Three Blind Dates

by Meghan Quinn

  “Maybe.” I bite my bottom lip. “Third blind date and rough day equals more drinks for me.”

  Hayden knowingly nods. “Got ya. Should we get some food in you so you don’t pass out onto your dinner?”

  “Good idea.” I bop his nose, hating my inability to stop my hands from doing stupid things.

  Hayden holds out his arm to me, which I take no time in grabbing. Ooo, so many muscles. I can feel his forearm rippling beneath my palm. Forearms are the new abs. I’m calling it now.

  I snag my purse, throw a wink in Danny’s direction, and follow Hayden.

  “Veronica said we have the table in the back.” He walks me into the dining room where I quickly make eye contact with Jack.

  His gaze is pulled from titty mountain and focused on my wobbly legs. I shoot him a little wiggle of my fingers and then point to Hayden while mouthing, “My date.” With a wink, I give him the okay sign with my fingers and walk past him, adding a little saunter in my hips. I think it was a saunter. I just pray it wasn’t a jostley sway.

  When I look over my shoulder, I notice the strong set in his jaw, the unhappy purse of his lips, and his dark, vexed eyes.

  Yikes.

  Titty mountain isn’t as riveting as he thought she would be. Maybe I’ll have a little fun with this.

  Hayden pulls my chair out for me like a gentleman and helps me sit. The wobble in my heels is real. Thankful for a long tablecloth, I kick my heels off under the table and toss my purse to the ground.

  In my head, I know my classiness is nowhere to be found, but for the life of me, I can’t stop myself from not caring.

  Hayden takes the seat from across me and says, “What are the odds we were setup with each other?”

  “Great ones.” I finger the rim of my water glass while I lick my lips a little too heavily, as if there’s frosting on them and I’m a ravenous beast trying to get it off.

  Hayden’s eyes widen, and he coughs while covering his mouth, a smile tugging at his lips.

  Does he think I’m sexy licking my lips . . .

  Or does he think I’m certifiable?

  I’m going to guess the latter.

  Needing to pull my shit together, I sit tall and bring the menu to my face, close, too close. Trying to focus.

  “Eh, these words look all jumbled to me.” I set the menu down. “I’ve had the lobster and the steak on my other dates. What’s left?”

  Stumbling to look at the menu, he clears his throat and takes a second to answer. “Uh, the butternut squash gnocchi with brown butter sauce.”

  “Sign me up.” I tap the table and lean back in my chair.

  Head tilted to the side, Hayden studies me. “How many drinks did you have, Noely?”

  I cringe and lean forward, shout whispering. “Is my booze showing?”

  “Just a little.”

  With my hand blocking my mouth from the rest of the dining room, I say, “At least it isn’t my nipple that’s showing.”

  Chuckling, Hayden says, “Hey, you’ve definitely got that going for you.”

  I lift my water glass to Hayden and say, “To not showing nipples.”

  Mirth in his features, he lifts his glass as well. “To not showing nipples.”

  ***

  “God, I’m ravenous.” I shove more gnocchi in my mouth, body hunched over my plate, water glass in hand, fork in the other. I chug my drink and shove more gnocchi in my mouth. “This is so good, don’t you think?”

  Sitting back, eyes wide, fork halfway to his mouth, Hayden watches me tear into the dinner that was placed in front of us. “Uh, haven’t had a chance to take a bite.”

  Pulling back from my shoveling fork, I lift his utensil to his mouth. “Eat, eat. Enjoy.” I sound like Mrs. Clause telling Santa to get his fill of food.

  Eat, Papa . . . eat!

  A little scared—I don’t blame him, if there was a mirror in front of me right now, I’d be scared too—Hayden takes a bite of his gnocchi and I watch as his eyes close, his taste buds savoring every nuance of flavor bursting on his tongue.

  “That is good.”

  Mouth full, I reply, “Best dinner option I’ve had since I’ve been here. I mean, the steak was melt-in-your-mouth steak. The lobster with mashed potatoes? Boy, were those smooth on the tongue. But this gnocchi, talk about a myriad of flavors.”

  “It’s pretty damn good.” He chuckles. Eyeing me from behind those long black lashes of his, he asks, “So you keep saying this is your third time here. Am I really your third blind date?”

  I point my fork at him and nod. “You are. You’re the third guy I needed for my tripod of dating. Do you feel special?”

  Did I mention that I guzzled down another whiskey before dinner was served? I wasn’t going to have another drink, but when titty mountain moved her chair around to Jack’s side and started playing with his hair, it was either throw up in the bathroom from how nauseating the scene was, or have another drink. I don’t like gross puke mouth, so . . .

  I can see why Jack wanted nothing to do with me now. That’s his type. His messages to me were a load of crock. Why did he bother?

  The whiskey went down the hatchet and infused my blood-alcohol level to a dangerous limit where rather than having a pleasant conversation with Hayden, I’m licking my fork and winking at him through my half-downed water glass.

  Plopping some more gnocchi in his mouth, Hayden says, “I do feel lucky. From the looks of it, I get to experience the looser side of you.”

  “Eh, eh, eh.” I wave my finger at him like he’s a naughty boy. “You’re not getting in my pants so don’t even think about it. I didn’t shave my legs, so not going to happen, fella.”

  Coughing abruptly, Hayden pats his chest and takes a sip of his water. “Didn’t mean loose as in, sexually loose. Just, you know, personality loose.”

  “Oh.” I ponder that for a second and take another bite of my gnocchi. “Misread that one, didn’t I?”

  “Just a little.”

  “Are you going to tell your hockey buddies you went on a date with Noely Clark from Good Morning, Malibu, and she told you she didn’t shave her legs?”

  “First thing tomorrow morning.” His smile puts me at ease. Cheeky man. “So what happened with the first two dates?” Hayden pushes some gnocchi around on his plate.

  “Are you asking me to provide a postpartum on my first two blind dates?”

  “I mean . . . not really. Was wondering what went wrong. Did you not shave your legs for those dates as well?” The flash of those brilliant bright white teeth has my stomach churning, and in a good way. Not in a you’ve had eight fingers of whiskey way. Eight fingers, shit, that requires two hands.

  “I shaved and wore a dress. Both times.” I set my fork down and cross my arms over my chest.

  “You wore a dress?” His eyes grow wide. “And you wore a turtleneck for me? That’s some messed-up shit, Noely.”

  Laughing, a little too loudly—thank you, whiskey—I say, “With a statement necklace. I didn’t wear a statement necklace on my other dates, so frankly, you’re the real winner.”

  “Am I?” He cocks his head to the side. “I get turtleneck with unshaved legs and the other guys get dresses with no sight of hairy Mary anywhere?”

  “Hey.” I lean toward him, and whisper shout. “Don’t make me pull my pant leg up right now. It’s a light stubble. A stubble!”

  “Keep the pant legs down there, lady. No need to disgust people in the middle of their dinners.”

  Lips pursed, feeling light with humor, I say, “You’re a freaking smartass, you know that?”

  “Well aware. So tell me about the dates. You shaved your legs and wore dresses, so that wasn’t the problem. What happened? Fart by accident?”

  “I will have you know, all flatulence was held in, thank you very much.” I tilt my chin, showing off the layer of class I have . . . well, attempt to have. “It wasn’t anything like that. The first dates actually went really well, like, super well. It was the dates
after that kind of fell apart.”

  “Give me examples. I want to make sure I don’t screw anything up this go around.” He does?

  His sincerity is sweet, but even though his words sound genuine, it almost seems like he’s saying them on autopilot, as if someone pre-programmed him to say those words at this time. I’m drunk, but I can still tell when someone isn’t speaking the truth.

  There are underlying emotions he’s not trying to show, that he’s hiding away from me and thanks to the whiskey, I can’t quite pinpoint them. Having thought that, I did miss Jack and Beck’s underlying issues. Kind of.

  Not wanting to dig too deep into his emotional status, I say, “Well, the first guy, man, was he . . .” I pause my head glancing in Jack’s direction. I don’t know what comes over me, but in a very loud whisper, I point behind my hand and say, “Right over there, the guy with the girl whose boobs are swallowing her neck whole, that was my first date.”

  Conspiratorially leaning forward, Hayden cutely follows my pointing finger. His curious eyes take in Jack and titty mountain, his gaze inquisitive but also calculating, as if he’s measuring himself up to Jack.

  It’s hard to compare the two. Hayden is bulky with the muscles, a jock to the extreme with his calloused hands, thick arms, and swagger. Jack . . . he’s stoic, sophisticated, mysterious, with his dark eyes and confusing conversations.

  “He seems like a nice guy. I mean, his eyes are trained on that girl’s face rather than the blatant display of cleavage. There’s something to be said about that.”

  “Maybe he’s scared of her boobs; maybe he’s afraid they’re going to pop out any minute and eat him alive.”

  “Possibly, but from his stand-offish body language, I think he’s prepared to defend himself from an attack from man-eating tits.” Hayden smiles at me. His lips looking soft and kissable. Hmm . . .

  Straightening my napkin on my lap, I say, “Well, he has issues with privacy. I accidentally said his name on TV, his first name, mind you, and he broke a gasket. Lost his damn mind. Paraded around kicking trashcans and plucking weeds from the side of the street only to toss them in my general direction.” Okay, the last part is a lie, but it almost felt like that. “The rage on that one. He was sweet at first. Boy ooo-ee,” I say a little loudly. “Talk about LOSING.YOUR.SHIT.” I shake my head. “Such a shame, you know?” I motion to my body, allowing Hayden time for a once-over. “He could have had all of this.”

  “Statement necklace and all.”

  I finger my necklace and wiggle my eyebrows. “It’s growing on you now, isn’t it? Aren’t you glad I wore the turtleneck?”

  “Couldn’t be more pleased. What’s cleavage when you can stare at a statement necklace all night?”

  I slap the table, drawing attention from the other diners. “That’s what I’m talking about.” My voice rises, and I blame the whiskey once more. I look around the room as voices quiet to see what the commotion is. I smile politely and nod at diners, trying to reassure them everything is on the up and up at my table. When I make my rounds and my gaze settles on Jack, his jaw still firmly set, almost like he’s grinding his teeth. And he’s looking straight at me.

  Just to have some fun. I twiddle my fingers at him and say, “Ahoy, Jackie Boy.”

  Hayden waves as well, joining in on my ridiculousness. I have to give the man credit. He doesn’t mind embarrassing himself with me.

  There is no return of our greeting, just a clearing of his throat when he turns his attention back to his date.

  “Well,” I huff.

  “That was rude,” Hayden finishes for me.

  “You’re telling me.” I lean my chin into my propped-up palm. “God, technology has really desensitized us. If I sent him a text message with a waving emoji, I bet he would reply with a smiley face.”

  “He doesn’t seem like a smiley face guy.”

  I think about it for a second. “Yeah, he doesn’t, does he?”

  “More like”—Hayden rubs a hand across his chin, and I truly enjoy the sound of his skin caressing his five o’clock shadow—“a dress shoe. That’s what he would send. Two dress shoes because three is preposterous and one is inexcusable.” He’s as crazy as me, and he’s had nothing to drink tonight. Can we all say . . . match made in heaven!

  “God, you’re so right. He would send me a freaking dress shoe as a hello. And here I am, sending him the cha-cha girl in her red dress freaking ole-ing around his ass and he sends me a dress shoe.”

  “Men.” Hayden rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his water. “Not me though, I wouldn’t send you a dress shoe.”

  “No? What would you send me? Wait.” I hold up my hand. “Let me guess.” I tap my chin with my finger, trying to think of all the emoji options. “Hmm . . . well, not knowing you all too well, I’m thinking you’d send me the dragon and cucumber.”

  “What?” He laughs, the sound hitting me straight in the sternum. Clearly I have a little something when it comes to men and their laughs. While I thought Jack’s was sultry, and Beck’s was sexy, Hayden’s is . . . alluring. And from interviewing him the other week, I know he is a man who laughs often. And here I am getting a little turned on. Yet again. Not sure if I can blame that on the whiskey as well. “Dragon and cucumber, where did you even come up with those?”

  I flit my hand about. “They just came to me. I’m right, aren’t I? You would totally send me the dragon and cucumber emojis.”

  “What does that even mean if I sent those to you?”

  I shrug. “Some hockey code I would figure out two months from now and then laugh my ass off.”

  Hayden shakes his head. “There is no dragon and cucumber hockey code, I can promise you that.”

  “Okay, then what would you send me?”

  “I feel a little inferior after the dragon and cucumber mention, but I would send you the wilting rose.”

  “Wow.” I sit back in my chair, arms crossed over my chest. “Well, that’s freaking depressing. Uh, thanks for my wilting flower.”

  “And then I would follow it up with a candelabra, a clock, and a baguette.”

  “Eh?” I know my face is unattractive right now, the confused look not showing off my best features, but a baguette? What?

  Hayden shakes his head. “Guess you’re not one to communicate in emojis, because any pro would know I’m trying to say Beauty and the Beast, meaning, hey come on over and snuggle with me while we watch the movie.” Hayden shakes his head. “I thought you were better than that, Noely.”

  Shocked and disappointed, that’s me. “Well, I hate myself now. Of course, baguette.” I shake my fists to the air. “Baguette!”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  NOELY

  “So you never told me about the second guy.”

  The booze is starting to wear off—thanks to the three glasses of water Hayden forced me to drink, and the bread I’ve downed over the last hour and a half. The worst part of the booze wearing off is I’m very much aware of the ass I’ve made of myself this entire evening. So thumbs up to me.

  “The Rebel? Not much to say there. He was a really good guy, one I got along really well with, but he was more . . . how do I put this? He was more into the physical aspects of the relationship and wasn’t ready to dive deep into anything just yet. He had a ton of mystery behind him that he wasn’t ready to talk about. It wasn’t that I needed to know right away, but it would have been nice to see a future for finding out.”

  “Totally. It’s hard to make a connection with someone when they’re so closed off.” Insightful. Hayden surprises me.

  “Would you be insulted if I said I’m kind of surprised by you tonight?”

  “Depends why you’re surprised? If it’s because you thought my hands would be much bigger outside of my hockey gloves, we’re going to have a problem.”

  Chuckling, I regard his hands. They are huge. I don’t think they could get any bigger without looking ridiculous. “No, this has nothing to do with your hands. I’m kind of surpri
sed on how sweet and keen you are. I’ve met a fair share of athletes through events and interviews and none of them are like you. They’re cocky assholes most of the time. But not you.”

  “They don’t make them like me very often. I’m a golden egg, so be careful.” Adorable, sexy, intelligent, thoughtful, and athletic all wrapped up into one large package. What more can a girl ask for?

  “You really are.” I play with the fork on my dessert plate, running it through the last bite of cheesecake I can’t finish. “So is Beauty and the Beast your favorite movie? You mentioned it earlier so I’m assuming it is.”

  “It’s one of them.” He smiles sheepishly. “Along with Braveheart, of course.” His attempt to recover his manhood is cute. Braveheart is good and all, Mel Gibson makes my knees quiver, but there is something to say about a man, a powerfully elite man, claiming a children’s movie as his favorite. It gives him heart, and I’m honestly loving that right now.

  “Of course, Braveheart is everything.” Not really, but a little pump to his ego helps fuel that smile of his.

  “What about you, what’s your favorite movie?”

  “Easy. You’ve Got Mail.”

  “Huh, never seen it.” The way he says that so casually, as if it wasn’t the best romcom ever made makes my inner dragon growl . . . just slightly.

  “What do you mean you’ve never seen it? Uh, hello! Meg Ryan, Tom Hanks, they send emails and love blooms behind a screen while in reality, they hate each other. How have you not watched such a riveting and heart-filled movie?”

  Studying me and treading carefully, Hayden says, “I can see you’re very passionate about this movie.”

  “Passionate is a timid way to describe my feelings for the movie, but we don’t need to go into detail about my feelings. What’s more important is the fact that you’ve never seen the movie. And you were checking off all my boxes, Hayden. This is such a travesty.” Dramatically I throw my head in my hands.

  “Not a travesty. Shit, we can’t have that.” Scouring for a resolution, he continues, “How about this. For our second date, we watch You’ve Got Mail, and you school me on everything Tom Hanks, Meg Ryan, and the email sending. How does that sound?”