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Betty Jo Writes
Melissa Martin would love to meet Hollywood teen star, Chad Robb, but meeting an adorable guy while he’s in a coma is not the preferred way. Dating a conscious guy with tanned flesh, toned muscle and a heart that races when you kiss is highly preferable. Lissa’s movie idol makes this a memorable summer when a boat hits him and his spirit exits his body to find her a boyfriend and a life.
Melissa Martin, president of teen idol Chad Robb’s online fan club, doesn’t take time for “real boys” until the movie star’s boating accident leaves him in a coma and he exits his body to help her get a boyfriend and a life.
Chad and his manager are vacationing in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, Melissa’s hometown, and she and her friend, Amanda, are taking pictures of him diving off a sailboat when a speedboat crosses her lens, and Chad’s hurt.
After slipping into a coma, he experiences snatches of memory and remembers his agent saying she’s responsible for him getting the coveted role in a new movie, and he owes her. When the star discovers his spirit can travel, he surprises Melissa by showing up in her room. It’s like a shrine to him and in order to save her from herself, Chad tries to ‘fix her up’ with a busboy named Jeremy who’s nearer her age.
HOW NOT TO DATE is a “coming of age” story and a lighthearted mystery and romance.
My sigh turned into a scream. “There he is.” I waved my arm, pointing. The boat was already out on the water and it looked glorious. White sails against a cloudless blue sky and a magnificent bronze figure against the sail. “Chadulous Chad.” This sigh shivered its way down my body to my toes.
“Ohmigawd, it’s really him.” Mandy’s voice sounded like she’d screamed too long at a concert—husky and strangled.
We plunged forward, gazes unwavering.
When the water was hip deep and the lapping waves threatened my viewing equipment, I stopped to raise my binoculars and hone in on Chad. I couldn’t see the adorable cleft in his chin, and dark glasses hid his chocolate eyes, but his silky hair waved in the breeze and there was no doubt—it was him. I sighed again.
“Let me see.” Mandy grabbed the binoculars.
“Must be something pretty interesting,” a deep voice said. “Or someone.”
A tall guy with hazel eyes was peering over my shoulder. Actually, over my head. He was that tall. And he had some nerve following us.
Choosing to ignore him, I lifted the camera that hung by a pink cord around my neck and zoomed it as far as it would go.
My heart pounded at the sight. Broad shoulders, muscled arms and legs, and narrow waist and hips, Chad made the boys at Myrtle Beach High look like children. Of course, he was eighteen, but even senior athletes didn’t look like that. Someone else was sailing the boat and Chad was poised to dive into the water for a swim.
I snapped a picture and focused to take another. I was ready to click the button when a white speedboat passed the sailboat, blocking my view, and Mandy grabbed my arm.
I lowered the camera in time to see the boat zip away and Chad fly through the air.
Mandy and I stared, horrified.
He hit the water. Lifeguards shouted through megaphones. Whistles blew. Beach Patrol came, sirens shrieking. All hell broke loose. “Don’t let him die,” I cried, and someone wrapped an arm around my shoulders.
“Easy.” The voice wasn’t Mandy’s. It was male.