The Blind Date

by Alice Ward

  A waitress came by, and I ordered a round. Meanwhile, he studied me, as if trying to unravel my deepest secrets. “Okay, but Jewel. She was fine. She must’ve been…” He bobbed his eyebrows.

  “Yeah. Like I said. She was good. Fine.”

  He was suspicious, as he very well should’ve been. I was usually a lot more forthcoming about my dalliances. No, it wasn’t mature, but that was just Gavin and me — friends since forever. There were few things we didn’t share.

  He whipped out his phone and started to open an internet browser. “What did you say the name of the site was?”

  I stared at him, alarmed. “What are you doing?”

  “I got this thing coming up. New hotel opening in Jersey. I need a date,” he said, madly typing away.

  “I didn’t—”

  “You said, ‘Kitten?’ Is that with a K?”

  Shit. “Actually, I forgot which one it—”

  “J-E-W-E-L, right?” He was at the site now, typing in her name. I didn’t even look at his screen because the real Jewel was burned into my memory. And I knew the photograph didn’t do the real Jewel justice.

  He stopped and gazed at it.

  “Whoa,” he said, laughing at the picture as if he’d just struck gold. “Would you look at that? That’s hot.”

  I had looked at that. Smelled it. Tasted it. More than once. Enough to have it etched on my brain in permanent ink. How could anyone forget those huge eyes, those lips, that glossy, dirty blonde hair falling in her eyes?

  I wasn’t going to tell him that the picture was nothing compared to the real thing.

  “She’s beautiful,” he said, gazing at her in clear appreciation while licking his lips. “My, my, my,” he said to the picture. “Come for me, gorgeous.”

  I had the urge to lunge across the table and wring his neck.

  Then he looked up at me. “How much was she, did you say?”

  I frowned at him. “Seven. But… you know. She might not be your type. She’s kind of… annoying. Talks all the time.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll let her suck my dick, and that’ll shut her up.”

  This was just getting worse and worse. Now it felt like my personal mission to save Jewel. “And the picture is… kind of false advertising.”

  “False, how?”

  “Her tits aren’t that big. And, um, she’s… I don’t know.” My mind couldn’t scrounge up a single flaw because it was stuffed full of thoughts of Jewel’s perfection. “A little uptight. She only let me do missionary.”

  “Maybe she just needs the right man to show her a few things,” he said, persistent as ever.

  Fuck. “Plus, she’s really picky. She only accepts dates with a few gentlemen a week. Says so right on her profile.”

  He gave me a look like, Seriously, do you know who you’re dealing with? And he was right. He was Gavin Witt. All he had to do was flash that smile, that bank account, that charm. Women didn’t turn him down. If she did, he’d just up the bid until it would be impossible for Jewel to say no. Gavin didn’t know the meaning of the word “lose.”

  Why did watching him ogle the girl I’d been with last night feel like swallowing nails? Why did I feel so damn jealous and out of control? She was an escort. Men ogling her, and doing much worse, was part of her job description. She shouldn’t have mattered to me.

  And yet, for some reason, she did.

  “Hey,” I said to him, grabbing the phone as he put his fingers all over the picture, trying to enlarge it. He blew up her chest until all I could see on the display was one giant, life-size pink nipple. “Listen.”

  He looked up at me, desire giving way to confusion.

  “Would you… not?” I said, buttoning the button on my jacket.

  “Not…?” He narrowed his eyes at me, trying to comprehend. I’d never asked him something like this before. We’d shared more than a few times, and it never bothered me. “Not… you mean… not buy her?”

  I nodded.

  He laughed, incredulous. “What are you saying? You… what?” Then he snapped his fingers. “Oh, I got it. You’re not done with her?”

  I nodded, relieved. No, that wasn’t it. And it hadn’t mattered before. We’d flip-flopped through girls a lot of times, trading them off like women trade clothing, especially in college. But I couldn’t find a way to explain something I couldn’t fully understand myself. All I knew was that I wanted her to myself.

  Which was stupid as hell, of course. She didn’t do just one man.

  All right. I wanted the illusion of having her to myself.

  On the big screens around the bar, someone hit a home run. The place erupted in cheers. Gavin pumped his fist and then nodded at me. “All right man. If you feel that way. Maybe I could tap my accountant one more time. For that Jersey thing.”

  I lifted the corner of my mouth in a smile.

  He downed his beer. “She’d appreciate me being thrifty with my money, anyhow.”

  I grinned at him. “That would be a first.”

  He wasn’t such a teenage boy, after all, blinded to all reason by a good-looking piece of ass. He still put friendship first. For a long time, I’d started to think we were growing apart. It was good to see him acting with a little maturity, for once. Maybe there was hope for him, after all.

  I managed to sway the conversation away from talk about Jewel, and we spent the rest of the time talking about the game and their chances for the year. We had lunch and a few more beers, and I relaxed. The game ended — Beasts for the win — and the two of us separated a few hours later.

  Meanwhile, I couldn’t get Jewel out of my mind.

  I went home to my penthouse apartment, collapsed on the couch, and dug through the pocket of my blazer. I pulled out the panties and my phone.

  I ran my fingers over the soft material, and longing hit me like a punch. I needed to be with her again.

  I opened up Kitn.com on my internet browser and found Jewel’s picture. I wished it hadn’t been blurred so I could stare into those big blue eyes again. I wished I’d talked to her before she left this morning. Because right now, I imagined that she was begging me. Begging me to save her from the likes of men like Gavin Witt.

  I opened up an email window to her, just to say hey. Then I decided, why not just cut to the chase. I wanted to see her again, at least to return her panties. And there was an easy way to arrange that.

  I pressed the button under her picture and checked her schedule. She wasn’t available until Wednesday. Of course. Did I really expect her to keep her schedule open for me?

  I didn’t want to think about all the men who would come between us. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that I’d get to have her again.

  I clicked the button and placed another bid.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Juliana

  By Sunday afternoon, I felt like the biggest loser that had ever walked the Earth. Loser, with a capital L.

  Despite what I’d been taught all my life, I didn’t let my mother get me down. No, thoughts of my night with Zachary were enough to bouy me. I’d spent all Saturday doing what felt good, instead of what was good. Screw my mother. I finished binge watching Stranger Things, ate takeout vegetable lo mein, and stayed up late without even thinking about my presentation for the open forum. It felt devilishly good to be bad.

  But by Sunday morning, I had a stomachache, a headache, and I still had twelve more slides to compile for the presentation. A sour feeling had settled over me, and I wondered if going against everything my mother had instilled in me since I was born was going to wind up biting me in the ass again.

  Also, I hadn’t even heard a peep out of Zachary.

  That was the worst of it.

  I kept my phone pasted to my side all weekend, expecting, then hoping, then cursing the damn thing for mattering so much. I mean, I’d never gelled with anyone like that. The Agatha Christie. The Met Museum. The Marvin Gaye. And a thousand other things. Even though we shouldn’t have anything in common, c
onsidering he was probably a bazillionaire, we did. He just got me.

  Then, we’d had that amazing night of mind-blowing sex. At least, it had been mind-blowing for me. He’d brought me to orgasm, not just once, which was a feat in itself, but again and again. We just seemed so perfectly in sync, I didn’t even question whether he’d call or text me the next day. I expected it.

  Stupid me.

  Leah would’ve told me to get a grip. Forget him. Easy for her to say. She had an army of men at her disposal, all desperately fighting for her attention.

  Maybe a call was too much to expect. After my first experience with sex, I’d felt like we’d been in sync too. But back then, being “in sync” just meant him liking me, which hadn’t happened before, ever. Stupidly, I’d thought that him taking me to the back of his truck after a party and putting his cock inside me meant that we were going out.

  Back then, I’d expected a phone call or text the next day too, telling me what a great time he’d had. Instead, he ignored me, unless he was laughing at me with a group of his jock friends. He told everyone in school that not only was I a heifer, I was a slut. For the rest of high school, people called me the cowslut, heiferwhore, and various combinations thereof.

  Memories of that trickled in as I lie there Sunday morning, and I felt worse than ever.

  Who knew? Maybe I was destined to have men treat me that way my whole life. Zachary had seemed too good to be true, after all, a fairy tale, and fairy tales weren’t real. I knew that.

  But now, I was no longer the girl I’d been in high school. Yes, those old wounds ran deep, but I’d overcome that desperation, that feeling that I needed a man to make myself feel complete. I’d gotten myself together, lost the weight, started a successful career that I loved. I was not that chubby girl that everyone made fun of.

  Not on the outside, at least.

  Determined not to make this a waste of a weekend after all, I opened up my computer and found the presentation I’d started. I read over the first few slides, trying to psych myself up to deliver that presentation. I told myself that this was a noble cause, far beyond a dumb guy dumping me. I told myself that unlike my stupid blind date, this mattered, this would make a difference for girls everywhere who deserved better.

  But as hard as I tried, I couldn’t get Zachary out of my mind.

  That and the feeling that I was a complete and total sucker.

  Two hours later, I’d written plenty of words, but then I’d gone and deleted all of them. I couldn’t bring myself to concentrate.

  Why hadn’t he called?

  I picked up my phone and stared at the display. Empty of any messages, it taunted me.

  Then I opened up a message to Leah. My fingers hovered over the keys as I wondered whether to text her. She’d texted me before, but I’d put off returning her texts. I wasn’t sure why. I wanted her advice. Maybe because I knew she’d want to know the blow-by-blow, and deep down, I’d expected Zachary to turn out to be another Colton. I groaned inwardly now at the thought of telling her that he’d blown me off. But maybe she’d talked to her brother and could shed some light on the mystery.

  The need to solve this mystery trumped my dignity. I quickly jabbed in a message. Hey.

  Two minutes later, I got the text. Thought you got run over by a taxi too. How has your weekend been?

  I stared at the message. Run over by a taxi too? I had no idea what she meant by that. I typed back. Not so good.

  Aw, sweetie. I have just the thing for you. I’m coming right over.

  I could have bet on the fact that Leah would bring something alcoholic, and I was right. Leah might have been healthy, but she had one vice: wine. She constantly touted the health benefits of drinking it, but even she had to admit that she was probably pushing the limits with the amount that was healthy. She lived only a few blocks away and showed up at my doorstep not ten minutes later with a box of the cheap pinot grigio, my favorite.

  I wasn’t the hoity-toity type to drink expensive champagne. The cheap stuff worked just fine for me.

  “Cheers!” she shouted as I opened the door, and then her smile melted from her face. “What the hell happened to you?”

  Leah always looked good. Today, she was wearing workout clothes but had on a full face of makeup, and her blonde hair was without a flyaway, per usual. I knew I was a sight of utter ruin. After the bubble bath and towel drying my hair the day before, I hadn’t run a brush through it. I was wearing boxers and a t-shirt with lo mein grease on it. I probably smelled like day-old Chinese food. And since I’d thrown away my mother’s pills and hadn’t gotten good sleep, I probably had the dullest skin in the free world.

  I went inside and shook my head, then slumped on a kitchen stool. “When do you leave for Vegas?”

  “Tomorrow,” she said.

  “Has that guy texted you?”

  She pretended to inspect her fingernails, then breathed on them and buffed them on her shirt. “You mean Brock. Secret Agent? Of course. Who do you think you’re talking to? He’s been texting me nonstop.”

  I swallowed. Must be nice to have an actual human male sending you messages and not completely forgetting your name the second they pull out.

  “It’s borderline stalker, how much he’s been texting. I’m still trying to figure him out, whether he’s desperate and creepy, or just super interested. There’s a fine line. But I’m going by my normal rule: For every five texts he sends me, I send only one. And I always make it four words or less.”

  “Four words?” This was another little Leah nugget I’d never thought of before.

  She nodded. “The last thing you want to do is be chatty on text. Chatty is a death sentence. It implies you don’t have anything better to do.”

  “Oh.”

  “Speaking of better things to do…” Her eyes trailed to my computer. “How is your obesity conquering going?”

  I looked at her sheepishly. “I can’t even think about this presentation, I’m so frazzled. It’s this Friday, and a thousand people are going to be tuning in and I know I’m going to make a freaking fool of myself if I can’t even get the words down on PowerPoint.”

  “But you knew everything so well when you were talking to me about it the other day.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Wait. Does this have to do with Friday night?”

  I nodded, blushing. Leah appraised me like an alien from the planet Moron. She threw men away like used tissues because they meant about as much to her. Yes, leave it to your borderline Only Cares Deeply friend to make this much of a fuss over a stupid guy she barely knows.

  She sighed. Then she flounced past me and made herself comfortable in my kitchenette. She might as well have lived here, considering how well she knew the place, and exactly where to get the stemless wine glasses I kept. She brought them down from the cabinet, popped that box open and poured two extra full glasses, handing me one. “Cheers, bitch.”

  “Cheers.” I took a gulp, knowing that if I wanted the clarity to finish my presentation, drinking a shitload of wine wasn’t going to deliver. But I was desperate to deaden that gnawing feeling inside.

  “What you need is exercise,” she said when we’d finished our drinks.

  Right. Exercise. Once upon a time, that had been my answer for everything.

  Now, it just seemed so… inadequate compared to a good, toe-curling, mind-numbing orgasm.

  I’d already started to mellow from the wine, though, and deep down, I knew she was right. Exercise had worked wonders for me before. Yesterday’s laziness had taken its toll on me, and no wonder I felt so bad now. I needed to get out and shake these doldrums off with some good old heart-racing activity. “All right. Let’s go to Central Park.”

  Central Park was our go-to place for weekend exercise. I got myself changed into a t-shirt and workout capris, grabbed a bottle of water, and we headed out to the subway. Turned out, it was a gorgeous day, in the mid-seventies, so when we got to the park, it was packed, unlike how it had been during my walk throug
h it with Zachary on Friday night. I groaned as we reached the Alice in Wonderland statue, retracing the same path we’d walked then. I’d been to Central Park a billion times. I wondered if now, whenever I came here, the memory of Zachary would taint this place. I hated him being in my head.

  “What’s that look about?” she asked as we power-walked around the fountain.

  “I’m concentrating on my fitness level,” I lied, pretending to be super interested in my Fitbit.

  “Okay,” she said dismissively, “but, for reals, what are you doing? You look constipated.”

  I sighed. Leah knew me all too well. “Okay, okay,” I sighed, ready to come to the point, as desperate as I might seem. “It’s Zachary.”

  She stuck her lip out in a sympathy pout. “Aw, honey. You were really looking forward to that date, weren’t you?”

  “No, honestly. I’d been really nervous. But I got over that quickly. He seemed really nice, and…” I threw up my hands. “I just don’t get it. Do you?”

  She shook her head. “Sometimes crappy things happen. But don’t worry. In another few months, maybe you can try again.”

  I stopped and stared at her. “Why? So that he can blow me off again?”

  If this had been a cartoon, she would have had a question mark appear over her head. She frowned, jamming her fists on her hips. “Come on, he didn’t blow you off. You make it seem like he did it on purpose.”

  “Didn’t he?” A bunch of runners were coming, so I wandered off to the side of the path, into a shaded area. She followed. “I mean, what do you call it? I felt like everything was great, we were connecting, dancing like we were born to dance together. I mean, he even loved Marvin Gaye! And then boom! He just never calls afterward? You know, Leah, I’ve never believed in love at first sight, but that was pretty damn close to it. It was definitely lust, with a whole bunch of mutual respect thrown in there.”

  She was squinting at me, holding out her hands for me to slow down. “Wait. Wait. Wait. What do you mean, he never called afterward? After what, exactly?”