There’s something about That Guy!

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By L.C. Dean

You know the one. We’ve all met him at least once in our lives. Some are lucky enough to hold onto him. Many of us do not. He comes in all shapes, sizes, and colors. He wears jeans, a uniform, a well-tailored suit, or maybe nothing at all. He’s a country boy, a city-slicker, a hot head or steady as a rock. He is each woman’s greatest fantasy. And while he may have commonalities with his brethren, he is unique in the way he catches our eye.

My That Guy was Taylor Harris (Name changed to protect my pride). He was 17 and I was 16. Looking back, I realize he wasn’t all that handsome, nor overly tall, but the boy only had to open his mouth and my knees lost the ability to hold me up. He commanded the stage like no one our small town had ever seen before. He could act and sing, and he won state orator two years running. Now that may not sound cool to some, but for me he was a god. Unfortunately, he was too busy being awesome in high school to ever notice me, but it didn’t stop me from writing poetry to his amazingness.

One of my best friends married her That Guy. He was a lineman for a local electrical company, and the first time she saw him he was up a pole, baggy jeans pulled over his muscled backside as he worked, and I have to admit he did something for his very ordinary uniform shirt and work boots. She tells me she knew in that instant he would be the one. No one else much noticed him. He was a diamond in the rough until the world saw him through her eyes. He’s still an ordinary guy in my mind. Granted, he’s funny and considerate and about the nicest man I know, but he doesn’t make my heart do a jig. But after twenty years together, my friend still grins whenever he walks into the room. They will be eighty and he will always be That Guy.

I think finding That Guy is why I write. While I look for someone to live up to or surpass Taylor, I write about the ones who make my heroines/heroes stop and smile, or shake their heads as there is something about That Guy.

For research purposes, and because I’m always curious, I would love to hear what That Guy is/was like for you. Did you keep him? Did he break your heart? Or was he just a stranger passing on the street who made you do a double-take and wish you could be his? Thanks for dropping by and be sure to enter the rafflecopter below. 

L.C. Dean
Blog:  LCDean.blogspot.com
Twitter: LCDean
Facebook:  authorLCDean

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Blurb:

Jet Ryan’s haunted by the memory of one night in the arms of a sexy tattoo artist who pushed all the right buttons before she shoved him out of her life. No one else seems to measure up. He needs her out of his system or in his life, preferably the latter. But, he’ll settle for one more night with her or a reasonable facsimile as long as he can touch her again.

Ink Monroe avoids expectations that might get her hopes up, doesn’t believe in endless possibilities, and has absolutely no room in her life for a guy who wants to take care of her. But damn, it would be nice to have all those things for a little while. So when a customer gives her a business card for a woman named Madame Eve, she asks for a man to solidify the hazy memory of a single night of passion followed by the best night of sleep she’d had in years.

Both have tall orders for a single evening of passion, but one night can lead to endless possibilities. Madame Eve promised.

Excerpt:

“What about you, Ink? What would you ask the amazing matchmaker Madame Eve for if you could have your perfect date?”

“Never thought about it.” She had no illusion anyone even faintly resembling perfect existed.

“If you did?”

She grinned and studied the finished outline. Satisfied, she changed her tip and loaded the first color, blazing red. “I don’t know. Someone different, I guess.” A shiver ran through her at the distorted yet delicious image that often flitted through her mind. She couldn’t remember his face, or even his name, but she would never forget his strong hands on her body, the comfort of his steady heartbeat as he cradled her through the night. Sometimes his unique scent filled her head—leather, spice, and something earthy and clean teased her to find him. “I think I might have had it once, but I was exhausted, on the verge of breaking down. I can’t recall much about him except he made me feel safe, and I slept better in his arms than I’ve ever slept alone.”

Her cheeks heated and she looked down. “I can’t believe I told you all that.”

He touched her wrist and then dropped his hand back to the position she had placed it in. “Don’t worry about it.” He wiggled around, digging in his pocket until she sat back with a sigh.

“Unless you want to look like you have a permanent infection running across your chest, hold still.”

“Give me a second.” The worn wallet he clasped fell open on its own. “Here.” He handed her a business card.

She held up her gloved and ink stained hands. “What is it?”

He chuckled. “Madame Eve’s ticket to paradise.”

With a smile, she returned to her work. “Lay it on the table.”

1NS shimmered in a classy embossed symbol on the upper corner of the card. What if the man was right? What if the service could make her fantasy come true? What if Madame Eve could recreate the peace and passion of the shadowed memory? She caught back a laugh of self-disgust. What if monkeys fly out of my ass? 

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