by Xavier Neal
“Believe it or not, I’m not typically this easy to read.”
“Or maybe people jus’ don’t try hard enough to learn more about you.”
The words receive a soft swoon.
There’s something I have never considered….
“You lovin’ the city and me the country is no different than you lovin’ art and me lovin’ country music. It’s nothin’ more than a dance we jus’ gotta perfect the steps to.”
His unexpected, philosophical comment prompts me to put my food down beside me and devote my complete attention to our conversation. “You don’t think you’ll give up when we stumble?”
“Not as long as you’re willin’ to keep tryin’.”
Our fingers drift across the gap to fold together.
“What about you?” he asks casually. “What does my brown-skinned angel do for a livin’?”
I try not to cringe. “I’m a million dollar matchmaker.”
“You tootin’ your own horn or-”
“No. I specifically work with men and women who financially gross over a million dollars every year. Actually, I handle our midlevel clients, so really those who bring in between fifty to one hundred million a year. Hopefully, someday, perhaps one day soon, I’ll get to move up to our highest level.”
It’s his turn to look astounded. Unlike me, however, he chooses to remain completely silent.
“Occasionally, I’m sent around the country for face time with potential clients, but more often than not, they come to us.”
Dusty’s mouth moves yet the words seem lost. Eventually, he settles on saying, “You probably make a helluva a lot of money, don’t you?”
The retort isn’t the one I was expecting. “I do.”
“Is it a problem that I don’t?”
My eyebrows pinch together.
“Is it a problem if I can’t afford to take you to the fancy places you love? Or fancy vacations like this? You gonna be alright with jus’ a couple of really good steaks and decent beer?”
I can’t stop myself from scooting closer. “As long as you’re the one grilling them, and they’re ribeyes. I’m a fairly decent cook, but let’s just say when it comes to grilling, I’m kind of a fire hazard.”
Dusty laughs and picks his breakfast up. “Don’t tell my brother that.”
“Why?”
“He’s a firefighter. It’s in his nature to keep an eye on potential dangers.” He has a bite of his burrito. “Tell me, matchmaker. Are we a match?”
The loaded question has me reaching, once again, for my own breakfast.
“Be honest.” His command receives a glance. “Always be honest with me.”
“You’ll do the same?”
Dusty quickly nods.
“No,” I settle my burrito in my hands, “we’re not a match. We’re actually so far from a match that our files would be in completely separate piles on opposite ends of the desk.”
“Don’t opposites attract?”
“That’s a theory and not one I rely on. From an objective standpoint, having two people with different interests is a plus. However, they need a certain number of core values in common as well as the same willingness to compromise. My job is to assess people face to face and compare it to how they read on paper, filling in what can’t be seen on a report or comparing their online persona to their in person behavior.”
“And how exactly did you get into this? I don’t recall seein’ anything about a degree in date advisin’.”
“My bachelor’s is actually in Art History-”
“Which explains a lot….”
“Matchmaking was never something I considered. In fact, I didn’t even realize people still used matchmakers. It’s like, come on. Look around. We’re living in the age of technology where getting laid is literally one click away at any given moment. However, the random stranger I started talking to one night, at one of my favorite bars, expressed he thought I had a knack for it when I gave a friend a few pointers before she slipped away to flirt with a guy at the opposite end of the bar. It turns out there are a shit ton of people who worry about being taken advantage of due to their higher salaries. People who are looking for very specific counterparts they aren’t going to necessarily find at the nearest trendy bar. They want real options laid in front of them. Real results. And they want all the hassle taken out of the process.”
Between bites, he sarcastically mutters, “Romantic.”
“Mechanical. Efficient.” I sneak in a nibble. “But that’s what those people need, and they’re willing to pay out the ass to get it.”
He swallows and gives me a questioning look. “What about you? Why didn’t the matchmaker have a match before now?”
Helplessly, I smirk. “Oh, you’re my match, huh?”
“Yup. So go ahead and wrap your mind around that and two other very important lessons.”
“Which are?”
“I don’t share in any way, and I’m willin’ to fight for what’s mine.”
His proclamation pushes away the hunger again. “Yours?”
“Since the moment I touched you, baby.”
The burrito lands back where it was beside me.
There should be more resistance here. I should be screaming about pumping the breaks or slowing down or anything that’s more logical than wondering how long it’ll be before my last name becomes his. Why can’t I get a grip?
“Dating has always been more hassle than it was worth to me.”
Now completely finished, Dustin reaches for his bottle of water at the same time he asks, “Why?”
“Because it lacks heart and honesty. Most people put on a phony face in the beginning of a relationship. Pretend they’re into things they’re not to impress the other person. Pretend they’re attentive to get someone in the sheets. This whole situation gets cultivated under false pretenses that within the next couple of months, after the endorphins stop running so high, get shattered leaving you two basic strangers who may or may not actually like one another. It’s what makes what I do just that much more valuable. I’m saving people some of those steps and presenting them with the actual facts, so they don’t have to bother wasting so much of their time.”
He places the empty bottle in the sand beside his chair and holds out his hand for me to join him. I switch from sitting up in my seat to being stretched out at his side, head on his white t-shirt covered chest. Dusty tucks one hand behind his head while using the other to cradle me close. One deep breath of him is all it takes to send additional shivers down my spine.
His fingers slowly stroke my bare arm. “This is who I really am, Carly. No fancy lies to try to trap you now and keep you later. I’ll always show the man I am, and I hope you do me the decency of always showin’ me the woman you really are. ‘Cause I’ll tell you what. I know the difference. I can see it when I look in your eyes and feel it whenever you’re in my arms. I’ll know when I’m lookin’ into the eyes of the woman I belong to or when I’m lookin’ into those of a stranger. I won’t waste your time, baby. I’m just askin’ you don’t waste mine either.”
“Never,” the word falls from my lips before I can catch it.
How?! How does he do this? How does he strip away the layers, leaving me bare and more vulnerable than I’ve ever been in my entire life? It feels like there’s nothing from him I could ever hide….There is nothing from him I want to hide. I want him to see my scars and the tatters left behind from other people. I want him to love them and all the other parts of me until I’ve taken my last breath. I wanna love him just the same.
Whoa.
Not sure….Not sure anything good can come from falling for someone this fast.
“Tell me more about elevators,” I quietly command, shutting my eyes. “And if you catch me snoring, it isn’t because I’m completely bored, I just haven’t been sleeping well and being in your arms is very comfortable.”
He lightly laughs. “Did you just say completely bored?”
“Well, I’m
expecting to be a bit bored. I mean…elevators.”
His laugh makes an additional appearance followed by details about his job. For an unknown amount of time I listen to Dusty describe how he got into the unusual trade and how long he’s been working for his current company. At some point, I drift off to sleep, too complacent with the combination of his warm embrace, the soothing sound of his voice, and the ocean breeze swirling around us.
An unexpected vibration against my chest startles us both awake. We groan at the invasion of our peaceful moment, and I mentally contemplate over the repercussions of ignoring my phone. Just as I’m about to close my eyes again, the vibrating returns, except this time lower, near an area that greatly appreciates the attention.
“Can’t be good if we’re both gettin’ bothered….” Dusty yawns.
I slide to a sitting position and carefully remove my phone from where it’s hiding.
Audrey: Plz join us for the concert at the pool.
Audrey: Cordie’s cranky and Idw deal alone.
Audrey: Back seats near the pretzel cart
My eyes meet Dusty’s. “Friends want me to join them at the pool concert. Wanna come?”
“Absolutely,” he answers swiftly. “Let me see who was textin’ me.”
His fingers wiggle into his pocket, and I do my best not to moan over the idea of them wiggling elsewhere.
“Soon enough, baby.” The sexual promise heats my cheeks. “My word.”
With the level of horny I’ve reached, I’d probably let him fuck me against a palm tree out in the open. This is why Cordie always has a set of guaranteed hook ups lingering in her contacts list. It’s been months since I’ve had another person put their hand between my thighs, and even then, I had to fake an orgasm before they would let us move on to the better stuff. Well. Slightly better stuff. We were far from a match in that department. Hmm. Now that that’s on my mind, I don’t recall ever having a match in the sexual department. I always want something a bit rougher, a bit kinkier, but the men I manage to bring home from the bars end up treating me like I’m a delicate flower, or they’re so selfish there’s no time to voice my opinion. God, I hope Dusty’s not like that. Though, kissing is often an indication of what’s pending ahead, and let me just state, based on that, I’m going to be writing thank you notes to his cock.
Dusty looks back up at me. “Cody wants me to meet him at the souvenir shop to help pick out gifts for the girls.”
“Girls?”
“His twins.”
There’s no ignoring the way his eyes sparkle at the idea of his nieces. His shoulders drop in adoration at the same time his face tilts in fondness. Clearly, he cares about them. I wonder if that’s the family he’s super protective of or if it’s anyone he shares DNA with.
“Come to think of it,” he continues with a hint of jovialness to his tone, “I should probably grab ‘em somethin’ too. After all I am the world’s best uncle.”
I don’t bother hiding my snicker. “And so modest.”
Dusty winks. “Do you mind if I go? They’ll never forgive me if I don’t come through the door with presents. Can I meet y’all by the pool in like twenty minutes?”
“Go ahead. I’ll make sure we have a chair to cuddle in. We’ll be towards the back by the pretzel cart.”
We exchange a brief kiss before parting ways.
Locating my best friends isn’t difficult. Cordie’s wearing a neon green bikini, holding a drink in each hand, while Audrey is trying not to draw too much attention to herself in a navy two piece that barely shows her stomach. A smile crosses my lips as I approach, realizing I am the missing portion of this equation. Collectively, we cover the entire range of the personality spectrum, sporadically shifting places for brief moments. It’s probably the reason we bond so well together. We’ve developed an odd, but necessary balance. There’s always room to try on another’s stilettos without judgment…er…too much judgment. This is the little family I’ve grown to deeply care for. Sadly, more than those I share blood with.
“Well look what the shore washed up,” Cordie teases after a sip of her margarita. “Where’s your bulky half? Lost at sea?”
“We’re near the ocean,” Audrey meekly corrects.
“It was a joke not a dick, Audrey. You don’t have to take it so literal.”
My brunette best friend glances up at me with a pleading stare.
She wasn’t exaggerating about Cordie being pissy.
I drop down onto the patio chair beside Audrey. “At first I thought you were just being bitchy because your blood alcohol level was too low, but taking into consideration you have two drinks in your direct possession, that can’t possibly be true. So, spill. What’s the problem? Not enough sun? Not enough ass? What, Cordie? What?”
“Not enough you.”
Her snip catches me slightly off guard.
“You said this was gonna be a fun girl’s trip. To me that meant sharing booze, teasing men, and dancing our asses off to country music together. But no. Since the first night, you’ve kept yourself wrapped up in that redneck Romeo, leaving the two of us in your dust.” She moves the beer to her lips and has a gulp. “You’re kinda being a shitty friend.”
Culpability returns to the spotlight.
However, before I can agree and apologize for my outlandish behavior, Audrey’s shoulders square off and she snaps, “You’re being the shitty friend, Cordie.”
Both of our eyes dart to her as our jaws drop.
“Carly didn’t go searching for Dustin, they just met. And, more importantly, they weren’t looking for love, it just happened-”
“That’s not love,” Cordie grunts.
“You don’t know that!” Audrey huffs loudly. “It could be! It could not be! Either way she deserves the right to figure out!”
Still shocked at her unexpected outburst, I simply continue to stare.
“Carly hasn’t done anything wrong. She’s gone everywhere we have. She’s done everything we’ve done. We’ve been together this entire trip so far, she just happens to bring along the guy she’s seeing with her. If anything, you’re ruining this trip with all your whining and bitching about it, which I think stems from the fact the hot guy came after her instead of you.”
Cordie slowly has another sip of her frozen beverage and looks away, the bitter truth too hard to swallow without assistance.
Most signs pointed there, but I ignored them. I wanted to believe I was reading the situations wrong. Reading her wrong. Sometimes it’s painful to be able to see what it is people aren’t verbally saying.
“Can we please just try to enjoy what’s left of our trip?” The returned shyness to Audrey’s tone turns our gazes back to her.
I present her with a slow nod before tossing my question to Cordie. “Do you want me to tell Dusty not to meet me here? Do you want me to tell him to sit somewhere else for the show? That I’ll just see him later tonight at the concert?”
Cordie’s mouth drops with the clear intent to agree, but the harsh glare Audrey shoots her has her sighing instead. “No….You guys should get to enjoy your time together. But, if I can make a request, I’m asking you to turn the tonsil wars down a notch. It’d be nice to have a conversation or two without having to wait for you to pry yourself off of him.”
Ugh. I wish I could be glued to him….
Oh…definitely too horny.
“Deal.”
“Good!” Audrey exclaims. “What do you say we order a round of shots to celebrate this vacation getting back on track?”
“Um…I don’t think Cordie has any more room.”
My playfulness is met with an equally light smirk. “I’ll grow another arm. Order ‘em.”
Audrey summons a server while I busy myself with shedding my dress.
It takes longer for us to be waited on than anticipated due to the growing size of the crowd. Almost immediately after he leaves to grab our drinks from the bar, a hand unexpectedly lands on my lower back. I snap my head the direction
of the touch I don’t recognize. A male, roughly around our age, is there wearing a wolfish smirk.
I slip out of his unwanted touch and down onto the edge of Audrey’s chair.
“Good afternoon sexy,” he poorly flirts.
“It was until you arrived,” Cordie bites.
He offers her a sleazy wink that churns my stomach. “I’m here to make it better, baby.”
And there’s the word used the way I hate.
Cordie tosses him a vicious glare. “Doubtful.”
The stranger lets his stare drop back down to me. “You look smokin’ in that suit. What’s your name?”
“Not interested.” I tilt my head condescendingly to the side. “That’s my first and last name.”
He chuckles at my retort yet doesn’t take the hint. “Nice to meet you. Name’s Damon. But play your cards right and you can call me something else all night long.”
The three of us gag in unison.
What I found disheartening is there are a large number of single men who behave this way. And I know not everyone can afford training from a professional, just like I know not everyone can read all of a person’s nonverbal cues. However, some shit slaps you in the face before it…well…slaps you in the face. Which is where this is quickly headed.
My expression hardens. “Did you have your thirteen year old cousin write that pick up line, or did you just Google ‘easiest ways to offend women with an average IQ or higher’?”
“Give me a chance, and I’ll show you something about me that isn’t average. It’s much higher.”
“Again, doubtful,” Cordie cackles.
Add this to the list of reasons I prefer a controlled environment for dating. Men with too much ego and too little substance putting on a performance that impresses no one gives me a headache. Sure, he’d be considered mildly attractive to most women, with dark hair and a muscular runner’s build. Sadly, that’s where his tolerable qualities stop. He’s like scenery that, unfortunately, learned to talk.
I firmly state once more, “Not. Interested.”
