by Meghan Quinn
“That’s really sweet. And your family, are they all in Philadelphia?”
“Scranton, Pennsylvania, actually. I grew up a little north from there in a town called Binghamton in upstate New York, but my parents moved to be closer to family when I graduated from high school and went off to college.”
“Oh man, they must have been so upset when you were traded.”
“Yeah, you could say that, but now my mom is ready to spend her winter in California. My dad on the other hand, is a winter man through and through. He’s the guy who will go up and down the neighborhood street, snowplowing everyone’s driveway because he enjoys it.”
“God, that sounds like my worst nightmare.”
“It’s my dad’s dream.” Hayden chuckles. “Especially after I bought him the cream-of-the-crop snowplow. You know how some guys wax their cars? My dad waxes his snowplow. It’s ridiculous.”
My voice grows bubbly when I say, “I think I would like your dad. He sounds like a dedicated fellow.”
“You can say that. He’s a good guy. Cried when I flew out here. We have a special bond.”
“Was he the one who took you to all your hockey games?”
“Both my parents did, but my dad was the one who strapped pillows all around his body and stood in front of a goal so I could practice my shooting.”
A giggle pops out of my mouth as I shake my head. “He did not.”
Hayden nods. “He so did. My mom has so many pictures of my dad standing in the goal, pillows everywhere. He’s a big guy so he blocked most of the goal. I had to try to get around him.”
“And that’s why your shot is so precise.”
“Yep, all thanks to my dad.”
I lean on the rail and turn toward him, a tilt to my head. “That’s a really cute story. It’s always a beautiful thing when someone has such a good relationship with their family.”
“They’re the best.” His eyes wander to me, curiosity lacing his features. “What about you? Do you have a good relationship with your family?”
Good, yes. Annoying . . . at times, especially when . . .
“Oh my God,” I say, realization hitting me.
“What?”
I press my hand against my head. “I have a good relationship with my family, especially my brother, Alex. My brother who’s going to freak the eff out if I tell him I went out with you.”
“Ah,” Hayden answers knowingly.
“I mean freak OUT.” I press my hand on Hayden’s forearm, his sinewy tendons flexing beneath my palm. “Like, he might camp out in front of my house and follow me around, waiting for me to meet up with you. When I told him about our interview, he was practically bouncing his leg up and down like a dog. I’m afraid to say it, but he might be in love with you.”
Hayden raises an eyebrow at me. “Is that so? Well”—he fluffs the collar of his shirt—“I might just have to meet him. Look out, Noely, seems like you have competition.”
Chuckling, I say, “Have at it. But I must warn you, Alex is married, has a kid, a beer gut, and likes to spend Friday nights watching specials on the National Geographic channel.”
“My kind of man,” Hayden retorts wistfully.
***
I take another sip of my hot chocolate and snuggle into the blanket draped over my lap. We pulled two lounge chairs together, pushed them to the railing of the deck, made some hot chocolate, and are now sharing a blanket while staring at the stars and listening to the ocean crash into the cliffs below us.
“What was the one thing you wanted so badly for Christmas as a kid but never got?” Hayden asks, his foot brushing up against mine.
As I get to know him, it’s clear that what makes him an assertive and aggressive forward on the ice, isn’t part of his resting temperament. He’s quite . . . calm, and even though I think he’s attracted to me, he’s subtle in how he shows it. A glance here and there, a light touch on occasion, yet that’s all I need to become hot and bothered by this mammoth of a man. I feel like such a hussy. Three men have caused this type of reaction in me during the last few weeks. With Hayden, despite his indirect way of showing me he’s interested, it’s the way his body moves toward mine, the way his eyes rake over me from head to toe, and the way his voice turns sultry when we speak of anything sexual.
Trying not to be distracted by his cologne—why is it men’s cologne smell so yummy—I take a moment to think about his question. “Besides the obvious real-life unicorn?”
“Obviously.” He laughs.
“Hmm . . . honestly, I can’t really think of anything. My parents were always pretty cool about getting us presents at Christmas. Although, when I was older, my brother, Alex, left for college and they decided to go all out. They bought him a brand new laptop and mattress. I got a comforter that Christmas. When I went to college, my new laptop—refurbished actually—was a birthday and graduation present. What kind of crap is that?”
“Wow, that is kind of crappy.” He smirks. “It’s one thing to give someone a mattress and computer for Christmas, but to make you combine presents, that’s just outrageous.”
“Tell me about it. Alex is a great accountant now, and he says it’s because he slept well during college, and he had a trusty computer by his side. He never misses a chance to rub it in my face.”
“Ha, sounds like my brothers.”
“Ah yes, you have two younger brothers, right?”
“Yep, both play hockey, both annoying.”
“Why do I feel like I should know this?”
“Your stalking abilities are slacking.”
“They are.” I turn in my lounge and curl my knees up to my chest. “So what about you? Was there anything you wanted for Christmas you never got?”
Casually, as if it’s second nature, Hayden presses his head against the lounge and places his hand on my blanket-covered knee, his thumb very slowly running back and forth. Oh sweet Jesus, I wish there was no blanket right about now. Would it be weird if I yanked the blanket out from over me, like a tablecloth, hoping it doesn’t disturb Hayden’s fingers? Maybe if I held up my finger and said, “Would you mind doing the touching under the blanket?” Too upfront? A little brazen?
Possibly.
But for the love of tiny orgasms, Hayden Holmes is caressing my knee—albeit over a blanket—but he’s touching me, sweetly touching me. I can hear the trumpets sound: he’s making his first move.
Now, you’re probably thinking I’m kind of a slut here. Three blind dates. Three hot men. Three different, yet incredible panty-melting moments where I’ve been ready to throw away my long-held boundary of only having sex within a relationship. But I can assure you, this is not normally me. And I’m not sure if it’s because I have gone to these dates expecting they’re my emotional match—as per the app and program—that’s caused a more instant desire for a sexual match. It could be the fourteen-month dry spell, but I’m not convinced. However, whatever the reason, it’s as though my girly parts have been buried below my subconscious and in the presence of three gorgeous specimens of men, she is popping up and saying, “Yes! I’m still here! Engage! Engage! Rid me of my cobwebs. Please!” Well, that’s what I can hear, anyway . . .
Clearly, I need to contain my raging hormones and refrain from pelvic thrusting in his face while biting down on my lower lip.
“Are you ready for this, I think I’m about to blow your mind.”
“Ooo, am I about to get some juicy dirt about your elementary years?”
“Yep and this goes in the vault, got it?”
“Sooooo no broadcasting this on my morning show about the hot new hockey player the Quakes just acquired?”
“Hot, huh?” I roll my eyes, causing him to laugh. “Yeah, this is not morning show material.”
“Got it.” I zip up my mouth. “Your secret is safe with me.”
“All right, so do you remember when we were younger, how toe socks were all the rage?”
I squint my eyes, trying to understand where he’s goin
g with his. “Uh, I remember they were all the rage for girls.”
He nods, his lips turn up, and his strong neck exposed to the midnight sky. “Well, I wanted a pair so bad, like it was all I asked for. I just wanted toe socks.”
“Why on earth would that be something you wanted?”
“My cousin let me wear hers one day and I couldn’t get over how they made my feet look. I mean, they were socks conformed to each individual toe. Hell, it was blissful wearing those things.”
“Oh my God.” I snicker.
“Laugh all you want, but those were the shit back then. Unfortunately, they didn’t make them in colors I could pull off—”
“Like pink?”
He shakes his head. “Not at such a young age. Plus, my feet were too big at that point. I nearly tore my cousin’s socks.”
“What a sad, self-deprecating story you chose to tell me.”
Turning toward me, his eyes bounce between mine as he pushes a stray hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my face, grazing my jaw. My breathing immediately starts to pick up from his simple touch, from the way he’s looking at me, so steady, so heavy with curiosity.
Slowly, his thumb pads across my bottom lip, pulling on it ever so slowly and releasing before I can think much of the touch. When his hand starts to glide down the small column of my neck, he says, “Thought I should tell you a story that shows you I’m not perfect, even though I like to think I am.”
Gaining a little courage, wanting to push him further since he turned the heat up between us, I say, “I knew you weren’t perfect, or else you would have kissed me by now.”
A slow, lazy smirk spreads across his mouth. There goes taking things slow . . .
“Not because I didn’t want to.” He leans in and kisses my forehead. “I’m going to get going. Mind if I use your bathroom before I go?”
“No. Of course not. Second door on the left down the hallway.”
“Okay. Thanks.” He then pops up, well, as much as someone as hulky as Hayden Holmes can pop up, and heads inside. It’s not really what I expected, but weirdly, I think I’m okay with that.
After folding the blanket and collecting our cups, I head to the kitchen.
“Sorry, Noely, I should have done that,” he says as he points to the cups. His momma raised him well.
“It’s all good.”
He grabs his jacket off the couch and I meet him at the front door. Turning toward me, he keeps my hand in one of his and cups my cheek with the other. “You’re beautiful, Noely, and I have really enjoyed our date. Here’s what I’m thinking. You are someone I’m very comfortable with. In fact, I’m surprised how in sync we are. That could be the success of the Going in Blind app, or it could be just us. I’m going with the latter.” I am trying so hard to concentrate on his words, but the look in his eyes is mesmerizing. Sincerity. When he strokes my cheek again, it almost brings tears to my eyes. He is so tender with me, and I actually feel . . . cherished. I want to agree with him. I think it is us, but he hasn’t finished.
“I am looking for someone in my life long-term, like you are, and from how good tonight has felt, I want to give us a go. You mentioned how things were too physical, too fast with your date before me, so I want you to know I’m conscious of that. I want to build a base with you, Noely.”
My eyes search his, true sincerity ringing through them. Never in a million years would I have thought Hayden was such a sensitive man. I thought an alpha male takes what he wants all the way, kind of like Jack, but instead, he’s sweet, charming, and considerate.
Slow is what I wanted; so slow is what I’ll take.
Reaching around me, Hayden pulls me into his chest, his chin resting on the top of my head. “When I was in Pennsylvania, I was in a brief relationship. I saw what it was like, the handholding, late-night phone calls, and early morning texts. It was nice, especially after feeling so lonely on the road. It was so fucking nice. You asked me why I joined the program, and there is my answer. I want long-term, the family like the one I came from. I want to build something strong, something to last forever, just like you. So what do you think?”
Even though I desperately want him to kiss me, to maybe stick his hand up my shirt and do a little fondling—thank you, hormones—what I want more is a forever, so I nod into his chest. “That sounds perfect to me.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
NOELY
Noely,
I swiped yes to a second date. Your pretty little ass better say yes also. I didn’t like any of their second date options, so I clicked on other. I have an idea, if you’re up for it.
#1 Rookie of your Heart < - - Was that lame?
Hayden,
Oh God, I snorted so hard. #1 Rookie of my heart is very cornball, but I also love it. Sometimes a little cornball in a man is what wins me over. But don’t go overboard. *Points finger at you*
Of course I swiped yes for a second date. And you didn’t like the options? Bowling not your thing? What’s your idea? I’m up for anything.
Noely
Noely,
I’ve got plenty of cornball to win you over. Remember toe socks? But I will be sure to even it out so you’re not bombarded.
As for the date, I remember having a little conversation with you about You’ve Got Mail. If the offer still stands, I’d be willing to watch it with you, but I have some conditions.
#1 Cornball
Hayden,
Spreading the cornball out is a very good idea. Don’t lay it on too thick, but throw some my way every now and then.
And you want to watch You’ve Got Mail? *Jumps up and down, flails arms* You just made my night. I’m game, but I have to ask, what are your conditions?
Noely
Noely,
I kind of wish I got to see your little excited jig. Maybe I can get a replay on our next date?
And my conditions are simple. I demand the following: a good blanket, a quality cuddle, and cheddar/caramel popcorn. Do you think you can deliver?
#1 Cuddler
Hayden,
Number one cuddler, huh? That’s kind of bold of you, don’t you think? You better live up to the hype, mister.
Cheddar/caramel popcorn, done. And I’m the queen of comfortable blankets. Your conditions are barely conditions. How about I add one? Tacos from Mehi’s Taco Shop. Pick them up on your way over. Ten should do.
And that jig . . . only if you’re lucky.
Noely
Noely,
Ten tacos? Are you insane? Twenty at least for two people, but since I’m supposed to be eating healthily, I’m going to go with fifteen. I’m going to assume you’re not a savage and you’re implying the original taco and that’s it.
#1 Taco Consumer
Hayden,
Oh boy, are you in for a show. *Cracks knuckles* I’m going to show you how to eat tacos. Get twenty, I will house you and your popcorn. And of course original. Mehi shouldn’t even have any other options other than that.
I’ll grab the popcorn and supply the venue and blankets. You bring the tacos. Can’t wait.
Noely
***
“I’ve got to go.”
“Why won’t you just tell me? Come on, Noely.”
I let out a long, frustrated breath and count to ten . . . slowly.
The one time my brother catches the morning show, he tunes in just at the time I start talking about my date with The Jock, aka Hayden. It was the first time I told Dylan about the news too, so on air of course, she was drilling me with questions, as if we were in the makeup room together. It was rather uncomfortable, slightly invasive, but luckily I held my own, kept Hayden’s identity a secret, and didn’t divulge too many details, including the night’s whiskey consumption.
When the show was over, oh boy, did I hear it from Dylan. Apparently she doesn’t like to be surprised on air, and hearing about my date while the cameras were on was unacceptable to her. I spent the next two hours, even during our training session, apologi
zing and catching her up on everything . . . in great detail.
And just when I thought the questioning was done, Alex called.
“I won’t be able to sleep. Is that what you want? For me not to sleep? Don’t think about me. Think about what the lack of sleep in me will do to Lauren and Chloe. You know I’m a beast when it comes to sleep. Don’t make me be a beast to my wife and child, my innocent child.”
“Alex, this is a new low for you, you know that?” I light a few candles around my living room. Nothing extravagant just a few to set the mood.
“You’re being unfair and nasty. So nasty to me. I . . . I”—he starts to stutter, his words sounding heavy—“I just might”—sniff—“cry.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Alex. I know when you’re fake crying.”
“Come onnnnnnnn. Noely, please for the love of God just tell me who the athlete is. Be a pal, a true sibling, do a guy a favor.”
“What have you ever done for me?” I flop myself on my couch, enjoying torturing my brother way too much.
“Uh, it’s called the five-year-old that likes to walk in on me while I’m doing my morning business. That’s what I did for you. I gave you a niece.”
“Nuh-uh, don’t give me that crap. You made your deposit in Lauren and she gave me my niece. You can’t jump on her guilt trip and call it your own.”
He huffs. “Fine. Uh . . .” I hear a snap of his fingers. “Oh, I know.”
“You don’t know.”
“Ohhh”—he laughs—“I so fucking know.” Pausing, most likely for suspense—such a tool—he clears his throat. “Your freshman year, first semester, Alpha Nu’s frat party—”
“Fine!” I will not allow him to go into the details of that drunken night and how he had to rescue me from a balcony half-naked . . . not my finest moment.
“Ha, knew I could get you to spill the beans.”
“Yeah, whatever, but that’s the last time you can use that against me. Do you understand?”
“Consider it used, now tell me who it is.” I swear Alex could be a teenage girl right now, pigtails bouncing in the air as he excitedly waits for the details about my date. There are times in his life when he has absolutely no self-respect . . . or no nut sac for that matter.
