Wanted: Christian guy who doesn’t live with his mother

So I'm in a rut. And short of jumping from an airplane, which I'm not inclined to do, or planning a vacation, which I can't afford to take, lest someone else takes my position, I have no idea how to get out of my current situation. I've considered online dating, but then I think, do I want my computer to reject me, too? Remembering Meg Ryan's excitement when she had e-mail in "You've Got Mail," I can't help but think what an empty in box might do to me. Like, "I can't even see you and you're still a loser!"

Maybe I need a makeover, but I already got one of those cute blunt cuts. One thing to remember when you get your hair chopped like a movie star is that they still have that face, and you still have yours. So while it may look cute for Halle Barry to get shorn like a hairless Chihuahua, it is simply not a good look for me. I was going for a Reese Witherspoon look this time, but Reese lives a charmed life. Her hair flips right; mine is in a perpetual state of confusion.

"Are you going to lunch with us, Ash?" Seth asks.

I don't want to admit I have nothing better to do, so I answer, "Of course I am. Wouldn't miss it." I'm downright perky with cheerleader enthusiasm.

"Sam is driving. Do you want to come with us?"

Now, I'd like to think of this as chivalry, but parking is limited at the restaurant and in all probability, it's a logistical issue that drives Seth to ask me about a ride.

"Sure." I shrug, but my heart does a little cartwheel. It's those blue eyes of his. They are like a gemologist's dream of aquamarine and sapphire. The perfect jewel created by God alone, and when they're pointed at you? Well, at the risk of being cliche, my knees go weak. Seth and I have a long history. He calls me when he gets dumped. I call him when no one calls me. We've been friends for years. And friends is all we'll ever be.

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So I grab my Prada bag, a gift to myself when I passed the bar, and I follow Sam and Seth to the car. I say follow, because unfortunately, chivalry is dead in Silicon Valley. I know from experience that Seth won't open my door, and he'll make me sit in the back while he rides shotgun. It's hard to overly romanticize an engineer. They are what they are: practical above all else. And at six foot two, sitting in the backseat is wholly impractical for Seth.

I look into those blue eyes, and I envision a future where Seth thinks of me as a girl. He may have his Master's Degree in Engineering Management, but he's in the first grade when it comes to women. I can picture him pulling my hair before I can picture him kissing me. Of course, this infers I have hair left to pull and sadly, I don't. I used to have cascading tresses like the romance books say, but a picture of Reese Witherspoon in InStyle and I was a sheep to the slaughter.

We pile into the Saab, Sam's beat-up version of the European sedan, and we head to our familiar hangout. The waitresses are probably fighting now as to who will get us in their section.

Excerpted from “What a Girl Wants: A Novel” by Kristin Billerbeck. Copyright © 2004 by Kristin Billerbeck. Published by WestBow Press, a division of Thomas Nelson, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt can be used without permission of the publisher.

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