Blind Date

by Anders, Robyn

  "Oh." She didn't sound as surprised as he thought she would. "Then I guess I'm the one who'd better get back to my own side." Only she didn't actually move.

  "I'll get up," he said.

  Her hand, still lightly pressing against his waist, held him down as firmly as a shackle. She was going to have to take it off before he moved. If he'd been a good guy, he would have explained that to her. He didn't.

  "Well, one of us had better move."

  He rolled over so he faced her and brushed a hand against her face, touching her cheeks, then her lips.

  "You feel pretty natural up against me like this. Almost like the two of us fit together."

  "Umm."

  When she didn't draw away, he ran his hand down her side. If she rejected him now, what would he lose?

  "I'm not sure this is a good idea." Her voice sounded hoarse, sexy.

  "Who the hell cares?" Mark replied. He bent his lips toward her, kissing her lightly on the forehead.

  "Maybe the fact that we ended up together means something." Her voice was barely a whisper.

  He lowered his lips to the upturned tip of her nose and kissed that as well. "Maybe it means that we should listen to our libidos rather than ignore them."

  "I think maybe you're right."

  He couldn't believe he was hearing her correctly. She hadn't backed away but she hadn't responded to his slow exploration of her body either.

  Slowly, half expecting her to jump away or slap him, he ran his hand down to her hips, gently pressing her body against his.

  She froze for a moment and he knew he'd gone too far, too fast. Finally, though, Amy responded. She brushed her hand over his abdomen, gently stroking his stomach, then the hard muscles of his chest.

  When she had been sleeping, her breasts had excited him even though they rested against his back by accident. Now she responded to his gentle pressure by pushing herself against him. They burned him like fire as their hardened tips pressed against him. She breathed into his ear, then sent an exploring tongue into it, nibbling the ear with her teeth.

  "Are you sure you know what you're doing?" he gasped.

  "I don't have a clue what I'm doing and I certainly don't want to think about it right now."

  He kissed her on her lips, his hands purposefully seeking her breasts for the first time. "You are an incredible woman," he groaned.

  She met his kiss, then pressed herself up on an elbow and nipped the sensitive spot where his neck joined his shoulder. "I think you're pretty unique yourself, Mark."

  Mark reached down and tugged on her T-shirt.

  For a moment she did nothing, then she arched her back to let him pull it up fully.

  His hands drank in the feel of her body, his nose inhaled her clean scent, and his lips tasted her--her mouth, her neck, her sweet breasts.

  "Oh, Mark."

  He cupped her hips in one hand pressing her against his need and she pushed harder, giggling as her lips met his, then licking his nipples.

  Her hand started a slow descent down his body, touching his neck, shoulder, chest, then brushing against his bandaged side.

  He flinched. His body was so hypersensitized to her touch that his wound hurt even worse than when he'd gotten kicked.

  She pulled back. "Are you sure you're all right?"

  "Getting better and better," he answered.

  "I can't believe you handled all three of those guys last night. It was almost like one of the TV shows where the Mountie rides up at the last minute to rescue the girl."

  "Damn." Why did she have to remind him of that now?

  "What is it?"

  He struggled from her grasp. He knew he'd regret his decision. Hell, he already regretted it. Still, he wouldn't allow a woman's normal hormonal reaction trick Amy into a relationship she had clearly stated she didn't want. It wouldn't be fair to her. Worse, it wouldn't be fair to him. It was impossible, but he had somehow managed to fall in love with Amy. If they made love now, the pain would be that much worse when she came to her senses and left him.

  "I didn't ask for that kind of reward, Amy." But was he being totally honest? Hadn't he been asking for, almost demanding sex under any terms, any conditions? No wonder she had finally gotten the message.

  "I don't know what you're talking about." From the catch in her voice, he figured she knew exactly what he meant.

  "I watched those same cartoons when I was a kid. Only you could never quite believe that the Mountie and the girl would end up together. Their lives were just too different."

  "You don't have to take everything I say literally. I was trying to give you a compliment."

  "Yeah? Well, I appreciate it."

  He sat up, bit back the groan from abusing his battered stomach muscles and ribs, and removed her hands from his waist.

  "I'm not very experienced and maybe I was doing something wrong, Mark. Come on back to bed and let's talk about it. Or maybe see if we can figure out what to do without talking."

  He knew he'd spend the rest of his life regretting it if he turned down her offer. But accepting, knowing that she would have to leave him before too long, could only be worse. Now that he knew that her sexual experience was limited, he'd be worse than a cad if he took advantage of her gratitude in this way.

  "Yesterday you said we should be friends. Maybe you were right."

  "That was yesterday. You can't build me up and then beat me down like this."

  It wasn't just gratitude that was driving her, he saw.

  "I've tricked you, Amy. First I took you out on that bicycle before I had fully tested it. Then last night, we went to a part of town I should have known better than to take you to. Can't you see? This whole thing is my attempt to prove to you and myself that I really am as much a man as anyone else. I'm on an ego trip and my ego could have gotten you killed. If I were you, I'd run from me like I was one of those thugs last night."

  "But you are as much as man as anyone else. More. And I don't think you would run from me if our positions were reversed."

  "Don't lie to yourself, Amy. I'm not a whole man. I'm blind. But just because I'm blind, you don't have to act like you can't see what's going on. Look at me. I can't tell whether it's night or day outside. That's why I have twenty-four hour clocks. I'll never be able to drive to my kids' soccer games. I'll never be able to go out with you for a little one-on-one basketball. I'll never be the man you need."

  "I'm going into this with my eyes open, Mark. And nobody but you has said anything about kids."

  "And I'm not going to let you do it." He hated himself for saying the words. What made him the judge of what was right? Why couldn't he just leave well enough alone? After all, wouldn't it be better to have the memory of Amy in his arms, her body intertwined with his own, than no memory at all? So what if he was right and they didn't work out in the long run?

  Except he had never run from his responsibilities. That was why he'd been in Bosnia in the first place. Why he continued to work when he could have settled back into survival on Air Force disabled veteran pay. If he wouldn't cheat on his commitment to his country or to his dignity, he certainly wouldn't steal a purely sexual thrill from the woman he loved.

  His heart lurched as he admitted that word to himself. It had happened quickly, but he'd fallen in love with Amy. And now he would live with the consequences.

  "I never thought I'd throw myself at a man and end up bouncing back," Amy told him. "I know your ex-fiancée hurt you, but that doesn't make all women like that." This time there was no mistaking anger in her voice.

  "This has nothing to do with Leslie."

  "Well, I don't think it has one hell of a lot to do with me, either. Do you know what I think?"

  He was pretty sure he didn't want to know. "What?"

  "I think you're playing with your own head. I think you're using your blindness to hide from what you need, to hide from your real feelings."

  He sighed. "You may be right."

  "Don't patronize me." He thought
she'd been angry before, but she'd just been getting warmed up.

  "I'm not trying to patronize you. I'm trying to make you understand that--"

  "That you know what's best for me and I don't. Well guess what? Maybe you're right. Maybe you aren't grown up enough to be ready for a real relationship."

  Amy rolled away from him. She didn't seem to have any problem at all getting out of the water bed this time.

  "Amy," he called. "I don't think--"

  "That's right. Don't think. Just let me leave. And don't try to call me."

  Chapter 9

  Amy faked, dribbled the ball behind her back, through her legs, then leapt toward the basket, slamming the ball through the hoop.

  The hard pain barely registered as she swatted the ball toward her opponent.

  "What did you do?" The kid sounded just a little too amazed.

  "I dunked. What did it look like?"

  "Well, I've never seen a girl dunk before. But that isn't what I meant. What did you do to your hand?"

  She looked down, half afraid that this was some ploy to distract her while he drove the paint zone. She had taken up playing one-on-one basketball with some of the kids in the neighborhood lately, polishing skills gradually eroded by months working with high school girls who were afraid of messing up their makeup by working up a dreaded sweat.

  Unfortunately, the kid was serious. She was bleeding like a pig.

  "I give up," he told her. "Here's the twenty bucks."

  "Keep it." In this neighborhood, she couldn't get anyone decent to play against unless she was willing to gamble. That didn't mean she had to act like a basketball hustler. On the other hand, maybe it was worth it. In all of her years of play, she'd never dunked a basketball before. Tennis balls and softballs, yes--but not a basketball. With the damage she'd done to her hand, she would think twice before she tried to do it again.

  "It's all right, man. I wouldn't have thought a little thing like you could drive the hoop like that, though. Wow. Wait till I tell the guys on the team I got skunked by a girl."

  She looked at him. Six foot six and all gangly knees and elbows. Her coaching, or maybe maternal, instincts came into play. "Work on the weights more. You're going to have to put on some muscle if you're going to play low post."

  "Yeah, that's what the coach says too. Boring."

  Amy had bought a set of weights for her apartment so she wouldn't run into Mark at health club. She could identify with boring.

  "Better than getting beat up under the basket."

  "Whatever." The kid shrugged. "You'd better put something on that hand. Maybe you should see a doctor. Get some stitches or something."

  "I don't need to see a doctor. I can take care of myself."

  She'd heard those words before. For a second, she couldn't place them. Then it came back. Mark. In the three weeks since he'd driven her away, she hadn't been able to get him out of her mind. Now she was repeating his words, for goodness sake.

  "If you say so." The kid didn't look like he believed her any more than she did. "I'm out of here. You want to play again, let me know. Oh, here's the twenty."

  "It's yours. We'll call it a draw."

  She pulled off her T-shirt and wrapped it around her fist. She'd have to get some ice for it quick or it would swell up like a bowling ball. Who did she think she was, Michael Jordan in drag?

  The kid stared for a second, then turned. He'd probably been hoping she'd forgotten to put anything on under her shirt. In his dreams.

  She had planned to be over day-dreaming about Mark by now. She'd driven herself crazy with working out, playing basketball, jogging for hours at a time, and volunteering for every extra project at school. She'd even signed up to direct set-design for the school play even though she knew less about set design or construction than anyone she'd ever met.

  All of her work had accomplished exactly one thing. It had given her enough excuses to avoid seeing her mother.

  She hopped in her car, tightened the T-shirt around her hand to keep it from bleeding all over the stick shift, and fired it up.

  Usually she stayed at the park until midnight so she wouldn't have to face the lonely night alone before she was completely worn out.

  It was funny how quickly she had gotten used to Mark. They'd had what, four dates? Before he'd come into her life, though, she'd been busy all the time. Now she had to manufacture things just to give herself something to do.

  Her phone rang as she walked in the door.

  She let it ring. She had more important things to do than talk with some salesman. She went to the freezer and pulled out an ice pack.

  The phone kept ringing. She'd turned off the answering machine two days after leaving Mark's house. She couldn't stand checking and seeing the call readout mocking her. She tried to ignore the persistent ring.

  Unfortunately, whoever was calling wouldn't give up.

  Unasked for, an image of Mark, sitting at his desk, calling her day after day, came to her mind.

  She snatched up the phone.

  "Yeah."

  "Honey?"

  "Mother?"

  "I've been trying to call you for days. What, have you been off with some man, eh?"

  "Oh, Mother. Can't you give it a rest?"

  "It's all right Amy. I'm your mother. You can talk to me."

  "Sure. And then you lecture me on all the terrible things I do and how my sister is doing so much better than me."

  "So I want you to be happy? This is a crime in America?"

  "I'm sorry. I cut my hand playing basketball and I'm a little crabby."

  "I have an idea. Why don't you invite that lawyer over again? He seems like a nice young man. Very handsome. Maybe we can play some more games. I've been telling my friends at the center--"

  "You as good as called Mark names, Mother. I wouldn't expose him to that humiliation again." As if she'd have the chance. On the other hand, she wasn't up to telling her mother how she had let this one get away. Especially the parts where she had positively thrown her body at him and he'd rejected her.

  "I was thinking about that. In fact, that's one of the reasons I've been trying to call you. You know I never learned to drive until I was forty. So what if he can't drive? He's a nice man. Got a body that Johnny Weismuller would kill for, too."

  "Mark and I aren't seeing each other anymore." There. She'd said it.

  "What? But Amy, he was a good one. A keeper in any book." Her mother paused, then lowered her voice almost to a whisper. "You know men, Amy. Sometimes you have to make sure they wanted to stay. Maybe you should have let him have a little sample. Men don't like women who are too sweet, you know. Why, with your father--"

  "Mother. I'm sure I don't want to hear this."

  "You don't want to hear it? What's this country coming to is what I want to know. Daughters don't want their own mother's opinions."

  "I'm sorry, Mother. It's this d--dratted hand." She'd started to cry.

  "Did you tell him you love him?"

  The question caught her out of the blue. Determinedly, she got herself under control. "Mother. We only went out on four dates. And that's counting the one at your house. I don't love him."

  "Then why are you sobbing? Give your mother a little credit. I've seen you with broken fingers and cracked ribs and when you got your front baby teeth knocked out. You don't go on like this when you hurt yourself. Not if the hurt is just in your body, anyway."

  "Go on like what?"

  "Feeling sorry for yourself. Oh, you've fallen for the lawyer, all right. Like when I tell you to bring him over, you defend him. Remind me of his name as if I don't remember it. Don't you think it’s fair to let him know what he's walking away from?"

  "What makes you think it isn't me walking away from him?"

  "Amy, honey. You're my own daughter. We're both fighters. We don't walk away from life. And we certainly don't walk away from the men we love."

  Amy tried again. "Mark and I aren't seeing any more of each other and tha
t's the way I want it."

  "Don't be too proud to make your mother happy," Tillie told her, getting the last word in, as always. "If you don't tell him you love him, maybe I will."

  ****

  Mark bent down and gently stroked Molly's ears, listening to her pant.

  Her silky smooth fur pleased him even though the animal's irrational faith in him filled him with dread. No one could hope to live up to the faithfulness and love this dog showered on him.

  He and Molly had become inseparable from the start. He had built her a bed under his desk at work and another in his bedroom. She used the first, but at home she chose to sleep on his couch where she could keep a watch on the front door.

  Once he'd gotten used to her signals, the two of them had undertaken adventures he hadn't been able to consider with just his cane.

  Molly had turned long walks into a pleasure rather than a frightening obstacle course. She was so smart, she could let him know when the traffic signal turned. Before, he'd been forced to stick his cane up in the air and start walking when he thought he heard a break in the traffic.

  Best of all, he could trust himself to treat the animal properly and not take stupid risks on its account. He hadn't been quite so careful with Amy.

  Also, Molly gave him someone to talk to. He'd never been good at the solitary lifestyle.

  Looking back, he could see that it hadn't been his commanding presence that made him the center of attention in college and in the Air Force. Nor, for that matter, was it his athletic skill. Instead, he'd put himself there because he loved being around other people and truly enjoyed their companionship.

  Even with Molly's help, day after day without Amy took the spark out of his life. Unfortunately, the dog had even less to offer him for the long evenings alone.

  He took a long swallow from his water bottle, then tucked it into his fanny pack.

  "Come on Molly, let's put a few more miles behind us."

  Before he'd gotten Molly, he'd been certain running was a part of his past. Gone, along with so much else, when he'd lost his sight. The world was full of too many trees to smack into, narrow bridges to fall off of, potholes to trip him up. Molly was able to negotiate all of these. Early on she'd let him run into low hanging branches a time or two, but nothing serious. And she'd even been smart enough to figure out what had gone wrong. He hadn't hit anything for a week. He'd been amazed how quickly he'd gotten back into the swing of running.