The Blind Date

“Whoa there, little fella,” I tell him, smiling as I hold my hands up and give him my friendliest look. “I promise, I’m a good guy. Or are you always this testy with new people?”

“Don’t mind him, he’s just suspicious,” Riley explains, and I suspect the dog’s not the only one. “Raffy, it’s okay!”

“He’s being protective. That’s a good thing,” I reply as calmly as I can, squatting down. I throw my voice to a higher octave, trying to sound like a nice, safe guy that the dog doesn’t need to worry about. “Hi, Raffy. You want a belly rub?”

That must be one of his magic words because he starts shaking his butt side to side so hard he almost flops over, and I get a little chin tickle in before he drops to the floor, offering his soft belly. I give him the promised scratches.

“You made a friend,” Riley says flatly, and I get to look up at her for the first time.

Maybe I’m actually seeing her for the first time. She’s wearing fluffy yellow socks, shorts, and an oversized T-shirt. She definitely didn’t dress up for me to come over, and for some reason, I like that.

This is the real Riley, not what she puts on her feed. Because I have to admit that while sitting in front of the TV tonight, I looked up Riley and her feed. Riley Sunshine, sunny social media personality, is a very real thing. But not as real as the Riley in front of me right now, the one curled up in the corner of her sofa to get as far away from me as possible, guzzling her beer for some liquid courage and shoving tacos in her mouth at an alarming rate. I suspect it’s to keep her from saying something she’ll regret.

About the only thing that’s the same between the two personas are the yellow socks. Which are fucking sexy as hell, just coming up to the bottom of her calves. I’m a bit of a ‘leg man’, and Riley’s calves are about the sexiest things I’ve seen.

In my jeans, I feel a tingle that reminds me that I really should sit down.

“Cute dog,” I admit as I get up and make my way over to the sofa and sit down at the other end to give her some space. Raffy follows me with his butt still wiggling. “Although you should probably get another if you’re depending on him to be your security system. I suspect he’d let a robber steal you blind for a cube of cheese.”

Riley blinks, then shrugs quietly. “Pretty much.”

I reach into the bag of tacos, pulling one out before Riley eats them all. Not that I’d mind. I’d bring her tacos every night if it got me a chance to explain and apologize.

“You didn’t come here to talk about my dog.”

“You’re right. I came here to talk about what happened . . . and our chats.”

Riley swallows thickly. “You’re part of the development team for BlindDate. Arielle mentioned it when she got me to sign up, but I didn’t think you’d be . . . on it.”

“Well, I made an account to do some research. I didn’t intend to date.”

“That makes sense . . .” she says with a small nod.

Thank God that went over fairly easily because I was worried about that part. Hell, I worried about everything at this point, and the lack of control and not knowing what to expect is killing me.

“Why did you respond, then?” Riley asks.

It’s a hell of a question, one that I’ve asked myself a few times over the past week.

The only real answer is the truth. “I don’t know, I thought what the hell? Maybe I was secretly hoping I could find someone. And then when you messaged me . . . what you said piqued my interest. And our percentage match, I couldn’t ignore it.” I look her way, but she’s studiously ignoring my gaze, staring so intently at her taco that she could be counting the strands of cheese. “And then we started talking, and it was like finding someone I’ve been looking for all my life. I woke up every morning wondering what ‘Rachel’ was doing. Whether she slept well. She added a smile to my face, and she made each day better. I went to sleep dreaming of her . . . of you. I couldn’t stop thinking of you.”

I wanted to be honest, but damn, that’s a level of honesty I didn’t think I was ready for.

Riley’s eyes lift finally, and she stares at me, her taco momentarily forgotten. Bits of cheese sprinkle out, and from his spot beneath the coffee table, Raffy watches for something to drop, eager for a treat. Slowly, Riley sets her taco down, seeming to collect her thoughts even as she loses more cheese. “That was . . . that was maybe the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”