LATE NIGHT KISSES

by G. , Whitney

  “Noted.” I checked the time. “Anything else?”

  “Actually, yes. I need you to do me one last favor.” He pulled a small, sealed red envelope from his coat pocket. “The Wish Tree is in the building next door to the agency, so can you turn this in for me when you go?”

  “I’m sorry, the what?”

  “The Wish Tree.” He suddenly looked sheepish. “Don’t judge me.”

  “Too late. What the hell is The Wish Tree?”

  “It’s a Cedar Falls thing.” He tried to appear nonchalant, but he was failing miserably. He looked like he was a twelve-year old boy all over again.

  “It’s a holiday tradition for all the residents,” he said. “Everyone seals their top ten wishes inside a glass ornament, and then they hang it wherever they want on the big tree. Right before Christmas, the billionaire heirs who built the town pick ten, ten thousand dollar winners who also get a free week at the top resort here. Everyone else gets a smaller prize for participating, and we also get to keep whatever glass ornament we placed the wish into, since that alone is worth a hundred dollars. I’ve heard good things about it.”

  I crossed my arms. “You’re a multi-millionaire and you already own one of the top resorts here. Why do you need to participate in something like this?”

  “Because it’s about winning and fucking holiday cheer,” he said. “Hell, you should do it and wish for the stick to be removed from your ass.”

  I laughed. “I’ll pass, but I’ll hang yours.”

  “Appreciate it.” He moved toward the side door. “Thanks again for stepping in for me.”

  “You’re not welcome.”

  Through the windows, I watched him return to his “blind” date, watched them talk for all of three minutes, and suddenly they were both standing and heading for the door.

  Interesting ...

  “DON’T PLAY GAMES” CHESS CAKE

  2 ½ cups yellow cake mix

  ½ cup margarine

  4 medium eggs

  1 teaspoon vanilla

  8 ounces cream cheese

  2 cups confectioners’ sugar

  NATHAN

  SUBJECT: INSUFFICIENT Survey Answers

  Dear Mr. Benson,

  We are writing to inform you that we have received your initial survey results for our Blind Eye Dating Service. Unfortunately, we cannot pair you with any potential matches until you answer all three hundred personality questions with well-thought-out answers.

  Although we appreciate you submitting a picture of yourself with your application, it’s not necessary, as this is blind dating.

  For your reference, we are attaching a one-page file with an example of how some of our former clients answered their questions. We are also copying and pasting a few of your previously submitted answers below, so you can know that these will not be accepted.

  Best Wishes & Thank you for using Blind Eye Dating!

  **YOUR ANSWERS TO OUR Questions That We Will Not Accept**

  1. Why do you think a woman would be attracted to you?

  Your Answer: Look at my picture.

  2. Have you ever been turned down after asking a woman on a date in person? (Please tell us why.)

  Your Answer: No. Look at my picture.

  3. If you had to sum up your best qualities in four words, what would you say?

  Your answer: Look at my picture.

  “PLEASE STRANGLE THIS COCKY BASTARD” PIE

  4 cups chopped rhubarb

  1 1/3 cups white sugar

  6 teaspoons all-purpose flour

  1 tablespoon butter

  1 double crusted pie

  CHRISTINA

  SUBJECT: YOUR MATCH & Blind Date Location

  Dear Christina,

  We are pleased to inform you that you and your upcoming match are the first perfect pair in Blind Eye Dating Service history! Provided that you have answered our personality questionnaire with complete honesty, you and your match have a 99.9% chance of sparking a great friendship and/or romantic acquaintanceship.

  Per your submitted availability, your meet time and location are below.

  Starry Nights Café

  Sunday @ 7:30 p.m.

  Please bring a book and a rose to place on the table so that your match, NATHAN, will be able to spot you easily. We have sent him the same message and encouraged him to wear a red scarf.

  Best Wishes & thank you for using Blind Eye Dating!

  I REREAD THE MESSAGE for the umpteenth time, letting the same two thoughts run on a loop in my mind. 1) How the hell could two people be a “perfect pair” based on a fifteen-page questionnaire? 2) If we were such a perfect match, why was he already twenty minutes late? (Especially when one of the questions was, “How important is being ‘on time’ to you?” My answer was, “Extremely. I’m never late.”)

  Almost every table in the café was full—occupied by couples who were showing too much public affection, women who were gossiping about the latest events in town, and teenagers who were busy compiling their last minute “Wish Tree” lists.

  I ordered a second cup of coffee and looked over my outfit again. Per Amy’s suggestion, I was wearing a lacy black dress with matching lingerie set underneath. My dark brown hair was coifed to perfection in long, cascading curls that fell over my left shoulder, and I was wearing red stilettos that complimented my earrings.

  I’d spent most of my weekend getting ready for this. In addition to getting my makeup done by one of Cedar Falls’ top artists, I left my bakery early yesterday morning and allowed the junior staff to run it on their own, so I could get my hair curled and styled by a professional. I even used some of my Wish Tree wishes on this, hoping to experience a page straight out of a romance book.

  Boy meets girl, boy charms girl, boy gives girl earth-shattering orgasms, and they fall in love.

  The bell over the door suddenly rang, and I looked up—catching sight of a man in a navy-blue coat and red scarf. An attractive guy with dirty-blond hair, he looked around the room, and then he waved to a group of guys near the bar.

  Ugh.

  I watched the door for several more minutes, glancing at the clock as the time hit eight fifteen.

  Forty-five minutes?

  He wasn’t coming, and I was done waiting. I signaled for the waitress to bring me the check.

  As I was standing to my feet, the bell over the door rang, and a chorus of hushed whispers and “Oh my god” gasps filled the room.

  I looked over at the guy who was sauntering in, at the dark red scarf draped over his grey coat. He looked around the room, his deep dimples on full display as he smiled a perfect set of pearly whites.

  His beautiful blue eyes met mine, and his lips slowly parted as he eyed my dress. He shifted his gaze to the rose and book on my table, and then he took a step back.

  “Haven’t we seen him around town before?” The woman at the table across from me whispered to her friend.

  “Not that I can remember, but I’ll be sure to fix that if he’s here alone.”

  His eyes met mine again, and every brain cell in my mind told me to get up and walk away immediately. From where I was sitting, I could already tell that he was the type of man who was capable of playing the lead role in all my future fantasies, the type of man who could get away with saying, “I want to fuck you right now,” and get any woman to go home with him.

  I tried to force my feet to move toward the door, but all I could do was retake my seat.

  As he made his way over, the whispers from the surrounding tables continued, culminating in a “Lucky bitch,” once he stopped in front of me.

  As if he was right on time, he took a seat and gave me a closer view of his smile.

  Damn ...

  “Hi,” he said. “I’m Nathan. Your name is Christina, correct?”

  I didn’t say a word.

  “Um, hi.” The waitress stepped in front of our table, and her cheeks flushed bright red. “Can I get you something to drink, sir?”

  “I’
ll have whatever drink my date is having,” he said.

  “Which one would you like?” I asked. “The one I ordered at seven thirty, seven forty-five, or eight o’clock?”

  His lips curved into a smirk. “The one she ordered at seven-thirty.”

  “Would you like something to eat to go along with that?” the waitress asked.

  “No, thank you.”

  “Would you like my phone number, then?” she said softly, scrawling her number onto a napkin before walking away.

  Nathan took off his coat, revealing a white button-down shirt that clung to his chest muscles in all the right places. He stood up briefly, to adjust his belt, and I caught sight of a barely concealed six-pack.

  The other women in the café were still staring at him, and I could tell that he was enjoying every second of their attention.

  He took his coffee from the waitress and took a slow sip, keeping his eyes on mine.

  “Your name is Christina, correct?” he asked. “You have yet to answer that question.”

  “Probably because I was waiting for you to apologize for being late, or for you to ask me to give you a chance to finish this date.”

  “There was an important situation,” he said. “And you clearly want to give me a chance, seeing as though you sat here waiting for forty-five minutes.”

  Strike one. There’s no way in hell we’re a 99.9 percent match.

  I brought my coffee to my lips and took a long sip.

  “What do you do for a living?” he asked, finally.

  “I own a—” I paused. I wasn’t trying to make this date any longer than it had to be. “I run a small business, and you?”

  “I’m honestly not sure anymore.”

  Strike two. He’s unemployed!

  He stared at me, not saying anything, turning me on against my will.

  “Are those all of your questions?” I asked. “Nothing else you want to say?”

  “I want to say that you’re sexy as fuck,” he said, his voice low. “And I personally don’t think we should spend any more of our time sitting here talking.”

  My jaw dropped. “Did you seriously just say that?”

  “I did.” He smiled. “Would you like for me to repeat it?”

  I blinked.

  “I can ask you a few more questions if you like,” he said. “But seeing as though we’re supposedly a 99.9% match, I think we both know there’s no need for that.”

  “Is this how you normally operate on blind dates?”

  “This is my first one.”

  “How fitting,” I said under my breath. “I think this is my last one.”

  “What was that?”

  I cleared my throat. “You know what? You’re absolutely right about us not needing to spend any more time talking.”

  “Your place or mine?”

  “Let me think on that,” I said, forcing my best smile. “Will you watch my coat while I run to the restroom? I’ll have an answer for you once I get back.”

  “Fair enough.” He gave me another panty-melting smile, and for a split second, I actually considered giving in to my exploding ovaries instead of my brain.

  “If I were you, I wouldn’t plan on going to work tomorrow,” he said, looking me up and down again. “You probably won’t be able to walk when I get finished with you.”

  Nope. The brain is definitely winning this round.

  I made my way to the hallway, walking past the restrooms and through the private staff exit.

  Rushing to the parking lot, I ignored the pain from my stilettos and made it to my car. I cranked the engine and sped the hell away from the café, right onto the winding road that led to my side of Cedar Falls.

  The second I crossed the Main Bridge, I called my sister via speakerphone.

  “No worries!” she answered on the first ring. “I knew you’d forget the condoms, so I tucked some into the bottom compartment of your purse. Two of them are even peppermint flavored.”

  “There is absolutely no chance that sex will ever be happening between me and that asshole, Amy.” I hit the gas pedal even harder. “I refuse to believe that he and I are a ten percent match, let alone a ninety-nine percent one. I also owe you a new coat, since I left yours in the café.”

  “Wait, what? Back it all the way up. You were there for an hour, and there were no sparks?”

  “He was only there for five of those minutes, Amy,” I said. “He was forty-five minutes late, and he didn’t even apologize!”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Not in the slightest. He even had the audacity to say that we should just leave and go have sex.”

  “So, he was cocky?”

  “Cocky isn’t even the word.” An image of his sexy smirk crossed my mind, and my body betrayed me with a blush.

  “Well, was he at least attractive?”

  “Yes.” I couldn’t lie about that if I tried. “He was definitely attractive. Beyond that, even.”

  “But not attractive enough for you to have one round of meaningless sex? It might’ve been super-hot.”

  “Never. If I never see him again, I’ll consider that a win. As a matter of fact—”

  The rest of my sentence stalled on my lips as the blaring sound of a police siren came from behind.

  I looked in my rearview mirror and saw flashing blue and white lights.

  Shit.

  “Amy, I think I’m getting pulled over. I’ll have to call you back.”

  “You better!”

  I ended the call and slowed down, steering my car to the emergency lane.

  Sighing, I put the car in park and pulled out my papers to save time. I clicked the “last speed known” button on my digital dashboard and blinked a few times to make sure I saw the numbers correctly.

  I was only going fifty-six miles an hour.

  I heard a soft tapping sound against my window and rolled it down.

  “Officer, I’m not sure why you—” My jaw dropped as I came face to face with Mr. Cocky Bastard from earlier. He was glaring at me, looking as if he was torn between arresting me and fucking me on the spot.

  He’s a police officer?

  “Are you unaware of the fact that there’s a restroom inside the damn café?” He narrowed his eyes. “I’d hate to assume that you’re abandoning me on our date.”

  “No need to assume, Officer,” I said. “That’s exactly what’s happening.”

  He raised his eyebrow, and then a slow, sexy smile spread across his face. “License and registration, please.”

  “For what? Leaving a date is not a crime.”

  “Driving over the speed limit is.”

  “I was only going fifty-six.”

  “The speed limit is fifty-five.” He held out his hand. “And if I have to ask you for your license and registration again, I’ll have to arrest you for disobeying a lawful order from a police officer.”

  I debated speeding away, but the way he was looking at me made me lose my train of thought. I gave in and begrudgingly handed him my paperwork.

  “Hmmm.” He shone a flashlight over my license. “Well, at least I now know that your name is Christina and you weren’t using an alias.”

  As he looked over my registration, I held up my phone and connected to Facebook Live, hoping that one of my fifteen social media friends would witness his assholery.

  “Officer, could you kindly remind me why you’ve pulled me over tonight?”

  Looking amused, he stared directly into the camera. “You were going eighty miles an hour, and I received several calls about your reckless driving from the carolers on Fifth Avenue.” He laughed and gently took the phone from my hands, turning it off before returning it to me.

  “Let me know what happens after you show that to whoever you planned on showing it to,” he said. “I’m sure that’ll make an interesting conversation for us.”

  “I don’t plan on seeing you again so that ‘interesting conversation’ is going to be pretty impossible.”

  “Actua
lly, you will see me again,” he said, his dimples deepening. “I think you owe me a date, a real one.”

  “The only thing I owe you is a slap across the face.” I snapped, unsure of why my heart was suddenly beating a new, unfamiliar rhythm—why this man was turning me on so damn much. “The second you write me this unnecessary ticket, I’m going to file a complaint.”

  “Did you just threaten to assault a police officer?”

  “It was a metaphor.”

  “You should’ve picked a better one. Get out of the car.”

  “What?”

  “I need you to get out of the car.” He opened my door. “After a threat like that, I need to make sure there’s no need for backup.”

  I sat still for several seconds, certain that he had to be joking, but he repeated his wicked command.

  Slowly stepping out of the car, I leaned against it and shivered. “Do you feel threatened, Officer?”

  “Not at all.” He smiled and took off his coat, covering my shoulders with it. “Wait here.” He walked to his car and pulled my sister’s coat from the back. He tossed it onto my passenger seat before returning his attention to me.

  “Like I was saying earlier,” he said, stepping closer, “you owe me a date.”

  “With all due respect, I don’t think you know what the word ‘date’ means. Hint: They typically last for at least one hour.”

  “I’ve always lasted longer than one hour.”

  I ignored that comment, feeling my cheeks warming. “I also refuse to believe that you filled out that personality form with real answers because there’s no way you’re that high of a match for me. I made it more than clear that I’m interested in the romantic type.”

  “What makes you think I’m not the romantic type?”

  “Because you didn’t even try,” I said. “You didn’t bring flowers.”

  “I wasn’t sure if you were allergic to flowers.”

  “Were you sure that I was allergic to you showing up on time?”

  He laughed and stepped even closer. “I had to respond to an incident.”