How to Find Love in New York:

1. Meet for tapas.

2. Pretend you care more about his day than your career circling the drain.

3. Stumble to your place. Kick him out before he trips on dirty laundry. (Literal or figurative.)

It’s easy. That’s how I like it.

Before you crown me the least romantic twenty-something in Manhattan, meet my competition: Dr. Wesley Robinson.

Keen blue eyes and fell-out-of-bed hair. Unhealthy obsession with 80’s movies. Dryer than a gin martini. Drive that makes Tony Robbins look like a slacker.

The hot genius I’m helping sell his DNA dating app has a plan: Scale the highest peak of Mount Nerd. Then ride off with his genetic Cinderella.

I shouldn’t fall for him.

Even if Wes kisses like there’s something dirty under that pressed shirt. Even if he opens me up like no man has. Even if guarding my heart’s getting harder each day.

Because New York’s not Wes’s mountain. I’m not his princess.

And nothing this easy can last.