Read The Kiss That Launched 1,000 Gifs Online
Authors: Sheralyn Pratt
The Kiss That Launched 1,000 Gifs
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© 2015 Sheralyn Pratt
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever, whether by graphic, visual, electronic, film, microfilm, tape recording, or any other means, without prior written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief passages embodied in reviews and articles.
Cover design Rachael Anderson
Published by Wicked Sassy
Salt Lake City, Utah
Ashton leaned back in his chair as if he’d been shot. “Seriously?” he groaned. “Only a woman would say that.”
Four studio microphones surrounded the recording table, with Grace and Ashton set up on two microphones that put them face-to-face. The webcam broadcasting their radio show live was perpendicularly positioned between them, and angled ever-so-slightly in Ashton’s direction. Grace had long accepted that anyone watching Battle of the Sexes live was likely female and ogling her eye-candy cohost, Ashton Miller. If the man didn’t look like a dark-haired doppelganger of the late Paul Walker, Grace was certain the show wouldn’t get half the calls it got. People didn’t really line up to listen to a Latina rant about women’s issues.
Ashton’s jock factor was a necessary evil. Grace tried to remember that every time his casual arrogance rubbed her wrong. It was men like Ashton who showcased how sensible her stances were. In a way, his misogyny was a gift.
She leaned into her mic and tried not to laugh at Ashton’s current stance. “You think that only a woman would say that relationships should be equal?” she scoffed. “That only women would think that splitting responsibilities down the center in this day and age is a good idea? I think plenty of men would vote for equal division of labor and finances in a relationship.”
Those baby blue eyes focused on her playfully. “Well, those men can surrender their Man Card the next time they order a razzleberry smoothie then, because men like that aren’t looking for a woman. They’re looking for a roommate.”
Grace let out a melodramatic sigh that hinted to their radio audience of the expression on her face. “Gosh, Ashton, just when I thought you had peaked when it came to how many people you could offend in a single breath.”
Ashton looked far from concerned. “Who am I offending? I dare one man out there to call us right now and declare that he wants to trade off making dinner and mopping floors with the woman he loves. Or for a guy to call in and say that he wants all bills to be cut down the middle and split equally between male and female bank accounts.” He held up a finger. “One guy. Any guy. Call now and explain yourself. The lines are open.”
Grace laughed and shared a look with Frank, their producer, on the other side of the sound booth glass to let him know that she wanted that call the second it came in.
“Seriously?” she said. “You don’t think any men would vote to trade off paying for dates?”
“Maybe at first,” he said with one of the careless shrugs he used whenever he made a power move. Grace braced herself. “When he’s testing the waters a guy might be up for that. But that’s not something a man wants if he’s in love with the woman. If I’m in love with a woman, I’m going to send her every signal possible that she doesn’t need anyone else in her life to take care of her. I’ve got her covered. I’ve got us both covered. Period. I don’t need her money. I need her.”
Grace swore she could hear members of their radio audience swoon. Ashton was definitely going to get some female calls having his back on that stance. Grace had to change her approach to keep the conversation on her side.
“And you think that men are universally united behind you when it comes to division of household needs, like preparing dinner?”
“I would say that 99 out of 100 men would definitely side with me,” Ashton said, leaning back in his chair as if he’d just resolved the matter.
Hardly.
“Even if they’re in a relationship where both the man and the woman work full time?” she challenged. “Even then, you think cooking duties should land on the woman?”
“I do,” he said unapologetically. “It’s part of being excited to see her at the end of the day.”
“And you don’t think a woman would feel the same about knowing her man was cooking for her at the end of the day? That she wouldn’t get excited, too?”
“Maybe for a while,” Ashton said. “But that would wane over time. Eventually she’d get critical or tired of the fact that he makes the same things over and over.”
“He could try new things.”
Ashton shook his head. “He won’t want to. The average man has no desire to try new time-consuming recipes with even the slightest possibility of failure. No man wants to screw up in front of his woman. We like things we can’t screw up—like grilling meat—straightforward stuff where no one can kick you in the nuts by mentioning how the seasoning could be adjusted next time. You want more pepper on your meat? Here’s the shaker. You want more barbecue sauce? Here’s a bottle. That’s how men like to do things.”
“That’s how you like to do things,” Grace countered.
“Me and most men,” he said, lounging with his hands behind his head. The move put Ashton’s finely sculpted arms on display for the webcam—yet another tactic he used to get female listeners on his side when Grace was winning a debate. The guy was willing to win at any cost.
“Oddly enough, that is not my experience,” Grace mused.
“That’s because your boyfriend is a professionally trained chef.”
“And how does that change anything?”
“Because cooking is what Phillip’s good at,” Ashton said with a smile that let Grace know she’d just walked into a trap. “One might argue that cooking is what Phillip is best at, so cooking means putting his best foot forward. He’d like that, as would the minority of men who consider cooking among their best skills.”
Grace bit her lip at Ashton’s bait that cooking was what Phillip was best at. It was a jab below the belt, but calling it out would only make her look like the immature one. Grace sent him a glare and let it slide. The grin that curved Ashton’s lips let her know he considered her lack of follow up a win.
“Asking Phillip to cook would be like asking me to play volleyball,” Ashton said, picking up the stress toy he always had on hand and giving it a solid squeeze. “It’s asking him to show off. No man’s going to take a pass on an opportunity to do that. But cooking new recipes week after week is not an opportunity for most men to show off. It’s an opportunity for us to fail, and we men don’t like those opportunities so much. Because I can promise you that if I go out on a limb and make something like rice pilaf and you don’t immediately jump my bones, I will never want to make rice pilaf again. It will be filed together with shag carpet and dryer lint as something I never want to see again.”
“Or,” Grace countered. “You could figure out what you want to do differently the next time and try again.”
“No,” he said, wagging his head emphatically. “I don’t think you comprehend how much I do not want to do that. At all. And I don’t want to sit across the table from my woman and have her coach me on how to do better next time, either. That’s a total woman thing. Men don’t want nuanced feedback. They want to be awesome. And I’m telling you right now that setting a man up to fail right before bedtime is not good for any romantic relationship.”
Dangit. She couldn’t let Ashton have a final word like that before segueing to the callers, yet all the lines were blinking red. She and Ashton had done their jobs; people were calling in. But Frank hadn’t given the signal that a man had called in to back her up, and based on the notes building up in the call log queue on the screen, Grace wasn’t currently winning the debate.
Women were calling in saying that they liked cooking for their men. One caller’s note went so far as to say, Jenn thinks men should cook as often as women should pick up the bill—rarely.
Great. Just great.
Ashton put his arms behind his head, pretending to lean back in his chair as he not-so-subtly flexed for the webcam. “Looks like we have a couple dozen callers who want to weigh in on the matter,” he said with a lazy smile. “How about we hear what they have to say?”
Apparently they had reached the portion of Grace’s day where she would be forced to listen to woman after woman declare her desire to cook for the man she loved and/or Ashton. Her only hope to win any of them over to her side was to bring up dishes. Surely no sane woman would declare that she should both cook and do the dishes.
Right?
Then again, women carrying on a conversation with Ashton could not be declared sane by default. The man did have his mojo, and it was not to be underestimated.
“Sure,” she said through gritted teeth. “Let’s see what our listeners have to say.”
“Great show, you two,” Frank said into their headsets when the broadcast light turned off. “Remember, I need to see you both in my office right now for about fifteen minutes. It’s strategy time.”