Geared for Love: A Sweet Southern Romantic Comedy, Paperback

My friends say I’m just one goat away from never getting married.

I make goat soap like a pro, channeling my inner "Little House on the Prairie" on Friday nights. Okay, I see their point . . .
But small towns aren't exactly a dating paradise, and eligible bachelors under forty? About as rare as a unicorn sighting. I'm no wild card, just a regular girl caught in the spinster stereotype.

Then, out of the blue, my routine takes a spin. The county sheriff sends a client my way, except I mistake the AC repair guy for him and boy, did that lead to an awkward encounter!

But guess what? The real client is Kyle Tolbert, the swoon-worthy mechanic who's been my crush since forever. Athletic, handsome, kind – he's basically the unicorn of my small-town life. Me? I was a wallflower with pink hair.

Things get interesting when Kyle, nursing an old football injury, says I'm his healing solution. Next thing I know, he's asking me to lay my hands on his bare skin – and paying me for it!

Chapter One

Daisy

“You’re one goat away from never getting married.”
I chug my Gatorade to try and combat the bitter taste created by Adrianne’s comment. The beauty about our friendship is that we can speak freely and tell one another the honest truth. But sometimes, the truth can be ugly.

My silence speaks volumes as our other friends exchange awkward looks. With impeccable timing, Mullet saunters up to me and nudges my knee.
Adrianne reads the room and tries to retract her statement. “All I meant by that is you don’t want to get a reputation of being a crazy goat lady. That’s all.”

I nod and half smile. If it were just the two of us, I’d make some sarcastic jab about how she met and married her husband. But Bianca, Carolina, Hannah, and Ashley are here. Plus, it’s more fun to play the victim and watch her grovel.

Before Adrianne can dig her grave any deeper, all eyes cut toward the front door. I follow my friends’ gazes to none other than our county sheriff standing in my doorway.

“Is it hot in here?” Bradley fans his face with his signature tan cowboy hat.

“Sorry about that. The AC isn’t working right. I’ve got a guy coming tomorrow,” I say.

He doesn’t respond with words, but rather pulls out his phone and turns on music. Everyone but me starts laughing when he moves his hand toward his belt. I’m so used to him posing with his hands on his hips that I don’t realize what’s coming until his shirt hits me in the face.

It slides into my lap as I blink. That few seconds is all the time Bradley needs to cross the room to me. Everyone laughs and smiles as he sets his cowboy hat on my head and winks.

“Happy birthday, Miss Daisy Mae.”

Adrianne cackles beside me. When she calms down enough to speak, she elbows me and announces,

“Gotcha!”

Bradley turns and shakes his butt in my face. I pull his hat over my eyes, causing everyone to laugh harder. My face heats up, as I’m mortified beyond measure.

I massage people for a living. All kinds of people—old, heavyset, and old heavyset people—and they’re all shirtless. But none of them shake their tush in my face.
Perhaps I should count my blessings that it’s only Bradley.

Wait, is he twerking? Never mind.

I stand in an attempt to abandon my position, but my short stature does me no favors. He spins around, and I bump into his chest. My friends giggle as Bradley jiggles his upper body. I wince when his pecs pop in and out like they have their own pulse.

There’s no way out, so I sit down and grit my teeth until he backs away. He takes his hat from my head and fans it around in what I assume he would call a seductive dance. I’m so used to goats butting stuff around and roosters puffing up their feathers that it will take much more to impress me.

Ashley, on the other hand, seems captivated by his performance.

She and I are the only single women left in the room. At least, I think she’s single. She and Samuel are on a break so often that I’ve taken a break from keeping up with their status.

Bradley does a little two-step toward the door and bows. Everyone claps, including me—mainly out of relief it’s over.

He takes his shirt from where it fell and tips his hat toward me. “Miss Daisy, happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” I muster through heated cheeks.

He disappears through my front door, and I let out a sigh of relief. Now that he’s renting Adrianne’s old house down the road, I can think of an easy revenge.

Something to do with chicken poop.

Adrianne’s voice near my ear cuts through everyone’s chatter. “Sorry about the whole goat thing. I had to find a way to distract you to keep you in one place.”

I narrow my eyes. “Just when I thought my birthday gathering was a ruse for a goat intervention, the intervention was a ruse for a sheriff striptease.”

Adrianne giggles. “Daisy, you’re so funny.”

Too bad I didn’t find the goat comment funny, or the striptease. Thank God, he stopped at his shirt.

“And sorry about Bradley. I could tell that embarrassed you.”

“I’m not used to men ripping off their shirts and shaking their butts in my face.”

Adrianne cocks a smile. “Well, just wait until you’re married.”

I snort. Is that what marriage is like? I’m so behind when it comes to men. I’ve never even had a real kiss. Unless you count the time Mullet licked my face when my mouth was open, which I don’t.

In high school, I had a crush on all the same guys other girls did. Except those guys dated girls like Adrianne, not girls with pink hair and bell bottoms. That left me debating whether to turn down the few oddballs asking me out or sit in the corner and pine away over the athletes.

Now that my hair is a color God intended for human hair and bell bottoms are coming back in style, I’ve thought more and more about finding someone.

“Happy birthday to you,” Ashley starts singing in an opera tone as she wheels a cake in on one of my massage carts.

My nerves tighten as I stare at the cake and everyone joins her in singing. Two candles sparkle in the center of a delicious strawberry cake. One is a 2 and the other an 8. Twenty-eight. I’ve known this day was coming all my life, but seeing it literally flash before my eyes sets my wheels in motion.

That’s only two years until my thirties. Before I know it, the numbers will be flipped, and I’ll be eighty-two.

I suck in a breath to try and calm my worries. Just in time for Ashley to shove the cake under my nose so I can exhale and blow out the candles. The girls clap and cheer.

As Ashley moves the cake, I scan the room, smiling at each of my friends. Also noting that four out of five have diamonds on their ring fingers. If Ashley would quit wasting her time with Samuel, she could settle down too. That would leave me with a bunch of goats, chickens, and candles.

Maybe there’s more truth to Adrianne’s distraction statement than I care to admit? Am I really one goat away from never getting married?