The Blind Date

by Alice Ward

  I unzipped the plastic covering that Joel had slipped my clothes in. He’d treated them like one of his fine dresses, even though I’d gotten the jeans on clearance. I thought he may have pressed them, as well creased as they were. I pulled them out, then looked back at Zachary.

  The gorgeous hunk of man rolled over in bed but didn’t wake.

  It was so tempting to crawl back into bed with him, but it was better to leave this way, without what had to be awkward goodbyes. Plus, I didn’t want to do something stupid like cry or beg for him to see me again. Yes, it was better that I just leave.

  I scanned the enormous hotel room, looking for my panties but couldn’t find them. I remembered him peeling them off but couldn’t say where he’d tossed them after that. Quickly, I slipped into my clothes and scuffed into my comfortable ballet flats.

  Hefting the bazillion dollar dress off the floor, I placed it on a hanger and spun it around, inspecting it. There were tiny pulls all over the ass where I’d ground my backside against the wall on the rooftop of the Met.

  Yep. Ruined. I hoped he wasn’t planning on returning it.

  Feeling a little like Cinderella, I placed the shoes next to the dress, tempted to take one of them if only for the memories of last night. He said I could have everything, but that felt wrong, like I was using him. And the dress and shoes were so darn extravagant and expensive. Maybe he could return them if Joel was feeling generous, or get it repaired for his next date at whatever fancy event he was going to.

  Stepping away from the closet, I glanced in the mirror and beheld the scariest sight ever. My eye makeup was down on my cheeks, and the lower half of my face was dry and red where his stubble had scratched me as we kissed. My eyes were glassy and bloodshot, and my hair looked like a pile of yellow pick-up sticks that someone had just dropped.

  Tiptoeing to the bathroom, I tried to fluff my hair into some semblance of order, and splashed water on my face, but it didn’t do much good.

  When I was done, I looked back at Zachary. He was breathing deeply, still in dreamland.

  Okay. I couldn’t just leave.

  Looking around, I found a notepad with the Four Seasons logo on it. I stood there, baffled for a moment over whether to write Thanks! with a smiley face, or Had a great time! or Call me! Everything that came into my head sounded weird or desperate.

  Deciding against all of that, I just scribbled my name and number, leaving it on the counter between the remote control and the coffeemaker, where I knew he’d find it.

  I grabbed my purse and tiptoed toward him. He was ridiculously gorgeous, even now with his hair all messed like that. I wanted to kiss his lips and say goodbye, but I didn’t really want him to wake and see the horror I’d become. I thought about taking a picture, because OMG, he was beautiful, but that would be beyond creepy.

  So I just left.

  It wasn’t until I was in the elevator peering at the gleaming brass doors, that I saw my reflection and realized I was smiling, goofily, from ear to ear.

  I took the subway back to my apartment in Queens, and by the time I got there, my face actually hurt from using those smile muscles so much. I tried to wipe the smile away so that the typical Saturday morning creeps who rode the subway wouldn’t take it as an invitation, but every time I did, an image of Zachary would come into my mind, and the corners of my mouth would pop right back up again.

  When I got home, I pulled my key and wallet from the zippered compartment of my date purse, then tossed it into the top of my closet, wondering when I’d ever get to use it again. Hopefully soon. Hopefully Zachary would call me.

  Sighing and walking a little funny, I headed toward my bathroom and turned on the water for the shower. But I didn’t want to shower. I felt him on me, smelled him, and I loved it. So instead, I threw myself down on the bed and just laid there, smiling at the ceiling like a total wacko. We’d probably gotten like, three hours of sleep, and yet, I felt fabulous. I’d never done anything so spontaneous. So fun. So wild and adventurous.

  I already wanted another adventure, and soon.

  My Saturdays were usually busy. No surprise, I had a routine down, one I’d followed since I’d moved to the city two years earlier. I’d wake at six, which was my normal time, go for a carefully mapped out run around the streets of the borough that was exactly three-point-one-one miles, tidy up the apartment, do my food shopping for the week, and spend the afternoon on work. Just yesterday, I’d planned to organize my condiments shelf, get the ingredients for a tofu zucchini noodle dish I could make with my new spiralizer, and finish up the proposal to the senator for the upcoming school lunch open forum.

  Last night had blown all those plans straight to hell.

  And the funny thing was, I didn’t mind it one bit.

  I changed the shower to a bubble bath and spent the rest of the time in my tub, only leaving when the water grew cold and I’d finished The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. As I did, I couldn’t help thinking of Zachary and our conversation, and of how his tongue felt on my body. By the time the bubbles dissipated, the goose bumps covering me were more from those thoughts than the chill of the water.

  I wrapped myself in my fluffy fleece robe, put my hair in a thick towel, and went into the kitchenette where I pulled out a carton of coconut milk frozen yogurt. Settled on my little sofa, I started to binge watch Netflix shows I’d always wanted to watch. I felt like I was totally cheating on my normal, uptight lifestyle, and I was freaking happy. Happy vegging and watching mindless TV and eating crappy food and shivering with excitement every time I remembered the way Zachary’s hands felt on my body.

  And then the doorbell rang.

  It was three in the afternoon, and I was still in my robe, my hair now dry but an unbrushed tangle. I scuffed over to the door, thinking it was probably one of the neighbor’s kids, selling candy bars for some activity. But I was wrong.

  It was my mother.

  My mother was an oncologist at Sloane Kettering. When I was growing up, she and my father, a world-renowned surgeon, were always busy with their careers. My mother had a nanny raise me, but she guided that nanny with a firm hand. From what I’d been told, I’d always been a chubby baby who had turned into a chubby toddler before transforming into a chubby child.

  When it had been clear that I’d “inherited my grandmother’s genes,” my mother’s solution had been practical starvation. She’d instructed my nanny to pack only healthy lunches, which essentially consisted of a few carrot sticks and a piece of fruit. By the time school was out, I was so hungry that I’d sneak into the kitchen and gorge on anything I could find.

  It wasn’t just food that my mother controlled. I was only able to watch an hour of TV per week and had access to phones and computers for only thirty minutes per day. To add insult to my life, my bedtime was at eight, even in high school. I barely ever saw my mother for most of those formative years.

  So it only made sense that once I was in high school and had a modicum of freedom, I abused it. I took spare change and constantly bought desserts and soda at school, which only contributed to my weight problem. By the time I was a junior in high school, at the height of my unpopularity and unhealthiness, I weighed nearly two hundred and fifty pounds. My mother would just look at me, and I could see the disgust in her eyes.

  Maybe that was why I’d felt for Zachary. My mother was very similar, with shocking white-blonde hair, stick thin, and runway model gorgeous. She walked into a room and turned heads. As one of the most renowned oncologists in the city, when she spoke, people listened.

  I could never hope to be like her, so in little ways, when I could, I relished rebelling.

  Zachary seemed like he was good at rebelling against his mother too. She wanted a stable, serious type, and Zachary clearly disappointed her.

  My mother’s eyes scraped over me, filling with horror as they landed on the empty carton of frozen yogurt in my hand. They grew even more disgusted when they saw my outfit, my hair, my general lack-of-giving-a-shit. “Are
you sick?”

  I shook my head and held the door open as I hid the empty carton behind my back. I wasn’t sure why, she’d already seen it. “That may say yogurt,” she sniffed, “but it has tons of chemicals in it. It’s not the healthy kind of yogurt.”

  “It’s vegan.”

  She sniffed again. “Some packages say vegan, but they’re not truly vegan. So be careful.”

  I nodded. Of course, I knew that. I’d bought it for myself as a treat in December, only allowing myself one spoonful every couple of weeks. But then I’d gone and blown the whole pint in an hour.

  She walked in, appraising my house. I was usually pretty neat and clean, but I hadn’t had a chance to straighten, and a fleck of dust got my mother in a dither. She inspected everything and sighed. “You realize it’s the afternoon. Why do you look like you just woke up?”

  I followed her into the kitchenette, where I threw away the empty yogurt container. “I don’t know. I just didn’t sleep well,” I said as she looked up and saw Stranger Things playing on Netflix, where the giant Demogorgon creature was about to eat someone’s head.

  She wrinkled her nose. My mother did not do television. “Oh, Juliana,” she said, shaking her head in abject disappointment.

  I’m sorry was on the tip of my tongue. I fought not to say the words.

  She deposited a large amber medicine bottle of pills on my counter. VitaFab – for the brightest skin! shouted at me on the label.

  “Thank you,” I said instead. “I’ll start taking them right away.”

  She reached out, and for a split second, I thought she might stroke my cheek. Instead, she put a finger under my chin and lifted my face toward the light.

  “Very dull,” she remarked. “Take them three times a day with enough water. You have to drink more water.” She squinted, looking closer. “And you have a rash. You really need to moisturize better.”

  My eyes burned. Why couldn’t she have seen me yesterday?

  She turned around and headed for the door. “I have to go. Your father and I are seeing Hamilton on Broadway. My friend gave us the tickets, and I hear it’s an enjoyable show.”

  I swallowed. Leah and I had been trying to get tickets to that for like, a year. “Have fun.”

  She left without a hug, a goodbye, or even a loving look in my direction.

  When the door clicked closed behind her, my shoulders slumped. I walked toward the kitchenette, picked up the bottle, and stared at it.

  I surely hadn’t needed a rosy complexion last night, when I was succumbing to orgasm after orgasm, delivered by the city’s hottest guy.

  I opened the lid on the trash can and threw the bottle in the garbage.

  Maybe I wanted to embrace my dull skin. Was that so bad?

  CHAPTER TEN

  Zachary

  Since assuming the reins at Vaughn Industries, I’d felt like my carefree days were behind me. I’d cleared out drinking beer for breakfast, staying up all night and sleeping all day, and having long weekends with nothing to do. In three months, I’d turned into a workaholic insomniac, like my father.

  So it had been a long time since I’d gotten a night of sleep so good that I had that momentary Where am I? feeling when I opened my eyes. When I woke up, I reached for my phone on the night table, only to find that it wasn’t my night table. Blinking the sleep out of my eyes, I looked around and recognized the surroundings as that of a suite in the Four Seasons.

  Gradually, things came back to me. Meeting Jewel. The gala. And everything else that came after.

  Holy shit. God. Jewel.

  Damn fucking Jewel. A fucking goddess of sex.

  The thought was enough to make me horny all over again.

  Yawning and stretching, I rolled over to find that side of the bed empty.

  Dammit.

  As sad as I was to find her gone, it neither hurt nor surprised me. She was an escort, so I’d expected as much. Still, part of me had hoped she would have had such a great time, that I’d rocked her world so much last night that she’d feel compelled to stay.

  I would have fucking loved that.

  But no, she and my seven thousand dollars were gone with the wind.

  I didn’t know why, but that phenomenal, take-on-the-world feeling I’d woken up with ebbed away, just a little.

  Money for sex and a few other goodies. That’s all it was.

  I wiped my bleary eyes a little more as I caught sight of something hanging in the closet, beside the his and hers bathrobes.

  The dress.

  She’d hung it up, the shoes stacked nicely below it. She hadn’t taken them with her. Huh. Hadn’t I told her those were hers? Most escorts just knew that when I bought them a nice, expensive little bauble, it was theirs to keep.

  But not Jewel. Jewel was different. And intensely intriguing, like one of those mysteries she loved to read. There was definitely something more to her, something that stirred me beyond the sex.

  I sat up on the edge of the bed, rubbing the stubble on my jaw. That was when I remembered the retreat with R&D was this morning at nine. I checked my watch and groaned. It was after ten.

  Holy shit.

  I scrabbled for my phone, quickly jabbing a text in to the director of R&D. It was really Kevin’s show, but because of how ineffectual they’d been, I’d vowed to put them on a short leash and watch them very closely. Which meant being there for this retreat. Running late, I typed in. Do you need me?

  I hoped the answer was no.

  Even so, I rocketed out of bed, found the pieces of my tuxedo strewn where I’d thrown them last night, and got dressed. I found the coffeepot and switched it on. Starbucks would take too long. Shitty hotel room coffee it was.

  Eyes still bleary, I missed the receptacle as I poured the water into the machine and spilled it all over the counter.

  I grabbed the first thing I could find to clean the spill, swabbing it up with a bunch of napkins and the Four Seasons notepaper that had been strewn over the counter.

  I tossed the whole mess in the garbage, then squinted at something reflecting in the mirror. A tiny pile of fabric tossed in a corner. I turned, and before I even reached for it, I knew what it was.

  Jackpot.

  Jewel’s panties.

  I lifted them up. Grinning, I brought them to my nose and inhaled a long breath. The musky-sweet smell stirred me, bringing back memories of last night. My cock stiffened. What a fucking perfect memento of our time together.

  I pocketed them, then checked my phone.

  Kevin had texted back. Things going well. Take the day off, boss.

  I thought about it, and about last night, and sighed. I’d never had such a strong urge to just play hooky in all my life.

  Why the hell not? I was the boss. It had been a long time since I’d taken a day off. And it was Saturday. Everyone needed some time to recharge the old batteries.

  After that decision was made, I took my time. I showered, went back home, and changed. Then I texted Gavin. You alive after last night?

  Yeah. You?

  Want to go to the House of Brews and catch the Beasts game at one?

  I knew I was a glutton for punishment, asking to meet with Gavin after last night. He’d undoubtedly want to know the blow-by-blow of my night with Jewel. He was like a high school kid when it came to things like that. The more lurid the details, the better. But I rarely got days off. And if I was going to have one, I could think of no better way to spend it than watching the game with a few beers and chilling with Gavin. Gavin was the only person I knew that didn’t treat me like an ATM.

  We arranged to meet at the House of Brews on 51st. When I got there, the game was already in the second inning, and Gavin was already sitting at a high-hat table, a half-consumed pint in front of him.

  He gave me a high-five as I sat down. “Last. Night.” He was once again so loud that the entire bar had his attention. “Was. Insane.”

  I grinned. Maybe his time with the girl he’d failed to introduce me to wa
s so good that he’d forget all about Jewel. “Yeah? Where’d you meet that one?”

  “She was my accountant,” he said with a can you believe that snort. “She’d been my accountant for three years, but I never tried her because I never thought she’d be into it. But I was wrong. Shy, quiet, studious, and then… freak. Completely. Front door, back door, she let me in all over the place.”

  I grinned at him. “Was your accountant?”

  He downed the rest of his beer and gave me a look that said, Obviously. “I can’t have her handle my cash flow after stuffing her ass with my cock. That would be insane.”

  Right. That made absolutely… no sense. “So, you’re just… not going to see her again?”

  He nodded.

  Shit. That meant he was on the hunt again. Not that Gavin was ever not on the hunt. And I didn’t want him knocking on any of Jewel’s doors, dammit.

  I braced myself for his next words.

  “So. Jewel. Details.”

  I bit my tongue. For some reason, it felt wrong, spilling these details, like Jewel was a secret I should keep. But the secret was out. She was an escort, for god’s sake. It wasn’t like we went back to the hotel room and played Parcheesi. He knew this story.

  I shrugged. “It was pretty… fine.”

  He waited for more, but I knew any details I provided wouldn’t satisfy him. He’d only want more and more. “Fine? And?”

  I leaned back in my chair, my eyes focused on the television. “And… you know.”

  Even though I wasn’t looking at him, I knew he studied me through narrowed eyes. “I’ve never seen you look like this. You’re looking like the cat who swallowed the canary for a reason. What ain’t you telling me, boy?”

  “Well. It was good.”

  He leaned back in his chair, draping his thick arm over the chair next to him. “Damn, boy. Something tells me you’re keeping shit from me.”

  “I’m not. I’m not.” Damn, that was the last thing I wanted him to think. If he thought that I was hiding something from him, it’d only make him more interested in Jewel. “Like I said, it was fine. It was a good idea, you mentioning the service to me. It was just what I needed. No commitments, no problems.”