Remi grinned.

  The photographer hovered around them, snapping pictures of what must have been a hilarious scene: three women in full hair and makeup, wearing paint-splattered dresses and eating cupcakes. What a sight.

  “Maybe she meant it as an encouragement,” Remi said.

  “The message couldn’t have been clearer. It’s been one year and she wants to know why I’m not out there
trying to find a man so I can fulfill my purpose as a woman and start making babies.”

  “Screw that.” Remi wrinkled her nose.

  Annie opened the champagne with a pop and poured the fizzing liquid into each of the three champagne flutes. She measured precisely, ensuring each glass was equal.

  “Here’s to you, Darcy. Happy anti-anniversary.” She handed the glasses out and held up her own. “Congratulations on dodging a bullet.”

  “Still feels like I got shot.” She shook her head as their flutes all met in a cacophony of clinks.

  “Better to have loved and lost than to have gone down the aisle with the wrong guy,” Remi said, sipping her drink. “Here’s to moving on.”

  There was a chorus of “hear, hear” from the girls as they clinked their glasses again.

  “Nothing like a new fling to take your mind off the old one,” Remi added, gesturing with her champagne. “Forget about relationships and have a little fun. You’ve earned it.”

  It sounded so simple when she said it like that, but Darcy was out of practice. Besides, there was this little, tiny problem that had developed since the almost-wedding. The very few times she’d gotten close to getting physical with a guy, her nerves had kicked in and she’d lost all sense of excitement. Was sex anxiety a thing? Because that was probably what she had.

  “I don’t know…” Darcy sunk her teeth into the pile of frosting on her cupcake.

  “Think about it. If you quit a bad job, you would start looking for another one, right?” Annie said. “You don’t stop working because you had one bad job.”

  Remi snorted. “Only you would compare a relationship to a job.”

  “I’m serious. Getting a job and dating aren’t all that different. You have to assess each other to see if you’re a good fit and then you have a trial period to see if it’s going to work out.”

  “Do you make your dates sign a contract too?” Darcy teased.

  “I’ll tell you when I have enough time to go on a date.” Annie sighed. “Like in the year 2045.”

  Remi peeled back the brightly colored paper on another cupcake. “As ridiculous as that comparison is, she has a point. One bad experience doesn’t mean a lifetime without sex. It’s perfectly acceptable for men to enjoy casual sex, so why not us too?”