The Romance Report Read Online Free

wallet. Sheesh.
Get your mind out of the gutter.” He winked at them and continued, “Quinn dates
poor, starving artists. Boyfriend has got to have a J O B or he is not going to
date me. Standards. You’ve got to have standards or you’ll end up homeless in a
box with Johnny Nightdriver as he plays guitar for your beanie weenie supper.
Now, your mama’s got standards but her taste in men runs towards the kind with
a stick up their…”
    “Sean!” Both girls squealed again.
    “Behind. Listen, I’m keeping it G-rated, but if
you make me another oh-so-tasty cocktail, I can bump it up to PG-13. Anyhow, as
I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, you’ve got to set standards.
For example, Sean Carlos’ Rule Number One is boyfriend has got to have a job.
Rule Number Two is he has to be smoking hot and dress to impress. Don’t come
pick me up in raggedy old jeans and a broken down t-shirt. You might as well
pack yourself right on down the stairs and back to your shack and toothless hound
dog.”
    “He needs to be smart,” Indie chimed. “Not so
smart that he’s a jerk, but smart enough to be able to know what’s going on in
the world and talk about it.”
    “Funny,” Quinn added. “He needs to have a sense of
humor, in and out of the bedroom.”
    “He needs to have a big…”
    “Sean!” Indie and Quinn whooped with laughter.
Indie laughed so hard that she began to hiccup. Quinn patted her hard on the
back in a half-hearted attempt to help. The watered-down remains of Indie’s
Smoky Mary spilled on the white couch.
    “Crud. Sorry. Let me go grab a rag and clean it
before it sets,” Indie hiccupped as she attempted to stand up and make her way
to the kitchen.
    “Girl, that is going to stain. This is why I don’t
do white. Hell, this place looks like the inside of a loaf of Wonder Bread,”
Sean said, looking around him.
    “My mother decorated. She’s a firm believer that
black is slimming and white furniture screams sophistication.” Quinn rolled her
eyes as she imagined her mother’s voice in her head giving decorating advice.
    “What it screams is boring. No pizazz. No
personality,” Sean replied.
    “That’s your problem,” Indie said. She scrubbed at
the offending red spots with a wet dishcloth. “You have no color. Everything is
black and white. That works for facts and news, but life’s not like that. Life
is messy and colorful and…messy.”
    “Indie’s right. You date the losers you date
because you want to add a little excitement and some spark to this oh-so-drab
world. You need to find a different coloring box to pick from than the one you’ve
been choosing from lately. No more generic crayons made of cheap wax. You need
the real deal,” Sean announced. He stood up and strutted into Quinn’s bedroom.
Quinn could hear the sounds of drawers opening and shutting and hangers
scraping across the metal closet rod. A few minutes later, Sean carried out a
mountain of black clothing and dumped it onto the couch. “You missed your
calling. You’d have gone far in life as a death metal singer or a gothic
heroine in a punk rock video. Even your panties are black.” Sean dangled a
black thong off his pinkie finger.
    “It’s all become crystal clear,” Indie piped. She
jumped up from her seat on the ground and draped a black dress around her
shoulders like a cape. “You are a vampire quietly living amongst us as you wait
for your chance to swoop in and suck our blood. Mwahaha.”
    “Ha ha. You two are a riot. Not much I can do to
change my wardrobe now. No job means no money for clothes. Remember?” Quinn got
up and began to mix another batch of cocktails. She eyed the vodka bottle and
added another dash of it to the pitcher in front of her. She sliced a jalapeno
and garnished three glasses. “No man is ever going to want to go on a date with
me once they see my screaming like a fishwife on YouTube. I might as well take
my vow of celibacy now and be done with it.”
    Sean took