by Meghan Quinn
“It’s going to sound lame, but I didn’t think going out with someone else was going to be so much fun. I really enjoy your company, Noely.”
Want the sure-fire way to slap a girl in the face without actually slapping her? Tell her you enjoy her company because she’s fun. Yep, nothing like being put in the friend-zone to rev up the sexual engines.
Trying not to grind my teeth too hard, I say, “I really enjoy your company too, Hayden.” I would enjoy it more if there wasn’t a mystery girl sitting between us, blocking any kind of interest Hayden might show toward me. “But . . .” I egg him on, wanting to hear the words come from his mouth.
Leaning back in his booth, his hand lifts from mine and runs down his face as he blows out a loud breath. “Fuck, I don’t know, Noely. I want to move on, I want to start something up with you, because you make me happy. You make me laugh, and we have so much in common, plus you’re fuck hot. I couldn’t have asked for a better match when it comes to the Going in Blind program.” Tell me about it. “But I don’t know, there is just something from stopping me. Rather, someone, I should say.”
Three men. Three perfectly matched men. Three perfectly matched, handsome, amazing men and here I am, being told I’m not the one they really want . . . again. I’m angry now, but I can’t take that out on Hayden. At least he’s being honest. What’s the use of being fuck hot? That only makes me someone a man wants to bang, not love. That’s certainly how Jack saw me, until he decided I wasn’t even worth that. Beck nearly took advantage of that, but managed to restrain himself.
What the hell is wrong with me . . .
Why don’t they want me?
Resigning to my single-dom fate, I sigh and say, “I get it, Hadyen. I really do. I like you a lot, but I’m not going to come second to someone who’s still on your mind, you know? It’s not fair to me.”
“I know, it isn’t at all. Shit, I feel like a total dick.” His fingers run through his dirty blond hair. “This is not how I wanted this to go. I thought I could push through, but I think I need some closure.” Yeah, I’d rather he didn’t have to push through to like me enough.
“Closure is helpful.” Seems like I’ve been getting a lot of closure lately.
“Yeah, I guess. I think I need to make a phone call.”
“Sounds like it.” Feeling resolved, I say, “For what it’s worth, I really appreciate you being honest, because being strung along when your heart and mind are somewhere else is not something I like to participate in.”
“I thought I owed you that much.” His head is cast down, arms folded now. When he looks up, he rubs his hands over his thighs, looking like he needs to expel a bunch of energy. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“If I can . . . you know, find closure, do you think it’s possible you’d be open to trying this again?”
I shift my jaw back and forth. “You mean try dating again?”
He nods. “I know I haven’t made the best impression so far, but I really like you. I just need to clear my head, you know?”
I would like to say, “Do you really think I’m going to wait around for you to get your head on straight?” But after this third failing attempt to find my one, I’m going to put my search on hold for now. Even though it looks like I’m a strong person, on the inside, I’m taking a brutal beating to the heart.
“I would like that,” I answer with a sad smile.
And another one bites the dust.
***
“You look like hell.”
“Thank you,” I answer, shoving another sour gummy worm in my mouth. I bought the five-pound bag last night. I made my Uber driver stop at the grocery store while I filled my cart with gummy worms, Cheese Balls, and a six-pack of grape soda. It’s the perfect cure for self-loathing, or at least I thought.
Calling in sick to the morning show is something I’ve never done before, but after last night’s disappointing departure from Hayden, where he gave me a sweet hug and a kiss on the head goodbye, I knew there was no way I would be able to put on a happy face for the viewers. So, I called in sick and watched Dylan manage the show with our fill-in, Krystal, while I threw tiny Cheese Balls at the screen, nailing Dylan between the eyes on multiple occasions. It felt nice.
That was until Dylan showed up at my house unannounced.
“I knew you weren’t sick. You’re such a liar.”
“I am too sick.” I wrap my arm around my lower half. “Ouch, cramps. Oweee, being a lady sucks. Fuck you, moon!” I shake my fist to the sky.
Dylan’s brows cinch together in confusion. “What does the moon have anything to do with your period, which I know you’re not on because we get them at the same time, and we had our period two weeks ago.”
God, fucking uteruses wanting to rip their linings out together. Be original, stop doing the deed with every other uterus around you, and get your own time slot! I’m tempted to whack my uterus out of spite but refrain.
“The moon,” Dylan eggs on.
I wave my hand as dismissal. “It’s something my brother told me about. I can’t quite remember the details, just that the moon decides our periods, something like that.”
“If that’s the truth, the moon can go straight to hell.” Plopping on the couch next to me, Dylan picks up a few loose Cheese Balls on the coffee table and plops them in her mouth. How she’s married, I will never know. “What’s the real reason you called in sick and left me with Krystal? It better be good, because her incessant need to poke my shoulder when she tells a joke has me itching to punch you in the face.”
Krystal, although a very lovely weather girl for the station, is not the best co-host. She laughs too loud, pokes too hard, and loves interrupting you mid-sentence.
“Hayden and I called it quits last night. I don’t want to get into it, but let’s just say there’s another girl he needs closure with. Oh, but don’t worry, when he finds closure, he might want to try dating me again.”
“And how long could that take?”
I roll my eyes. “My point exactly.” I shove three worms in my mouth and chew while talking. “You know, I thought joining this program was going to be it for me. I really thought I was going to find my match, my forever, but all I’ve met are three incredible men at the wrong time. It’s as if the moon isn’t satisfied already fucking with my period; it’s messing with my cosmic dating life too.”
“Cosmic dating life?”
“You know, the greater force that controls the universe. The moon is part of that and fucking with me. It’s like it got together with the stars and planets and said, ‘Let’s mess with Noely. Let’s pretend like we’re aligning, that we’re bringing her this great man, and when she starts to think this is it, this is the man for her, let’s say just kidding and unalign ourselves.’”
“I don’t think stars and planets and moons talk to each other.”
Feeling a little crazed, I sit up on the couch cross-legged, the bag of gummy worms in my lap. “That’s what they want you to think, but they talk, Dylan, oh BOY, do they talk. Those motherfucking gaseous orbs. They talk, and not only did they formulate this plan against me, they thought, why not hit her up with this plan three times, really make her feel bad about herself.” And as much as I tried to hear the words about how great I was, fuck hot, and whatever, it did nothing to seal the small tear in my heart. I’m tired of trying, to be honest. And probably the worst thing is my boss made my un-love life into a feature on our show. So, not only do I have to feel like shit about myself privately, the whole world—okay, just our viewers—will know even after three tries, no one wants Noely Clark.
Dylan is silent for a second, her head now resting against the back of the couch, eyes cast to the ceiling. She snags a worm from my lap and plops it in her mouth, and then I do the same. For a few minutes it’s silent until Dylan finally says, “If that’s the case, I’m going to have to heavily consider reneging on the star I sponsor every year. To hell if I’m going to have it fucki
ng with my best friend.” She makes a slitting motion over her neck. “You’re dead to me, star!”
And that’s why we’re friends.
One star down, a trillion to go . . .
PART FOUR
THE MYSTERY MAN
Chapter Twenty-Eight
NOELY
“Did you check out the new lineup for today’s show? Kevin switched up the ending segment.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” I say while snagging the schedule from Dylan to study it. “I swear he does this to make sure we can adapt easily. It’s annoying. When is he going to—?”
I pause, my eyes fixated on the last segment: Noely and Dylan—interview Going in Blind owner.
It’s been two weeks since things with Hayden stopped, and when GiB app asked me if I was happy with my results, I might have written in the comments section to go fuck itself. Maybe I was drinking that night. Maybe I wasn’t. Can’t be too sure.
But all I can think is . . . was my rather brash comment sent straight to the top? Oh hell.
“From your silence, I’m going to assume you see what’s changed.”
We were supposed to do a segment about puppies on surfboards—riveting, I know—but now it looks like we’re diving into my life once again.
“Why on earth do we have to interview the owner? That won’t be awkward. I already announced to the world that I called it quits with The Jock. What the hell am I supposed to ask the owner? Why am I still single?”
“That might be a fun question.” Dylan smirks into the mirror from behind me.
Yanking the tissues from my collar so I don’t get makeup on the white of my shirt, I toss them in the trash and head out of the hair and makeup room.
“This is ridiculous. I’m going to go talk to Kevin. Enough is enough. I think I’ve paid my penance for using his stupid camera equipment. I shouldn’t have to be subjected to this crap.”
Dylan trails behind me, walking fast in her heels, which is difficult, given she lives in sensible flats most of the time. Hell if I care though. I’m on a rampage, blood is boiling in my veins, and the stir of my inner dragon is ready to be exposed. I can feel it, smoke is snorting out of my nose, horns are starting to sprout from my head, and I’m shaking my behind as if a hundred-pound tail trails behind me. Snorting, huffing, and puffing, I pump my arms down the hallway, ass shaking, determined on one thing and one thing alone: it’s time to give Kevin a piece of my mind.
When I reach his door, I don’t even bother knocking. Dragons don’t knock. They charge forward, break the shit out of drawbridges, and take baths in moats. Throwing the door open, exaggerating my movements, I stand in the doorway, hands on hips, chest puffed, eyes crazy and say, “Kevin, how dare—?”
The man sitting in front of Kevin’s desk stands, and his dark hair and finely tailored suit stretches across his expansive back, snagging my attention. When he turns around, my breath catches in my throat.
“Miss Clark.” That voice, those eyes, the way he addresses me. I want to punch him and then kiss him all at the same time.
“Jack, wh-what are you doing here?”
Kevin stands as well, his eyes blazing. All semblance of my inner dragon lady completely vanishes the moment I make eye contact with Jack . . . again.
“Noely,” Kevin grits out. Yep, he’s not pleased with my little barge in. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Valentine and I were just finishing our conversation. It would behoove you to remove yourself from the room and try knocking next time.”
Mr. Valentine?
Jack Valentine?
As in the billionaire of Malibu?
“It’s all right, we were finishing anyway.” While buttoning his jacket, Jack gives my attire a long, languid perusal until his eyes meet mine. “Noely, always a pleasure seeing you.”
Walking past me, his cologne taking a permanent residence in my senses, I wait for him to shut the door before I turn to Kevin . . . whose little vein on his forehead is throbbing rather aggressively.
“What the hell is he doing here?” I ask, not caring about the vein. I’ve seen it throb more at worse times.
“You can’t just barge into my office—”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry.” I wave him off. “Now tell me what he’s going here.”
Raking a beefy and frustrated hand over his face, Kevin slouches in his chair. “Jack Valentine is here for the last segment. He’s the owner of Going in Blind, the one you’ll be interviewing.”
Have you ever been sucker punched? I haven’t. I’ve never been punched actually, but for the first time in my life, it actually feels like Kevin plowed his fist through my stomach and took all the air in my lungs along with him.
“He’s . . . he’s the owner?”
“Yes, and he was going to give me a free membership, but because you so rudely interrupted, I wasn’t able to seal the deal.”
I throw my hands in the air. I hate my producer. “Heaven forbid you should pay for anything, Kevin. You frugal bastard!”
Storming off, I try to find Dylan. I need my friend. But, instead, I’m ushered to the stage where they mic me up. Thirty seconds until we’re on air, and I feel like going savage on our set, tearing through the couch and table like a beast on a rampage.
Can you hear the snarl? See the fangs? That fire in my pupils? Yeah, it’s real. And it’s going to have to come out somehow, someway. Oh shit. This isn’t going to be pretty. Viewers, beware. The dragon lady is back, and someone is about to be burned.
***
Dylan nudges my arm. “Dude, you’ve been horrific this entire show. Can you stop fake smiling like that? It’s creepy.”
“This is how I smile now.” I cross my arms over my chest while Dylan tries to talk to me during a commercial break.
“We have one segment left, can you please look alive?”
“Alive? You want me to look alive?” I ask, pointing to my chest. “I’ve never been more alive in my entire life.” I never thought I’d be one of those celebrities capable of a mental breakdown on camera, but by golly, can I feel it happening. A maniacal laugh escapes me, my teeth showing entirely way too much. My mouth won’t settle out of its creepy smile. It’s like horse teeth neighing in every direction, begging for a carrot.
“Uh, why are you bucking your leg against the floor like that?”
“Horses do that,” I answer.
“Sweet Jesus,” Dylan says on a whisper. “You’re cracking, aren’t you? You’re losing your cool.”
Hunkering down, I get inches from Dylan’s face, our foreheads practically touching when I say sarcastically, “Do you think?”
Dylan searches my eyes and is about to say something when, “Hello, ladies.”
Son of a bitch.
Our heads whip to the side to see Jack sit on the couch across from ours, unbuttoning his suit jacket with an over-confident smirk on his face.
“Mr. Valentine, what a pleasure.” Dylan reaches her hand out and shakes it. “I’ve enjoyed living vicariously through Noely and her dating adventure.”
“Don’t be nice to him,” I whisper through the side of my mouth, arms crossed over my chest.
“What?” Dylan turns toward me, completely confused.
Jack leans forward and sips from the mug provided for him. “I believe she told you to not be nice to me.”
“Uh, she didn’t say that.” Dylan laughs nervously.
“That’s exactly what I said.”
“I know, I heard you,” Jack says, looking so damn casual that it makes me want to choke him with his stupid, perfectly tied Windsor knot.
“Umm, what’s going on here?” Dylan looks between us as the thirty-second countdown starts.
“Why don’t you tell her, Mr. Valentine?” I seethe.
“My pleasure.” Jack crosses his leg and holds his ankle over his knee. “Miss Clark doesn’t want you to be nice to me because I was the first man she dated in the program. Apparently she has sore feelings about it.”
“I knew
you looked familiar,” Dylan says, snapping her finger, remembering the time she met Jack when she tried to rescue me from my at-home perm.
“Sore feel—” I start to shout but catch myself. Calming my voice, I say, “I don’t have sore feelings. I couldn’t care less that it didn’t work out between us. What I do care about is people lying to me.”
“I didn’t lie to you,” Jack answers, looking so pompous.
“Yes, you did.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did,” I say with more force.
He shakes his head. “No, I didn’t.”
“Yes—”
“Okay, this is fun,” Dylan says. “But I’m going to have to cut you two off. We have a show to finish in ten seconds, so, Noely, put on your professional pants. You can argue who lied to whom after the show is over. Okay?”
Twisting my mouth to the side, I turn away from Jack, take a sip of my drink, and plaster a smile on my face just in time for the red light to come on.
I read from the teleprompter, introducing Jack, recapping my dating experience—barf—and then to the man who’s made me so hot and cold the last few months that it’s hard to even look him in those dark brown eyes. “Jack, it’s a pleasure to have you here.” I nearly choke on the word pleasure, which garners an elbow to the rib from Dylan.
“Thanks for having me, ladies.” If only he was a little closer, I could flick him in the head with my index finger. That would teach him.
“Where did you get the idea for Going in Blind?” Dylan asks.
“Well, if you’re anything like me, you’ve had a hard time actually finding the time to meet someone. My schedule is quite hectic, so I thought why not create a safe zone for those with busy schedules, for those wanting to meet someone of substance. I thought that something other than an app could be viable, a place for couples to meet up. A safe haven for that initial meeting.”
“Such a great idea, so different, and as you know, our Noely gave it a shot. Would you say it was how Jack described it? A safe haven for dating?”
