5
Meetups and Downs
“Shit, I’m starving. I could eat for days,” Keaton says, as I pull into the parking lot of Sip Club, the bar we told my brother, Rory, we’d meet him at for dinner and drinks to discuss plans for his upcoming stag. His wedding is in January, so it’s crunch time, being halfway into November.
“Me too. Tell me again why I decided to become a principal? Reading a billion fucking report cards sucks. I need a night out,” I say.
“There’s still time to become that detective we talked about months ago. I still think you’d be good at it,” he says without missing a beat as we walk toward the bar.
“Nah, then I’d miss seeing your sister every day.”
“Speaking of you two, any wedding bells in your future?” He punches my shoulder while I hold the door open.
“Not yet,” I laugh, “we’re still on opposing teams, but I’ve almost got her where I want her.”
“Always harassing and messin’ with her, eh?”
“It’s too much fun to quit. She’s easy to rile up,” I tell him truthfully, because Eastlyn Hatfield pissed off and feisty is a hell of a lot of fun, and one of the hottest sights I have ever seen.
“Oh yeah? I heard her bitching about you to my mom the other night,” he shares, and I laugh.
“I can only imagine. And what did your mom say?” The last thing I want is Katie pissed off at me for upsetting her daughter. Luckily, I’m pretty positive she’s on my side, and knows my feelings for East.
“Are you kidding? She took your side. Apparently you pissed Eastlyn off in some meeting about her plans for the year-end Grade Eight Québec trip she’s starting to plan. I guess it was something about some dude? Mom told her she was happy you were looking out for her, made East all kinds of growly.”
“I sure did. Man, was she mad at me—what a fire-breathing dragon. I just told her if she needed any parent volunteers for the trip, in no way was Neil Foley to go.”
“Jesus, that poor bastard still sniffing around?”
“Exactly. The guy’s relentless. He calls at least two times a week trying to get Bev to put him through to Eastlyn. I’ve told Bev she’s to take a message. Always. I know it pissed Eastlyn off, but that guy is bad news. He looks at your sister like she’s a piece of meat,” I admit, and he grins at me.
“And you don’t?” He raises his brows.
“Yeah, sure. I do, too, except I look at her like she’s a morsel of decadent chocolate that I can’t wait to sink my teeth into.”
“Fuck, Coy. Gross…go easy, man. That’s my sister,” he scolds, shaking his head, and it causes me to bark out a laugh.
“As if you don’t give the same exact look to Kami,” I scoff.
“Again. Not talking about her and me, not sure why you people don’t get that. We’re friends.”
“Right. ’Cause there’s nothing to discuss beyond the scope of friendship where Kam is concerned. Got it.” I roll my eyes to drive home the point before I resume scanning the bar for my older brother. That shit is actually late.
“I think I liked it better when you lived five hours away,” Keaton jokes, as I reach into my pocket for my phone. I’m looking at an incoming text when suddenly I walk right into Keaton’s back.
“The hell?” I hear him question, before I can ask the same and give him shit for stopping in the middle of the entrance.
“The hell?” I say.
“Exactly,” he grits. “What the hell are the girls doing here? And what the fuck is Kami wearing?”
Kami?
All I see is Eastlyn.
Motherfuck, she’s beautiful. Standing in the centre of the bar at one of the high-top tables, she’s completely unaware of the commotion she’s causing by simply being there. Not only is my attention on her, but almost every other hot-blooded asshole in the joint with a pulse has noticed her. But for me, it isn’t just her beauty that draws me like a moth to her astounding flame—unlike those other assholes. For me, it’s her captivating smile, the way she tilts her head back in laughter, the honeyed tone of her voice, the kindness of her heart, the beauty of her soul, the sass she gives me, and the way she makes me feel. As far as I’m concerned, Eastlyn Hatfield can draw me in and keep me fluttering about until I burn, because I know once I have her, I hope like fuck she never lets me go. Those are the things I see and the feelings I can’t avoid when I look at her.
Until my eyes land on her shoes that is.
Red fuck-me heels.
And, fuck me, are they sexy. They highlight her toned calves, her legs showcased in a pair of tight black pants, ones that draw my focus from her sexy stems to her perfect ass. She’s the total package, reminding me how much I want to feel those legs wrapped around me while I cup her sweet ass and hoist her up onto my cock so I can slam into her over and over again, while she screams my name out in pure ecstasy…
“Welcome to Meetups Speed Dating,” a sleazy-looking guy—rocking a comb-over and wearing the worst John Travolta shirt from the Seventies that I have ever seen—says over the speaker system. “Before we begin, I want to thank Sip Club for hosting us tonight. Now…let’s meet up!” My attention is drawn back to Keaton, and a tirade I’ve missed the first half of.
“…did he fucking say ‘speed dating’? No way the girls are doing this shit,” Keaton huffs, taking a step in their direction, clearly not amused, especially when we see Kami and Eastlyn grabbing their stuff off the stools near where they have been standing.
“Can all the ladies please follow Bruce into the other room, please? He’ll explain the name of the game. Guys, register over here with Kelly, where she’ll also explain how things work. We’re almost ready to find y’all some lurrrrve,” the jackass brays over the mic. My eyes narrow; my desire to smack him upside the head increases tenfold. Too bad I’m not a Neanderthal, even though it seems I’d take on that role for her.
“What the fuck did that asshole say?” I hiss at Keaton. “‘Find love’? Your sister went in that room.” I cock my head, ready to storm over and pick up my Sprinkles, with every intention of taking her home so I can fuck some sense into her. Of course, this is all my fault and I realize this. I’ve been messing with her emotions since I got back. I know I need to finally come clean and lay my cards out in front of her, officially ask her to be mine. Yet, fucking with her and being on the receiving end of her sass and her anger gets me off unlike anything I’ve experienced before. Just a little while longer, I promise myself, trying to rid myself of the thought of marching her out of here, straight into my bed.
“Looks like they’re here for this,” Keat says, shaking his head. My phone goes off and I figure it’s just Rory, so I ignore it. He’ll either show eventually, or bail. Either way, I couldn’t care less right now.
“They’d better fucking not be,” I hiss, taking another purposeful step as the girls disappear into the other room.
“Coy,” Keaton warns, as if reading my thoughts.
“What? You got a better idea?”
“Sure do.” He smiles like an asshole.
“What’s better than grab-and-go?” I challenge.
“Come on. We gotta go see Kelly about some girls. It’s time to register,” he winks, moving towards the herd of guys, ones who look way too fucking eager to sit across from what’s mine, or what will be.
*
Thankfully, Kam and East haven’t noticed us yet from where they’re sitting at the far end of the tables, side by side in seats eleven and twelve. Four five-minute dates in, and I’m already squirrelly and bored. I need these dates over with. Whoever invented this shit needs a smack upside the head. What can you possibly learn of value about another person in only five minutes?
And who would have thought speed daters would be so bloody aggressive in their pursuit of a mate? Sure, I might be exaggerating—not all speed daters, perhaps, but certainly the ones here tonight. So far, with the four dates I’ve had, I’ve been offered not only a blow job in the back alley at break by one girl, but also a home-cooked meal this Sunday if I agreed to come over to meet the family and pretend to be Gretchen’s fiancé.
I politely declined both offers.
“Eight more, dude. You can do this. Keep calm,” Keaton whispers, trying to placate me, having noticed my clenched jaw (and tight fists under the table) from where he’s sitting one chair ahead of me.
“Easier said than done, eh, brother?” I mock, jutting my chin at his own balled-up fists resting on the smooth wooden tabletop, where he’s currently on a five-minute speed date with some redhead who’s been trying to convince him to ditch out with her for the last three minutes.
“Reverse cowgirl or titty-view?” Blondie across from me—I think her name is Shell, or maybe the last one was Shell, and this is Mel?—asks without any qualms, followed by a horrendous giggle that I’m sure is meant to be cute.
“That’s a little personal for a first date, don’t you think?” I chuckle, trying not be a complete jerk.
“Well, it’s an important question. I mean, after all, I’m here to get laid in the end,” she quips, and I have to hand it to her, at least she’s honest. And has a point. Most of these people are, from the sounds of the conversations taking place around us, indeed looking for action and not necessarily “lurrrve” like Travolta said.
“Trimmed or clean-shaven?” she asks, clearly not getting it.
“That’s also nothing you need to worry about. Next question,” I retort with a bit of a bite, pissed off by her nerve, and even more so at hearing an impossible-to-ignore, happy-as-fuck, Eastlyn-original laugh; my favourite of her laughs. It’s the one where I know if I were to look, I’d see her cheeks a little flushed, her head tipped back, and her eyes twinkling while a huge smile graces her gorgeous face. Being the glutton for punishment that I am, I turn my head to seek her out, needing to know which of these assholes has her giving him my laugh. My eyes spy a longhaired blonde surfer type, complete with a loud, Hawaiian-themed shirt. I relax a bit, knowing that although he may be funny, he’s not her type. I can’t deny, though, hearing her laughing with some of these dates is making me feral.
Eight more fucking dates.
Forty more torturous minutes…
Date seven: “Do you feel bad when you step on a snail?”
Me: “I’m not sure, I’ve never thought about it.” We spend the rest of the time in awkward, idle chitchat.
God, this is painful…
“Time.”
Date six: “If you were Waldo, where would you hide?”
Me: “In a book?” I ask, shrugging my shoulders, waiting for her to laugh and tell me it was a joke.
I’m being Punk’d, right?
“Time.”
Date five: “Right side or left side of the bed?”
Me: “Middle.”
Date five: “Yay, I love spooning,” she beams, like I just invited her into my bed.
Deep, deep breath.
“Time.”
Speed dating is shit. Clearing my throat, I can’t help but laugh at the speed in which Michaela, date number four, spits out so many questions I don’t even get a chance to answer.
“What’s your favourite colour?”
…
“The band you’d love to eat with?”
…
“Peanut butter or jelly? Gun to the head question.”
…
My head is spinning and she goes on, like she’s actually gone ahead and shot me.
“How often do you do your laundry?”
…
“Do you know who TotalBiscuit is?”
…
“Gryffindor or Ravenclaw?”
…
“How many kids would we have?”
I’m going to lose my composure.
I’m going to lose my mind.
I’m going to write a goddamn book full of useful speed dating questions. Maybe I’ll make enough money to retire, get a huge boat, and sail around the world with a bikini-clad Eastlyn.
“Time,” Travolta calls again. I simply offer a nod and move along to the next table. I don’t write down any names. I don’t look back. I just keep moving along. Who knew twelve dates would be so fucking exhausting?
It isn’t until Keaton and I drop into chairs in front of the tables nearest Kami—making her gasp—that we’re made. Both her and Eastlyn’s attentions land upon us, as Kami frantically pokes Eastlyn’s thigh under the tabletop.
“Excuse me, you’re on a date with me, you know,” my newest date snarls, pulling my attention away.
“Right, yes, sorry. Hey, I’m Coy.”
Eyes wide, Eastlyn and Kami both look like deer caught in headlights as they sit, a little stunned, trying to get through their dates with Keaton and me sitting so close.
Longest five minutes of my life.
“Time. Two more dates, lovers. Make ’em count.”
Oh, I fucking intend to…
“Coy?” Eastlyn’s surprised voice catches in her throat, and I can’t hide the huge smile it brings to my lips when I jump ahead of Keaton to get to her table. “What the heck are you guys doing here?” she asks, crossing her arms and pushing up those plump tits of hers. My eyes track the movement, and I see her eyes flare. She fucking likes me looking as much as I like to look.
“I could ask you the same thing,” I respond, putting my elbows on the table, my gaze melding with hers.
“Kami and I came for a night out. We could both use a good fu—”
“Stop,” I say, raising my hand to halt her, my voice more commanding than I planned. But there’s no way in hell that I will entertain the idea that this beautiful woman is here looking for a good fuck. Not when I’m more than willing to give her exactly what she needs, and more.
“Baby, if you need—”
I never get my offer out. There’s a commotion beside us. Suddenly, Kami is standing, looming over a visibly pissed-off and—by the looks of it—hurt Keaton. With a finger pointed in his face, she leans in and whispers one last thing before bolting out the entrance doors.
“Shit.” Eastlyn slips out of the booth. “Kami!” she calls, but it’s no use, she’s gone.
“What did you do?” she snaps, spinning around to Keaton and pinning him with a heated stare.
“Nothing. She’s in a mood,” he says, and averts his eyes, clearly more upset than I’d first realized.
“You’re a real dick sometimes, Keaton. You better not have said something to hurt her. This is why I stand in your way. This right here. You better not have given her shit for being here. We just came for a good, fun night. Not for fucking!” she says, and I know that was also for my ears. “We didn’t invite you guys to this, remember?” She spins around to face me, and I’m expecting a shitstorm. Instead, I get a look of disappointment and a gentle grab of my arm. “I’m sorry, I have to…I have to go, Coy.”
“Go. See about your girl. We’ll talk later,” I say, offering her a reassuring smile.
“I think I’d like that,” she says, before brushing past me and out the door.
Despite the speed dating being a complete disaster with ridiculous questions—and Keaton and Kami being…well, Keaton and Kami—I’d say tonight was a bit of progress. For Eastlyn and me, anyway.