Three Blind Dates

by Meghan Quinn

  “Yeah, is that the same inkling that told you to eat a bag of Fritos after our workout or you might have a bad rest of your day?”

  “As a matter of fact, it is.” Dylan crumbles her chip bag and tosses it into the trash can next to her. “I know you want it to be Beck or Hayden, but I really think it’s Jack.” She takes a sip of her orange soda and wiggles her fingers at me. “Let me see the messages once more.”

  “No.” I stand and toss my empty kale smoothie in the trash. “I don’t want to listen to you dissect the messages again. You make no sense when you do that. Blood Mary isn’t code word for something else.”

  “You never know until you fully dissect everything.”

  I roll my eyes and wave to my friend. “See you tomorrow morning.” When I walk away, I pull my phone from my bag and light up the screen to see there is a new notification. Giddy, I go to open it when I run right into a wall . . . a muscular wall.

  Flying backward, my phone dropping to the ground, my ass joining it, I look up a little dazed to see Hayden hovering over me.

  “Shit, I’m sorry, Noely. I didn’t see you there.” He fumbles around, pocketing his phone quickly and helping me to my feet while picking up my phone as well.

  Once standing, he hands me my phone and squats to look me in the eyes. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I guess we were both kind of buried in our phones.”

  “I guess so.” I laugh nervously. “What are you doing here? Don’t the Quakes have their own gym?”

  “They do.” Hayden chuckles. “But there is an acupuncturist here that came highly recommended. Normally she would come to the sports training facility but she has a commitment tonight and I need treatment like yesterday, so she said if I could make the drive, she could get me in.”

  “Is it Patricia?”

  “That’s her. Have you worked with her before?”

  I shake my head. “No, but Dylan swears by her. What’s bothering you?”

  “Right shoulder blade and rotator cuff. It’s been stiff for days, and I haven’t been able to shake the pain. I’m hoping this gets me on the right track.” Hayden grips his shoulder as he speaks.

  “Me too. We need you out there on the ice.” I smile at him, which in return makes him smile. So damn sweet.

  “I’ve missed you, Noely. That smile of yours is addictive.”

  Turning my phone over and over in my hand, I’m tempted to ask him. The question is on the tip of my tongue but the fear of being disappointed makes me hesitate.

  “I’ve missed you, too. Seems like you’re doing well though, a winning record and holding the most goals on the team so far. I would say you’re killing it.”

  “They guys have been awesome to work with, that’s for sure.”

  “Haydeeeeeen!” Dylan says, walking toward us with her gym bag in hand, phone in the other. “Look at you, all meaty and muscley. What are you doing here?”

  “He has an appointment with Patricia for acupuncture,” I answer for him, my nerves spiking with the presence of Dylan. She has a loose tongue and will say anything without thinking. I can only imagine—

  “Do you like Bloody Marys, Hayden?” Dylan asks, leaning against the wall of the hallway, twirling her hair, looking innocent. I know her intentions are the least bit innocent.

  Politely, Hayden smirks at Dylan and nods. “Love them.” Facing me, he checks his watch. “I hate to be rude, but I better get going. Ladies, it’s been great seeing you again.” He presses his hand on my arm and softly says, “Take care, Noely.”

  With a parting look, he heads toward the acupuncture room, leaving me with a pounding heart, a tingling sensation on my arm, and a wandering mind.

  Is it him?

  “Doesn’t he have a game tonight?” Dylan asks, completely ignoring the Bloody Mary comment along with the little glances he shot my way.

  “Not until seven.”

  “Wow, he must really need the acupuncture.” Twisting off the wall, she walks toward the exit. I chase after her and yank on her shoulder so she has to face me.

  “Are you just going to ignore his Bloody Mary comment, or the way his body language was clearly angled and interested in me?”

  “It’s not him,” Dylan says, brushing me off.

  “Why would he say Bloody Mary then?”

  “Maybe because he has horrible taste buds and really likes them.”

  “Dylan, that can’t just be a coincidence.”

  Placing her hands on my shoulders, she levels with me. “Think what you want, but it’s not him, I know it’s not.”

  “Just like when you KNEW Tom Brady was going to break his leg last season, and he never did. That was the biggest upset you could have predicted.”

  “Break a leg has many meanings. I don’t have to defend myself here. I know it’s not him.”

  “Think what you want, but I think it’s Hayden. NY152 fits the bill for Hayden. Sweet, funny, and super hot with his words. Plus . . . Bloody Marys.”

  Dylan rolls her eyes and shifts the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “Okay, but when it’s not him, don’t make me tell you I told you so.”

  ***

  I’m finally home after the gym, Dylan’s predictions, running errands, and the grocery store where I might have gotten myself a gallon of strawberry ice cream and chocolate shell syrup. It goes against everything my trainer has put on my food chart for the week, but now I don’t care. I need ice cream. I need ALL the ice cream.

  Settled on my couch, I flip the TV to the Quakes game, bring my bowl of ice cream to one of my knees, and hold my phone in the other. I haven’t had a chance to look at my message yet, so I’m dying to see what’s waiting for me.

  There are two messages.

  Noely,

  I just settled into my new house and I need to make an announcement; decorating isn’t my strong suit. What’s with all the patterns, textures, colors, and matching but not matching? I went to the store today to get some curtains and wound up buying a spatula, wicker basket, and a candle that smells like leather. Weird thing is, I don’t like wicker.

  Do you think I can get away with decorating with the basket, spatula, and candle and call it a day?

  Desperately awaiting your opinion.

  Me

  New home . . . hmm. Hayden was looking for a place. Did he finally find a place? That would make the most sense.

  Opening up the next message, I read that one as well.

  Noely,

  I read something today about wasp spray and how every household should carry a bottle in their nightstand in case someone breaks into their house. Compared to Mace, wasp spray has a farther, more accurate stream for attacking purposes. And clearly, wasp spray to the face doesn’t seem like a walk in the park to me. Do you have wasp spray in your nightstand . . . among other things?

  Don’t worry if you don’t. I had five cans sent to the studio for you. When you spray someone in the face with it, think of me. But let’s hope you don’t ever have to spray someone, unless they’re annoying, then spray the shit out of them.

  Me

  Chuckling to myself, I type out a response.

  NY152,

  First of all, congratulations on the house. That’s amazing and I’m pretty sure decorating with a spatula, wicker basket, and candle is the new style. So, rock it.

  As for the wasp spray, I can’t say that I’ve been so lucky to have such a weapon at my disposal, or have I had it in my nightstand for that matter, but there are other things in there . . .

  It’s a shame you’re having the wasp spray delivered—which won’t be hard to explain at all when it shows up—because it would have been nice to see you deliver it to me personally. See what I’m trying to say here?

  Noely

  Noely,

  Getting impatient I see. All in good time. I have to make sure you’re truly, madly in love with me before I show myself. What if we meet up, like in You’ve Got Mail, in the middle of a garden, and you see me turn a corner and think, oh crap . . . h
im. That’s not a risk I’m willing to take. I want you to be like Kathleen Kelly when she cries and says, “I wanted it to be you. I wanted it to be you so badly.”

  Until I think you’re truly ready, I’m going to wait patiently and read your words.

  Me

  NY152,

  Trying to make my heart pitter-patter? Well, you’re doing a good job at it. Now if only you would do it in person, but I can see where you want to be utterly confident. You know there was always something wrong with each date I went on. Sorry to say but The Suit, The Rebel, and The Jock were not perfect, despite what they might think.

  Noely

  I send my message, smiling to myself. I’m totally goading him, wanting to see his reaction. If it were Jack or Beck, I could see them countering their response with an over confident “yeah, right,” but Hayden, he’s more sensitive, so I could see him answering . . .

  Wait a minute.

  I focus on the game in front of me and turn up the volume. Leaning forward, I search for . . .

  “Son of a bitch,” I whisper just as my phone dings with a message from NY152.

  Hayden skates across the ice, handling the puck with ease past defenders and passing it off to Sven who takes a shot but misses, the puck reflected off the shoulder pad of the goalie.

  And then there were two . . .

  I open up the message from NY152

  Noely,

  Something wrong with each date? Doubtful when it comes to ours. Hell, I keep thinking about our first date and how you so easily captivated me. You’re thinking about three dates. I have some competition. Don’t worry. I’m up for the challenge.

  Me

  I twist my lips to the side. “Nice try, NY152,” I say in a smarmy voice. Unless Hayden is messaging me and skating at the same time, which doesn’t seem to be the case since both hands are on his stick right now, I’m going to rule out him being a possibility.

  Huh, and I really thought it could have been him.

  And what’s weird is, I’m not devastated it isn’t. I never felt he was really mine to start with. Not his heart, anyway.

  That leaves The Suit and The Rebel, Jack and Beck. I have no idea or even small inkling who NY152 is, but I might as well point out his slip-up.

  NY152,

  I would say I’m thinking more about two dates right now. I applaud your attempt to keep your identity hidden, but I must say, you’ve made a mistake. You see, I said on the show I was dating a jock, I didn’t say what sport, but I will tell you this, as I talk to you, I’m watching him skate around on the ice right now . . . on TV.

  So your little mystery is down to two. It’s just between The Suit and The Rebel now. Are you getting nervous?

  Noely

  Not even trying to hide it, he responds within minutes.

  Noely,

  Well, damn. I guess I’m losing my touch. I’ve gotten too relaxed. You’re keeping me on my toes. I promise, I won’t have another slip-up.

  Me

  NY152,

  Another slip-up would actually make my day.

  Noely

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  NOELY

  Noely,

  Coffee, how do you take it?

  Me

  NY152,

  With lots of chocolate. I can’t stand the bitter taste of coffee but I crave the caffeine. Dunkin’ Donuts makes a chocolate donut-flavored coffee that I dump half a packet of sugar-free hot cocoa into. I give it a good stir and voila, delicious coffee. You should try it.

  Noely

  Noely,

  (Attached: picture of Dunkin’ Donuts Chocolate Glazed Donut coffee mix and sugar-free hot cocoa mix)

  I’m going in this morning. This better be good. Have a good day, beautiful. I’ll be catching the show this morning.

  Me

  I smirk to myself just in time for Dylan to walk into my dressing room with a basket under her arm and an annoyed look on her face.

  “Honestly, first it’s wasp spray—which I still don’t get—and now it’s coffee and hot cocoa. What’s it going to be next? If he’s taking requests, can you please request some of that delicious biscotti, or maybe some fudge? Oooooo, how about a pie? Mama wants some pie. Pumpkin, mmm, no.” She shakes her head, finger to chin. “Apple, ask for some apple pie.” The basket she carried into my dressing room is full to the brim of my favorite morning drink. This guy . . . he’s wooing, he’s wooing hard.

  “I’m not going to ask for pie.”

  “Oh come on, I should get something out of this. Chad burped in my face this morning, reminding me how much romance I really need.”

  “Maybe you need to take that up with Chad.” I take one last glance in the mirror, fluff my hair, and go to my door. “Come on, we have a show to do.”

  Walking through the hallway, Dylan following behind me, I accept a line-up from one of the production assistants and look it over. We have a cooking segment today, we’re making apple fritters—to say I’m excited about that is an understatement. I’ve been smelling those all morning—and we’ll also be talking about ways to decorate your house for fall on a budget. Looks like we’re going to have a good show.

  “Hey, wait up.” Dylan hobbles behind me. I can hear her clunking about, her shoes echoing in the hallway. “If you don’t ask for pie, how about some gummy worms?”

  “I’m not asking for gummy—”

  I stop mid-sentence, my hands at my side, my body stiffening from the sight in front of me.

  Beck is standing next to Kevin, and they’re shaking hands. When Beck turns in my direction, a huge, devastating smile crosses his face.

  Dylan rams into my back and she muffles behind me. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Speaking from the side of my mouth, watching Beck carefully say his goodbye, his body pointing toward me, I say, “Dylan, where did you get that basket? Did someone drop it off?”

  “Uh, a production assistant gave it to me to give to you. I have no idea who dropped it off. Why?”

  “The Rebel is here, and he’s walking in my direction.”

  “What?” Dylan starts hopping up and down, head looking over my shoulder, trying to get a better look. “The humper is here? Oh my God, is he that gorgeous guy in the leather jacket?”

  “That would be him.”

  His smirk lights up the path toward me, and I can do nothing but stare when he stands before me, bright-eyed and happy to see me.

  “Hey, Sassy. You look beautiful as always.” He leans forward and kisses my cheek. His hand lingers on my arm, even when he puts a little distance between us.

  “Beck, hey.” I’m having a hard time disguising my surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  “One of the charities I work on is Feast for Families and with Thanksgiving coming up, I wanted to make sure we secured some promotional spots to spread the word. Last year we served over one hundred fifty families, so I’m gunning for two hundred this year.”

  “Wow, that’s amazing.”

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” Maybe because you never opened up to me.

  Dylan takes that moment to butt in. Sticking her hand out, she says, “Hi, I’m Dylan, Noely’s co-host and best friend. I think it was very brave of you to put yourself out there and hump my friend on the first date.” She gives him a small clap. “Well done, well done.”

  Eyebrow raised and a cocky smile on his face, Beck nods at me. “Told her about our first date? Don’t blame you. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it either.”

  Assessing him, Dylan points her finger up and down Beck’s body. “This is dangerous right here. No wonder you called him The Rebel. He has trouble written all over him.”

  “Only the best kind of trouble,” Beck responds

  “Dylan, Noely, on set, please. We’re on in thirty.”

  Smiling and slightly nervous, I scoot past Beck and say, “Nice seeing you.”

  I attempt to walk past him, but his hand grips my elbow. Facing the other d
irection, he speaks softly. “I’m sticking around. I’ll see you after the show.”

  “Oh wonderful. Maybe you can take your shirt off for us during commercial break.” Dylan does a little jig toward the couches while I roll my eyes.

  “No need to take your shirt off during commercial break,” I reassure him.

  “It’s not something I’m opposed to.” With a parting wink, he releases my elbow.

  Oh Christ, I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

  ***

  That was the longest show of my life. Not only did it feel like it droned on forever, but every time I looked at camera one, which was almost the entire show, I could see Beck, standing right behind, his eyes relentless with their pursuit. The perspiring that happened, the stumbles I made while reading the teleprompter, the fumbling I did when handling the Thanksgiving decorations we played around with, it was all because of one man who didn’t stop staring at me.

  “Great show,” Dylan says, removing her mic. “I really liked it when you spilled that orange glitter everywhere, I’ll be picking that out of my nostrils for weeks. So, thank you.”

  There was a lot of fumbling . . . unfortunately.

  “Sorry. I was a little off today.”

  “A little off? You said cornuco-cupine two times before you realized you were trying to say cornucopia.”

  “It’s a hard word to say,” I answer, sheepishly.

  “Do you think it’s him? Is that why you’re nervous?”

  I let out a long breath. My eyes catch Beck’s quickly before he turns back to his phone, his fingers typing away. “I still don’t know. Is it a coincidence that I received a basket of coffee and cocoa this morning, the same day Beck shows up to talk about a spot with Kevin? I mean, it’s all too coincidental, you know?”

  “It does seem awfully convenient. Why don’t you just ask him?”

  “What?” I shake my head. “No way. What if he isn’t NY152? That would be humiliating.”

  Dylan sighs and leans back on the couch. “Yeah, that would be pretty humiliating.”