by Meghan Quinn
I don’t even skip a beat. “Hands down, the best.”
Another smile peeks over the rim of his mug. “I might just have to kiss the people who set up this date.”
Same freaking here, and not just because he loves You’ve Got Mail.
“Noely, Jack, your table is ready if you would like to follow me,” Veronica says, motioning to the dining space.
Like a gentleman, Jack helps me from my stool and places his hand on my lower back, guiding me behind Veronica. The feel of his hot palm against my dress doesn’t go unnoticed, neither does the unexpected craving for him to lower his hand a few inches.
Veronica guides us to the back of the restaurant, to a quaint table in front of exposed brick, lightly covered by vibrant hues of red. Jack guides me to my chair and pulls it out for me. His hand rests on the back of the chair when I sit and he carefully helps me scoot in.
I don’t think I’ve ever had a man do that for me before, it was . . . different, but nice. Really nice.
Jack waits to take his seat as Veronica speaks. “Your waiter’s name is Dennis. He’ll be over to take any other drink orders you might have. Please let us know if you need anything.”
“Thank you, Veronica,” Jack says politely. Once she leaves, he takes a seat, unfolds the napkin in front of him, and places it on his lap. There is an air of elegance about him, a manner I’m not familiar with, but also not opposed to either given my track record of dates. Wanting to follow his lead, I do the same with my napkin.
A single piece of cardstock rests on each of our plates indicating our dinner choices for the night. There are only three options: steak, lobster, and pasta. I’m surprised we don’t have more choices given the hype of the restaurant, but after reading over the menu, I realize it doesn’t matter how many options there are, I want all of them.
“This place is so nice.” I look around, trying to start some kind of conversation. I eye Jack and ask, “Is this your first date? Or have you been on others?”
That smile shows up again and I can’t help but want to sigh. “First one, what about you?”
“Me too. I guess we’re popping each other’s cherries.” The moment the words leave my lips, I cringe, but the crease in my brow is quickly washed away by Jack’s chuckle.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Leaning forward, he bites on his lower lip and says, “Please be gentle.”
I pat his hand that’s on the table. “Don’t worry, I’ll use lube.”
He throws his head back and a good hearty laugh escapes him. God, I’m starting to become addicted to that sound.
“Kinky, should I be worried?” he finally asks when his laughter dies down.
“I’d watch your six.” I wink at him and turn back to the menu. “What are you going to get? I’m having a hard time deciding.”
He studies the menu, the intensity in his gaze strong, intimidating. I would fear him in the boardroom. “I’m a steak man myself, so I’ll probably go with that. Do you like meat, Noely?”
Did he mean to phrase his sentence like that?
From the raise in his brow and the playful look in his eyes, I’m going to guess, yes. Okay, this conversation has gone from nervous, awkward talk to sexual innuendos in the matter of seconds. This is my kind of date.
Not wanting to scare him away, I refrain from jumping up on the table and shaking my ass in his face while screaming I love meat. He might seem easygoing, but getting slapped in the face by a red-clad derriere might not scream best first date ever. Instead, I nod and say, “Yeah, I think I might join you with your steak choice.”
He nods and gathers my menu. “Do you mind if I order for you?”
“Not at all. Medium-rare please.”
Dennis arrives soon after and takes our order. In awe, I watch Jack sophistically order our steaks, both medium-rare. I don’t think I’ve ever been out with such a cultured man.
When Dennis disappears, I swear the mood lighting changes, the lights dimming, casting a romantic glow over the diners. The feeling around us becomes exponentially more intimate with blue and teal uplighting reflecting off the white brick walls and the lights above us dulling, making the tea lights at our table become more prevalent.
“So, want to play cards?” Jack asks, kind of out of the blue.
“What?” I chuckle, caught off guard.
He nods to the wine list next to the salt and pepper shakers and a small white vase of pink peonies. Nestled between them is what I’m going to assume is a deck of cards in a metal tin. Without an answer from me, he pulls out the deck and starts shuffling while eyeing a small card in the box.
Still shuffling, he glances up at me. “It’s Crazy Eights with questions. Have you ever played?”
“Never.”
But hell if I’m not intrigued. I’m on my first blind date with a drop-dead-gorgeous and humorous man . . . and we’re about to play cards. I didn’t predict this night to start out like this, but I’m really glad it has. Let the questions begin.
Chapter Five
NOELY
Okay, this is going to seem like a really weird thing to get all hot and bothered over, but can I just take a moment to say the way Jack is shuffling those cards, the way his large hands make the cards look minuscule, or the way his fingers gently shuffle with precision—it’s kind of a turn-on. No, not kind of, it is a turn-on.
I know . . . weird.
But I mean, fingers, gentle fingers, large fingers. Thick man fingers.
See what I’m getting at here?
Clearing my throat and trying not to stare too long at his hands, I say, “I’ve played Crazy Eights before, but not this version.”
“Same, but it seems pretty self-explanatory. Looks like each card has a question on it. According to the rules, if I lay down a card, you have to answer the question and vice versa. If we lay down an eight, we get to ask the other person any question we would like and they have to answer . . . within reason.”
“Within reason?” I ask with a smirk.
“Well, I mean, nothing embarrassing like . . .” He pauses as he tries to think of an embarrassing question. He must have thought of something he doesn’t want to share because he ends up chuckling and shaking his head right before he starts to deal the cards. “Ready?” he asks. “You can go first.”
“Hold on, what was going to be our embarrassing question example?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“I really do.”
Sighing, he shakes his head and leans back in his chair. “I have a feeling I’m not going to be able to get away with anything where you’re concerned.”
“It’s good you realize that now.” I grin and sip from my mug.
He pauses, his eyes bouncing back and forth between mine, trying to read me. “My example question was”—he shakes his head some more and then huffs—“something stupid like, did you plan on returning that dress after our date?”
Immediately I feel my cheeks heat. Oh. My. God. You know those times you have that nagging sensation that something doesn’t quite feel right? Like, Why does this dress feel as though something is sticking out of the left shoulder strap? Next time. Do. Something. About. It. I reach to the side of my shoulder, and there it is. The unwelcome piece of dreaded cardboard that I embarrassing forgot to take off before I put on the dress. I was in such a whirlwind of not wanting to be late that I completely forgot.
Red doesn’t even begin to describe the color eclipsing my cheeks.
Not even thinking, I yank on the tag and pop it off with one swift pull. I shove the tag in my clutch and smile awkwardly. “Well, that would be an embarrassing question, now, wouldn’t it?” Trying to even the playing field, I ask, “So, would something like did you know you’ve had a toothpaste ring around your lips this entire time fall along the lines of embarrassing?”
Jack’s face blanches as he quickly wipes around his mouth, causing me to laugh obnoxiously louder than I wanted. Waving my hand in front of me, I say, “I wasn’t talkin
g about you. Its just an example.”
His hand stops mid wipe and his eyes mirthfully narrow in on me. “Oh, you little tease.”
I chuckle a little harder. “Hey, at least yours was only a joke. I was the one with a tag hanging off my clothes. Be glad you didn’t walk in here with your fly down or something.”
“Now that would have been unrecoverable.” He pauses for a second and bites his bottom lip. “Now you have me growing paranoid over not zipping my fly. Would it be entirely too rude if I did a quick zip check?”
“Not if you check my teeth for lipstick.”
“Deal.”
He looks down at his crotch, gives himself a fist pump for clearly zipping up, and then turns to me. I smile brightly and I’m given a thumbs up. “All clear.”
“Well, thank God for us being able to pull ourselves together enough for this date . . . minus the clothing tag.”
He waves me off. “We’ll veto that mistake from this date. You were trying to make a good impression with a new dress and forgot one minor detail. The intention was there.”
“So honorable.” I press my hand to my chest and then pick up my cards, sorting them by suit.
Eying me over his cards, I notice Jack studying me, his dark, penetrable eyes burning through me. He’s an interesting man, because some moments, I can see the businessman in him, the intensity I’m sure he uses at work, or a sense of sophistication one would have after spending many years wining and dining potential partners. But there is also a soft, easygoing side to him, and that’s the side I like the best, even though his intense stare sets off a flight of birds in my stomach.
Instead of returning his look, I focus on my cards. What I wouldn’t give to know what’s going through his mind right now. What he must be thinking. What he’s assessing about me. I’m sure he’s good at reading people—he has to be in order to be a successful businessman. Does he think I’m funny, or a bit of a spaz? I really hope he thinks I’m more funny, endearing, rather than the crazy who wears dresses with tags.
But to put things in perspective, it could have been a lot worse. I could have had toilet paper hanging out the bottom of my dress. Impossible you may think? Nope, unfortunately, it’s not . . .
“Ladies first.” He flips over the top card on the deck and motions for me to go.
Five of clubs. Thankfully I have a five of hearts, so I place it over the card and read the question out loud for Jack to answer. “You can invite one boy band member to dinner, who is it and why?” I quirk my lip to the side in confusion and then look up at Jack. “What kind of questions are these?”
Laughing, he scratches his jaw, the sound of his nails running over his scruff, igniting a warm feeling inside me. “I have no idea but I feel like we’re about to get to know each other on a much deeper level.”
“Seems like it.” I lean back in my chair and pointedly look at him. “Well . . .”
Sighing, he capitulates even though he seems entirely too resistant. “From any boy band?” He scratches his jaw again, his eyes trained to the ceiling, deep in thought. “This question sucks.” He chuckles. “But if I have to choose . . . Mark Wahlberg because he seems like he’d be pretty chill to hang out with.”
“Marky Mark?” I ask incredulously. “He wasn’t in a boy band.”
“Yes, he was,” Jack counters, with more passion than I expected. “Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch. They’re a bunch of boys in a band of sorts. So that works.” Tapping the table, he asks, “Were you expecting me to say something else, like Joey Fatone from *NSYNC?”
“Not even in the slightest. Judging from your impeccably tailored suit and chivalry, I would have guessed someone classic like Paul McCartney or John Lennon.”
He blanches in the best way possible, as if I just turned on a light bulb in his head, and he’s now realizing he made a big mistake.
“Ohhh,” he draws out thoughtfully. “I never even thought about The Beatles.”
“No, instead, your mind goes straight to Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch.” I can’t help it, I laugh. “Should I be worried?”
“Maybe a little.” He rubs his jaw some more. “I change my answer to Paul McCartney.”
“You can’t change your answer now. You’ve already put Marky Mark out into the universe. You can’t take something like that back.”
Humor is in his eyes as he shakes his head. “You’re brutal.” Staring at his cards, he lays down a heart and reads the question out loud. “Pear or apple?” His brow creases together and he looks at me with the cutest expression I’ve ever seen. “Pear or apple? I have to answer about my favorite boy band member and you get to tell me if you prefer a pear or an apple? How is that even fair?”
Chuckling, I say, “The cards have spoken.” I press my finger to my chin and contemplate my question. “Pear or apple. Pear of apple, hmm . . . that’s a real doozy.”
“Oh, come on.” Jack leans back in his chair and crosses his arms.
Laughing, I answer, “Pear.”
“I can’t even believe you were able to make such a tough decision.” Sarcasm drips from his mouth. And I like it.
I press my palm against my chest. “How dare you? I barely made it through that question. I might need another Moscow Mule after that.”
“I might need another Moscow Mule if I keep getting questions like what boy band member do you want to take to dinner.”
God, he’s funny and so easygoing. I don’t know why, but going into this date I thought he’d be a little more uptight. Maybe because his handle was WindsorKnot. Either way, I’m relieved.
Eyeing his heart, I lay down another on top of his and burst out into laughter when I read his question. “What’s your most embarrassing moment to date?”
He tosses his cards on the table, face down, and calls to our waiter. “Another Moscow Mule, please.”
A fit of giggles takes over me, filling the air between us as his smile stretches across his face. Who knew blind dates could be so fun?
***
Half my steak is gone, I’ve had two Moscow Mules, and my grilled veggies have been consumed. The man sitting in front of me has charmed me all night with his quick wit, out of nowhere intensity, and funny facial expressions. And I can’t help but wonder, where did this man come from and how has it taken me this long to meet him? Why is he still available?
Jack sets his knife and fork down and studies me for a second. “So, I know you like pears, your favorite movie is You’ve Got Mail, you were born in Escondido, and if you had to pick, you would choose The wedding Singer Drew Barrymore over Fifty First Dates Drew Barrymore.”
“There’s just something about her close call with becoming Julia Gulia that makes me want to be her friend.”
“Totally understandable.” He pauses, his head tilted to the side when he asks, “What about you though, do you enjoy being a TV host?”
“Ah, so you do know who I am.”
Sheepishly he smiles. “I was playing it cool.” This guy is too cute.
“I appreciate you not fangirling all over me.”
“It was hard not passing out; I’m glad I held myself together.” He smirks.
The waiter drops off the check and without even skipping a beat, Jack scoops it up and places his credit card in the billfold.
“Thank you.” He just nods and waits for my answer.
I play with the condensation on my copper mug when I answer. “It has good days and bad days. I’m lucky I get to do something I love, but it also comes with a lot of hard work, long days, and full schedules.”
He nods. “I get that. It can be consuming. I feel that as well.”
“Yeah?” I look him up and down. “And what do you wear your suit for day in and day out?”
Smiling playfully, he pulls on the sleeves of his button-up shirt, almost as if it’s a nervous tick. “I’m in all kinds of business.” Talk about an evasive answer.
“So you wake up every morning and tie your Windsor knot tight for ‘all kinds of busines
s’?” I ask, using air quotes.
“Something like that.”
“Uh-uh.” I place my elbows on the table and lean forward. “You’re going to have to give me more than that or I’m going to assume you have no job at all.”
“I have a job.”
“Yeah.” I lick my lips casually and lean a little bit more forward. “Prove it.”
My challenge intrigues him, I can tell by the way he chews on the side of his mouth and studies me inquisitively. Keeping his eyes trained on me, he reaches into his suit jacket and pulls his phone from his pocket. Not even glancing at it, he hands it over to me. Nodding at the phone, he says, “Look at the notifications on the screen. I’m going to guess at least fifty emails and twenty texts have come in since we’ve sat down.”
Squinting and quirking my lips to the side, I contemplate how serious he really is. Can one person really have that many texts and emails in an hour and a half? Only one way to find out. I make his phone come to life by pressing the home button and it immediately lights up with an endless amount of notifications. He has the privacy setting on so I can’t see what any of them say, but they’re all there, multiple emails and texts. Did I just uncover why he is still single? A workaholic? I glance at him and hand him back his phone. “Okay, so you do business things.”
He laughs and pockets his phone back into his suit. “I own a few properties around town, stuff like that. Boring stuff that we don’t need to go into detail about.”
The waiter takes the check from Jack and leaves us at an impasse. Why is he so secretive? Is he hiding something? Should I be concerned?
Instead of wondering, I speak my mind. “Are you hiding something like some secret kink club I don’t know about? Or are you selling weird things like teddy bears dressed in mermaid costumes and you don’t want me to know about it?”
In the matter of seconds, Dennis brings back our check and Jack fills out the receipt and signs. Eyeing me, he puts his credit card in his wallet and says, “Just plain old property business, nothing too glamorous like mermaid teddy bears.”
“And kink clubs?”
