Don't drink and text. Even on the cusp of forty, I had to learn that the hard way. After discovering my best friend, who I was supposed to grow old and single with, got engaged, I drowned my loneliness in one too many Old Fashioneds and woke up with thirty-nine responses from every available man in my phone. Yup, I even texted my plumber.and he turned me down. Apparently, my liquor-infused text said that while I don't need a man, maybe I'd be down for a constant sidekick for movies, plus-one invites, and dinner on the table after my grueling shifts as a concierge doctor-till death do us part.and was anyone in? Through the absolute mortification of thirty-seven rejections, shockingly, I realize two men have said yes. Behind Bachelor Door #1 is Rob, my old high school crush: the comfortable, dependable boy-next-door. Behind Bachelor Door #2 is Darius, the exciting, flashy news reporter about to hit it big. Does this mean I'll have to get out of my yoga pants and actually go on dates now? Dax, the local bartender who got me into this disaster in the first place-remember the Old Fashioneds?-can't believe I've given up on finding true love. What does a tattooed, broody twentysomething know about carving out a future for yourself, anyway? Too bad the further into this hot mess I get, the less I know about who I am. And I'm going to have to figure out exactly what I need if I ever want to find a true happily ever after.