Chapter Twenty-Two

NOELY

“Miss Clark, how lovely to see you.” I fidget in my skinny jeans and heels as Veronica greets me . . . once again.

Okay, so I might have been gung-ho about date number three, but I’m not so excited about seeing Going In Blind’s employees. Don’t they want to take a night off? Maybe go run an errand while I check in? I glance over at the bar, and yep, Danny is over there, smiling at me.

Crap.

With a heavy sigh, I say, “Hi, Veronica. I have a date with IceBiscuit tonight.”

“Yes, we have you right here.” Veronica’s annoyingly charming smile lights up the entryway of the restaurant. Is she judging me? Does she think I’m difficult? I sure as hell hope not.

I’m a pleasant lady with a sassy demeanor, adventurous spirit, and big mouth . . . on occasion.

“Your date hasn’t arrived just yet, but if you’d like me to show you to the bar, I’m more than happy to.”

“I’m good.” I put up my hand. “I’m familiar with the bar already, but thank you.” For good humor, I give Veronica a wink and waltz myself toward the direction of the bar.

No surprise, I beat my date again. The downside of always being early.

What will I order this time? A margarita? I’m feeling a little spicy and bitter tonight, a little lackluster. Maybe not as desirable as usual.

Maybe it’s because I dressed like a peasant tonight.

Well, not really a peasant, but I had no drive to make myself irresistible. Instead, I threw on a pair of grey skinny jeans, a black turtleneck—yes, turtleneck—graced my neck with a statement necklace, put my hair up in a tight knot on the top of my head, and called it a day. I didn’t even shave my legs so you and I both know, there is no way in hell this date is going anywhere near humping surfaces.

The only thing that’s really spicing up my outfit is the bright red lipstick I put on during my ride over. It was a last-minute decision I’m pleased with. I have to give the guy something after I donned a black turtleneck. Might has well come to this date dressed like a nun.

But for the record, it’s a tight, fitted black turtleneck with three quarter length sleeves. it’s stylish, not something Michelle Tanner from Full House wore.

Adjusting my purse on my shoulder, I continue to make my way to the bar when I come face to shoulder with a broad man.

“Oh, pardon me.” I catch my balance on my heels, praying I don’t topple over.

“Excuse me.”

My ears pick up and when I catch who’s standing in front of me, my nerves start to tingle and a little annoying flutter takes place in my stomach.

“Noely, lovely to see you.” His hands grip my shoulders, steadying me from our bump.

Clearing my throat—wishing I looked like the hooker I was last time I was here—I say, “Jack, lovely to see you as well.”

His eyes roam up and down my turtleneck, the corner of his lip tilting ever so slightly. That itty-bitty look right there has me itching to go Hulk on my clothes and sexify myself in zero-point-two seconds just to show him.

Shoulders pushed back, he adjusts his tie and gives me one more once-over, his eyes burning a wave of heat through my veins, making my turtleneck choice that much more worse. What is his deal? He wanted nothing to do with me, so why does he bother with all the sizzling staring?

Feeling uncomfortable, slightly bothered, and heated, I say, “Ya here on a date, pal?”

When did I start talking like that? Yikes. I have no idea. Chalk it up to being caught off guard.

“Indeed. Isn’t that why we’re all here?”

Arrogance; that’s fun to deal with during small talk. Not.

“I guess so.” Scanning the room, looking for an empty table, I ask, “Who is it?” I spot a girl to the right, hair in pigtails, a brown scarf wrapped up to her chin, and a rose in hand looking around. To the left, there is a gorgeous blonde wearing the lowest-cut shirt I’ve ever seen, showing off her ample cleavage, looking stunning. Let’s face it . . . a little slutty. Please let it be pigtails, come on, pigtails.

“Why so interested?” Jack asks, stepping in a little closer.

“Uh . . .” Scanning his position up and down, I clear my throat. “Just being friendly.”

“Friendly? Or Jealous?”

Jealous? What? Is he insane? Of course I’m not jealous. I don’t even know what jealousy is. I don’t have a jealous bone in my body. Not a single one . . .

Please let it be pigtails. If he goes with the tramp, I know he’ll more than just kiss her cheek tonight.

He takes another step forward, crowding my personal space, and making me sweat even more in this damn top. I’m tempted to pull on the collar around my neck but refrain from showing any tells on how he affects me. Still affects me.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Jack. Just being friendly.”

Not saying a word, he keeps his eyes trained on me, his stature sophisticated, alpha in all the best ways. Putting both his hands in his pockets, he rocks back on his heels, eyes still trained on mine. “Have a good night, Noely.”

And just like that, he pushes past me, leaving me in a wake of his delicious cologne. My nose soaks it up as if it’s the only air left in the room.

Glancing back, because I like to torture myself, I watch as Jack unbuttons his suit jacket and takes a seat across from the blonde, who gently places her hand over Jack’s as if they’ve known each other for ages. Chancing a quick look in my direction, Jack straightens his jacket and takes me in one last time, making me turn red from those mysterious eyes of his.

Damn him.

Flustered, I grip my purse tight to my side and turn away, pointing my body directly toward the bar. Why? Of all the men I could run into tonight, why Jack? Freaking sexy, writer of schmexy messages of the wooing variety . . . Don’t think about him, Noely. You know he wants nothing to do with you.

I skip all pleasantries and flop myself on the bar top. “Danny. Whiskey, stat.”

“Whiskey?” He raises an eyebrow at me. “Are you sure about that, Miss Clark?”

“You can either give me a glass, or pour it right down my gullet.” I lean my head back and point to my mouth, losing all kinds of self-respect.

Chuckling, looking slightly nervous, Danny grabs a glass and pours me two fingers of amber liquid.

I snag the glass from him and open wide, letting the liquid slosh around in my mouth. I swallow hard and my entire body shakes as my face puckers and my throat burns.

“Oh hell.” I squeeze my eyes shut, hating myself right now. “Oh crap, that’s bad.” Not even giving it a second thought, I gulp the rest of the glass down and shudder uncontrollably. I can only imagine what I look like right now: a turtleneck-wearing fish out of water, flapping around for dear life at the bar.

Cute.

Beyond attractive.

Eat your heart out, blonde with big boobs.

When I open my eyes, Danny is staring at me, concern etched in his features. “Give me another, bar tenda,” I say with a weird accent.

Something is happening to me, and I fear for IceBiscuit. He’s in for quite the ride, that’s for damn sure.

“Maybe we slow down,” Danny suggests. “How about for every whiskey, you drink a water? I think that’s a good idea.”

I lean over the bar and wiggle my finger at Danny in a “come hither” manner. When he’s right in front of me, I lean forward even more and grab his shirt, bringing him in dangerously close, our foreheads touch.

“Danny . . . dearest man who serves me booze. Do you see the way my eyes are flitting back and forth? Can you feel the crazy exuding from them?” He nods, swallowing hard. “This is my third date here, okay? This is my third time trying to find somebody to love me after two failed attempts from this supposedly perfect matchmaking system. I’m feeling a little out of control, mildly psychotic, and you know what, I will just say it, slightly turned on.” Shit, I didn’t want to say that to Danny. Shaking that thought, I continue, “So please be a gent, and scamper behind your little bar and give me more whiskey. Got it?”

I push him back, releasing his shirt and like a perfect lady, fold my hands on the bar, waiting for my drink.

“You know there have been many people—”

“I’m going to stop you right there.” I smile crazily at him. I can feel the devil trying to peek out. You know, the inner devil all women have, the one who turns us into a flame-throwing, fire-spitting she-dragon when people are least expecting it? I’m teetering the line right now, ready to burn this restaurant to the ground.

To the mother effing ground!

“Just bring me the booze.” I tap the bar counter. “Right here, put the booze right here. Go on, friend. Booze me up. Give me all the riches of intoxication.”

Sighing, Danny gives in to my demands and fills up another glass. When he sets it in front of me, I lean over and tap him on the cheek. “Such a good boy.”

With both hands, I grip the tumbler and pour it back in my mouth like I’m trying to get the crumbs out of an almost-empty chip bag. The liquid burns my throat once again, but I welcome it. I welcome the shudders, loving how I can feel my body starting to float. I have one more glass, because why not? Yes, this was a good idea. A very good idea. I just need to loosen up, find my groove, feel the blind date—

“ShopGirl?”

I spin around in my chair, probably a little too fast, given I need to grip the back of my chair to steady myself.

“IceBiscuit?” My eyes don’t meet his. Instead, I’m at nipple level, taking in his very broad and muscular chest. Wow. Heat rises to the back of my neck, and I know it’s not the whiskey; it’s the powerful chest right in front of me, and are those . . . are those his pecs? They’re all defined and large and yummy and . . . sigh. Curiosity pops out of me before I can stop myself, and I poke his chest. When I’m greeted with a firm bounce, I giggle to myself. “Pecs,” I mutter under my breath. Yep, yummy indeed. IceBiscuit is putting the work in at the gym and not shoving cheesesteaks down his throat. Hand on his chest, my fingers diddling his shirt, I look up to find a very confused but familiar face.

Shit.

Crap.

Oh God.

Have you ever felt all the blood in your face leech out of you, as if every last piece of color drains from your features and falls to the floor from total and utter embarrassment?

Try not only diddling your date’s chest, but diddling the one and only Hayden Holmes’s chest.

Shaking my hand away, as if he’s burned me. I stand from my chair but stumble forward. Clearly, heels and whiskey don’t mix. I fall to my knees and curse under my breath. I pop up quickly, my legs feeling like a newborn calf’s, and throw my arms up in the air like a gymnast on her dismount. To add to the embarrassment, I say, “Nine point five, not a perfect ten, but I’ll get there.” I laugh nervously and right my shirt, while lowering my arms. “They don’t score like that anymore, but who’s really going to say fourteen-point-two-six-seven? I mean, especially when the viewers don’t know the degree of difficulty. You know?” Hayden just stares at me, so to put that final nail in my coffin, I punch his arm and say, “Gymnastics, am I right?”

Exposed and embarrassed, I glance at Danny, who’s watching from a distance with a look that says, I told you so. In my head, I shout back at him, “Shut up, Danny!”

Hayden reaches behind his neck and pulls on it, his large bicep flexing beneath his shirt. He’s dressed casually in a dark pair of jeans and tight-fitting, long-sleeved shirt. “Uh, are you okay?”

“Yep, fit as a fiddle.” I motion with a low fist pump across my body, as if to say, just dandy. Although I’m thinking just dandy would have been better than fit as a fiddle. Who can really know at this point? They’re both something my grandpa would say with a hop and a click of his heels in the air.

“Good.” He looks around, scanning the restaurant. “Never thought I’d run into you here. Are you ShopGirl?”

“I am but you can call me, Noely. Noely Clark.” I awkwardly grab his hand from his hip and shake it. “Nice to meet you.”

Puzzled, Hayden laughs. “I remember who you are, Noely.”

“Oh yeah, of course.” I pat my legs and say, “This is weird. I, uh, I didn’t think I would be matched with you, so I’m feeling nervous and intimidated. Because, you know, you’re all hot and whatnot with your hockey body and strong thighs and nice hair. And I’m sure if you turned around right now, I would see your high, tight ass.” My hands cup together and my face scrunches as I form a tight ass for him.

Note to self.

Whiskey equals truth serum. Shit. Shit and double shit. Why tonight? Why Hayden?

“Thanks.” He chuckles and looks over my shoulder. “Started early on the drinks?”

“Maybe.” I bite my bottom lip. “Third blind date and rough day equals more drinks for me.”

Hayden knowingly nods. “Got ya. Should we get some food in you so you don’t pass out onto your dinner?”

“Good idea.” I bop his nose, hating my inability to stop my hands from doing stupid things.

Hayden holds out his arm to me, which I take no time in grabbing. Ooo, so many muscles. I can feel his forearm rippling beneath my palm. Forearms are the new abs. I’m calling it now.

I snag my purse, throw a wink in Danny’s direction, and follow Hayden.

“Veronica said we have the table in the back.” He walks me into the dining room where I quickly make eye contact with Jack.

His gaze is pulled from titty mountain and focused on my wobbly legs. I shoot him a little wiggle of my fingers and then point to Hayden while mouthing, “My date.” With a wink, I give him the okay sign with my fingers and walk past him, adding a little saunter in my hips. I think it was a saunter. I just pray it wasn’t a jostley sway.

When I look over my shoulder, I notice the strong set in his jaw, the unhappy purse of his lips, and his dark, vexed eyes.

Yikes.

Titty mountain isn’t as riveting as he thought she would be. Maybe I’ll have a little fun with this.

Hayden pulls my chair out for me like a gentleman and helps me sit. The wobble in my heels is real. Thankful for a long tablecloth, I kick my heels off under the table and toss my purse to the ground.

In my head, I know my classiness is nowhere to be found, but for the life of me, I can’t stop myself from not caring.

Hayden takes the seat from across me and says, “What are the odds we were setup with each other?”

“Great ones.” I finger the rim of my water glass while I lick my lips a little too heavily, as if there’s frosting on them and I’m a ravenous beast trying to get it off.

Hayden’s eyes widen, and he coughs while covering his mouth, a smile tugging at his lips.

Does he think I’m sexy licking my lips . . .

Or does he think I’m certifiable?

I’m going to guess the latter.

Needing to pull my shit together, I sit tall and bring the menu to my face, close, too close. Trying to focus.

“Eh, these words look all jumbled to me.” I set the menu down. “I’ve had the lobster and the steak on my other dates. What’s left?”

Stumbling to look at the menu, he clears his throat and takes a second to answer. “Uh, the butternut squash gnocchi with brown butter sauce.”

“Sign me up.” I tap the table and lean back in my chair.

Head tilted to the side, Hayden studies me. “How many drinks did you have, Noely?”

I cringe and lean forward, shout whispering. “Is my booze showing?”

“Just a little.”

With my hand blocking my mouth from the rest of the dining room, I say, “At least it isn’t my nipple that’s showing.”

Chuckling, Hayden says, “Hey, you’ve definitely got that going for you.”

I lift my water glass to Hayden and say, “To not showing nipples.”

Mirth in his features, he lifts his glass as well. “To not showing nipples.”

***

“God, I’m ravenous.” I shove more gnocchi in my mouth, body hunched over my plate, water glass in hand, fork in the other. I chug my drink and shove more gnocchi in my mouth. “This is so good, don’t you think?”

Sitting back, eyes wide, fork halfway to his mouth, Hayden watches me tear into the dinner that was placed in front of us. “Uh, haven’t had a chance to take a bite.”

Pulling back from my shoveling fork, I lift his utensil to his mouth. “Eat, eat. Enjoy.” I sound like Mrs. Clause telling Santa to get his fill of food.

Eat, Papa . . . eat!

A little scared—I don’t blame him, if there was a mirror in front of me right now, I’d be scared too—Hayden takes a bite of his gnocchi and I watch as his eyes close, his taste buds savoring every nuance of flavor bursting on his tongue.

“That is good.”

Mouth full, I reply, “Best dinner option I’ve had since I’ve been here. I mean, the steak was melt-in-your-mouth steak. The lobster with mashed potatoes? Boy, were those smooth on the tongue. But this gnocchi, talk about a myriad of flavors.”

“It’s pretty damn good.” He chuckles. Eyeing me from behind those long black lashes of his, he asks, “So you keep saying this is your third time here. Am I really your third blind date?”

I point my fork at him and nod. “You are. You’re the third guy I needed for my tripod of dating. Do you feel special?”

Did I mention that I guzzled down another whiskey before dinner was served? I wasn’t going to have another drink, but when titty mountain moved her chair around to Jack’s side and started playing with his hair, it was either throw up in the bathroom from how nauseating the scene was, or have another drink. I don’t like gross puke mouth, so . . .

I can see why Jack wanted nothing to do with me now. That’s his type. His messages to me were a load of crock. Why did he bother?

The whiskey went down the hatchet and infused my blood-alcohol level to a dangerous limit where rather than having a pleasant conversation with Hayden, I’m licking my fork and winking at him through my half-downed water glass.

Plopping some more gnocchi in his mouth, Hayden says, “I do feel lucky. From the looks of it, I get to experience the looser side of you.”

“Eh, eh, eh.” I wave my finger at him like he’s a naughty boy. “You’re not getting in my pants so don’t even think about it. I didn’t shave my legs, so not going to happen, fella.”

Coughing abruptly, Hayden pats his chest and takes a sip of his water. “Didn’t mean loose as in, sexually loose. Just, you know, personality loose.”

“Oh.” I ponder that for a second and take another bite of my gnocchi. “Misread that one, didn’t I?”

“Just a little.”

“Are you going to tell your hockey buddies you went on a date with Noely Clark from Good Morning, Malibu, and she told you she didn’t shave her legs?”

“First thing tomorrow morning.” His smile puts me at ease. Cheeky man. “So what happened with the first two dates?” Hayden pushes some gnocchi around on his plate.

“Are you asking me to provide a postpartum on my first two blind dates?”

“I mean . . . not really. Was wondering what went wrong. Did you not shave your legs for those dates as well?” The flash of those brilliant bright white teeth has my stomach churning, and in a good way. Not in a you’ve had eight fingers of whiskey way. Eight fingers, shit, that requires two hands.

“I shaved and wore a dress. Both times.” I set my fork down and cross my arms over my chest.

“You wore a dress?” His eyes grow wide. “And you wore a turtleneck for me? That’s some messed-up shit, Noely.”

Laughing, a little too loudly—thank you, whiskey—I say, “With a statement necklace. I didn’t wear a statement necklace on my other dates, so frankly, you’re the real winner.”

“Am I?” He cocks his head to the side. “I get turtleneck with unshaved legs and the other guys get dresses with no sight of hairy Mary anywhere?”

“Hey.” I lean toward him, and whisper shout. “Don’t make me pull my pant leg up right now. It’s a light stubble. A stubble!”

“Keep the pant legs down there, lady. No need to disgust people in the middle of their dinners.”

Lips pursed, feeling light with humor, I say, “You’re a freaking smartass, you know that?”

“Well aware. So tell me about the dates. You shaved your legs and wore dresses, so that wasn’t the problem. What happened? Fart by accident?”

“I will have you know, all flatulence was held in, thank you very much.” I tilt my chin, showing off the layer of class I have . . . well, attempt to have. “It wasn’t anything like that. The first dates actually went really well, like, super well. It was the dates after that kind of fell apart.”

“Give me examples. I want to make sure I don’t screw anything up this go around.” He does?

His sincerity is sweet, but even though his words sound genuine, it almost seems like he’s saying them on autopilot, as if someone pre-programmed him to say those words at this time. I’m drunk, but I can still tell when someone isn’t speaking the truth.

There are underlying emotions he’s not trying to show, that he’s hiding away from me and thanks to the whiskey, I can’t quite pinpoint them. Having thought that, I did miss Jack and Beck’s underlying issues. Kind of.

Not wanting to dig too deep into his emotional status, I say, “Well, the first guy, man, was he . . .” I pause my head glancing in Jack’s direction. I don’t know what comes over me, but in a very loud whisper, I point behind my hand and say, “Right over there, the guy with the girl whose boobs are swallowing her neck whole, that was my first date.”

Conspiratorially leaning forward, Hayden cutely follows my pointing finger. His curious eyes take in Jack and titty mountain, his gaze inquisitive but also calculating, as if he’s measuring himself up to Jack.

It’s hard to compare the two. Hayden is bulky with the muscles, a jock to the extreme with his calloused hands, thick arms, and swagger. Jack . . . he’s stoic, sophisticated, mysterious, with his dark eyes and confusing conversations.

“He seems like a nice guy. I mean, his eyes are trained on that girl’s face rather than the blatant display of cleavage. There’s something to be said about that.”

“Maybe he’s scared of her boobs; maybe he’s afraid they’re going to pop out any minute and eat him alive.”

“Possibly, but from his stand-offish body language, I think he’s prepared to defend himself from an attack from man-eating tits.” Hayden smiles at me. His lips looking soft and kissable. Hmm . . .

Straightening my napkin on my lap, I say, “Well, he has issues with privacy. I accidentally said his name on TV, his first name, mind you, and he broke a gasket. Lost his damn mind. Paraded around kicking trashcans and plucking weeds from the side of the street only to toss them in my general direction.” Okay, the last part is a lie, but it almost felt like that. “The rage on that one. He was sweet at first. Boy ooo-ee,” I say a little loudly. “Talk about LOSING.YOUR.SHIT.” I shake my head. “Such a shame, you know?” I motion to my body, allowing Hayden time for a once-over. “He could have had all of this.”

“Statement necklace and all.”

I finger my necklace and wiggle my eyebrows. “It’s growing on you now, isn’t it? Aren’t you glad I wore the turtleneck?”

“Couldn’t be more pleased. What’s cleavage when you can stare at a statement necklace all night?”

I slap the table, drawing attention from the other diners. “That’s what I’m talking about.” My voice rises, and I blame the whiskey once more. I look around the room as voices quiet to see what the commotion is. I smile politely and nod at diners, trying to reassure them everything is on the up and up at my table. When I make my rounds and my gaze settles on Jack, his jaw still firmly set, almost like he’s grinding his teeth. And he’s looking straight at me.

Just to have some fun. I twiddle my fingers at him and say, “Ahoy, Jackie Boy.”

Hayden waves as well, joining in on my ridiculousness. I have to give the man credit. He doesn’t mind embarrassing himself with me.

There is no return of our greeting, just a clearing of his throat when he turns his attention back to his date.

“Well,” I huff.

“That was rude,” Hayden finishes for me.

“You’re telling me.” I lean my chin into my propped-up palm. “God, technology has really desensitized us. If I sent him a text message with a waving emoji, I bet he would reply with a smiley face.”

“He doesn’t seem like a smiley face guy.”

I think about it for a second. “Yeah, he doesn’t, does he?”

“More like”—Hayden rubs a hand across his chin, and I truly enjoy the sound of his skin caressing his five o’clock shadow—“a dress shoe. That’s what he would send. Two dress shoes because three is preposterous and one is inexcusable.” He’s as crazy as me, and he’s had nothing to drink tonight. Can we all say . . . match made in heaven!

“God, you’re so right. He would send me a freaking dress shoe as a hello. And here I am, sending him the cha-cha girl in her red dress freaking ole-ing around his ass and he sends me a dress shoe.”

“Men.” Hayden rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his water. “Not me though, I wouldn’t send you a dress shoe.”

“No? What would you send me? Wait.” I hold up my hand. “Let me guess.” I tap my chin with my finger, trying to think of all the emoji options. “Hmm . . . well, not knowing you all too well, I’m thinking you’d send me the dragon and cucumber.”

“What?” He laughs, the sound hitting me straight in the sternum. Clearly I have a little something when it comes to men and their laughs. While I thought Jack’s was sultry, and Beck’s was sexy, Hayden’s is . . . alluring. And from interviewing him the other week, I know he is a man who laughs often. And here I am getting a little turned on. Yet again. Not sure if I can blame that on the whiskey as well. “Dragon and cucumber, where did you even come up with those?”

I flit my hand about. “They just came to me. I’m right, aren’t I? You would totally send me the dragon and cucumber emojis.”

“What does that even mean if I sent those to you?”

I shrug. “Some hockey code I would figure out two months from now and then laugh my ass off.”

Hayden shakes his head. “There is no dragon and cucumber hockey code, I can promise you that.”

“Okay, then what would you send me?”

“I feel a little inferior after the dragon and cucumber mention, but I would send you the wilting rose.”

“Wow.” I sit back in my chair, arms crossed over my chest. “Well, that’s freaking depressing. Uh, thanks for my wilting flower.”

“And then I would follow it up with a candelabra, a clock, and a baguette.”

“Eh?” I know my face is unattractive right now, the confused look not showing off my best features, but a baguette? What?

Hayden shakes his head. “Guess you’re not one to communicate in emojis, because any pro would know I’m trying to say Beauty and the Beast, meaning, hey come on over and snuggle with me while we watch the movie.” Hayden shakes his head. “I thought you were better than that, Noely.”

Shocked and disappointed, that’s me. “Well, I hate myself now. Of course, baguette.” I shake my fists to the air. “Baguette!”