The Blind Date

Or they could go totally awry. Here, in messages, I can control what I say, what impression Rachel has of me. She thinks I’m sweet, for fuck’s sake! If we meet in person, she’ll know the truth. That I lied about my name and motives, that I’m a workaholic who buries himself in statistics and dollars because I refuse to go back to where I came from, and mostly, that I’m an asshole to everyone but her.

I can’t take it anymore.

M: Too soon?

I’m torn between wanting her to say yes, it’s too soon so we can continue the way we are and no, it’s not too soon so I can find out more about this woman who’s filling my thoughts every day and night.

R: Yes. No. I mean . . . yes, I want to meet and no, it’s not too soon.

Holy shit! I was worried for a second there! Immediately, that thought is followed by, Oh, shit, she wants to meet. What if I don’t like her? What if she doesn’t like me?

Deep breath, Noah. I’m sure after this past week, even if there’s no romantic spark, we can have a nice time and remain friends. I have to trust the AI on this one.

M: I haven’t been this nervous since my first date in high school.

R: Me too! This whole blind date thing is really a trip. But you’re unlike anyone I’ve met before.

M: You don’t even know what I look like yet. I could look like Jabba the Hutt for all you know.

R: I seriously doubt you do, but even Jabba must have had some positive qualities. If anything, he had wicked taste in bikinis.

M: You’re evil for that one.

R: Have any specific place in mind?

I think furiously. I was so nervous about just asking her that I didn’t even think about where and when and how.

M: How about tomorrow afternoon at the Alex Lighthouse bookstore? That way, you’ve got a big public space for safety.

R: And they’ve got that kickass cafe. Five thirty?

M: Perfect. I think I’m going to skip story time tonight in favor of a cold shower.

R: I think I’m going to go for a bubble bath before bed. And before you start thinking that sounds sexy, I’ll have a charcoal mask on my face, cucumber slices on my eyes, and scrub on my lips. I’ve got a hot date I want to impress.

M: Guess I’ll have to brush my teeth then too. G’night.

R: G’night.

I take a shower and do a bit more work to calm down my jittery nerves. Still, as I lie down and try and get some sleep, it’s thoughts of Rachel and the stirrings she’s causing me to feel in my chest, in my brain, and yes, in my still half-hard cock, that are on my mind.

Suddenly, my phone dings . . . it’s her.

R: One last goodnight. You’ve been on my mind while I took my bath. How will I recognize you and you recognize me?

M: I’ll wear a blue tie.

R: I’ll wear a blue dress since it’ll look good with my hair. See you tomorrow.

Chapter 7

Riley

I’m nowhere near ‘big time’ as far as influencers go. In fact, sponsored posts make up less than a third of my monthly income. I still have to earn my money the old-fashioned way, driving traffic to my social media and getting percentage kickbacks on views, likes, and shares. But with my followers growing, that could change. More sponsorships—carefully cultivated ones, of course—can add name recognition to an online personality, leading new followers to a page like ants to a cake at a picnic.

Like this makeup from Joroast Cosmetics. All-organic, animal friendly . . . and so luscious and pretty that as I touch up my eyelashes, I feel sexy and feminine, exactly what I want to feel today.

And I need it. Because as excited as I am about meeting Mark for the first time in person, I’m also nervous.

What if I don’t meet his expectations?

What if he doesn’t meet mine?

What if he’s a psycho killer who’s going to leave my dead body by the river?

“Well, if that’s the case,” I tell my reflection as I cap my mascara and go hunting for the right shade of lipstick, “at least I’m going to be one fabulous looking corpse. What do you think, Raffy?”

Raffy, who has been perched on my queen-sized bed this whole time, watches me intently, probably wondering what I’m doing. He doesn’t even pick his head up from his fluffy paws, but he knows when a reaction is expected and gives me a half-hearted “Rowf!”

“Thanks, but I would like a few more details than that,” I tease, going over to rub behind his ears. “You think I’m pretty, don’t you, boy?”

Raffy affirms for me that yes, I do look cute and that yes, if I do end up abandoned on the bank of the river, his life’s never going to be the same. Most likely because nobody will baby him the way I do.