Chapter One
I pushed through the mass of paparazzi waiting out front of the trendy LA eatery The Clark. While discreetly adjusting my wandering thong, I briefly considered the merits of becoming a lesbian.
Blind dates. Those soul sucking combat missions of love friends send you in on in order to make themselves feel better. Better about their amazing love lives and your lack of one. Or my inability to even remotely consider wanting a love life. My life had no interest in love and this date was going to be my last favour to my friends. I took a deep breath, decided to get it over with, and pushed open the pretentious door to the restaurant, wondering what I was going to find on the other side.
“Why,” I muttered. “Why did I wear this thong? Why didn’t I pee before I left? Why am I talking to myself in public and why the hell did I agree to this?”
My friends were why. I placed any blame squarely on their shoulders tonight. If this date went to hell in a handbag, not only would I shun them for a good long while, I would take my time plotting a delightfully malicious plan of revenge.
They were certain all I needed was a hot date to bring me out of my funk. But I was broken. Broken people didn’t want to be fixed. Broken people wanted to stay broken.
The door closed with the severity of a death knell and I realized there was no going back. I searched the crowd for the man responsible for my upcoming evening of torture.
I walked up to the hostess counter and was rewarded with a disdainful stare. I wasn’t exactly dressed for dinner at The Clark. The hostess’ blatant head to toe sneer told me how lame my effort really was. Why did it have to be the trendiest place in town? What was this guy trying to prove?
I quickly scanned the bar. Six feet tall, sandy blonde. Good build. Perhaps had his glasses on. That was the description Brad had given himself.
“It’s OK,” I told the hostess, who had clearly moved on from caring as she was doing a great job of ignoring me. “I’m meeting someone here. I’ll just wait at the bar.”
I scooted past the line of eager people wanting to see and be seen and slid into a corner spot. I needed time to check out this Brad guy and to plan a good bathroom exit strategy if needed.
My phone beeped and I took it out to see who it was. Speak of the devil. It was my best friend, Sam.
Well?
Well what? Still waiting. Have I mentioned tardiness as one of my least favourite things about a person?
Whatevs. You are the queen of lateness my dear. DON’T YOU DARE LEAVE!
Oh, shouty caps. You’re scary.
As I was deciding what to type next, I got jostled from the guy who had sidled in beside me and I accidentally dropped my phone. I bent over to grab it and while I was fishing around on the floor for it, I heard the man who had bumped me utter an apology.
“Sorry,” came his deep voice from my right. I grabbed my phone and quickly shot upright, only to crash into his head on the way up as he was leaning down to help me look.
“Shit,” I screeched at exactly the same time he let out a “Christ” in a low, warm, enticing voice.
I swung my head up to look into the most beautiful blue eyes I had seen in a long time. They were set into a rugged face, complete with the pre-requisite scruff needed for most actors trying to make it in Hollywood today. As my gaze travelled farther up this purely masculine face, I came across the tiniest of scars above his eyebrow, followed by a mane of scruffy short hair.
He was wearing jeans and navy blazer with a white shirt underneath, open at the collar, with just enough skin showing to entice females to come in for a closer look. He smelled of spice and warmth and looked like he ate little girls like me for breakfast. Hm, actually that didn’t sound half bad.
Get a hold of yourself, George.
I swayed a little as I steadied myself from the collision, and he grabbed onto my shoulders. “I’m so sorry. Are you alright?” he asked.
“Fine, fine.” I could feel the read blotches slowly start to creep up my neck and around my face. I did not want to be here and I certainly did not want to start a conversation with this man. I never should have left my house. I could feel a panic attack coming on any minute now.
He looked at me funny. Funny like he was waiting for me to say something. Or funny like he could see the panic rising and he was trying to figure out where the nearest exit was.
“Um, is something wrong?” I asked.
“Yes, I’m quite fine.” He replied.
Ok, well that should have been the end of the conversation but he wasn’t moving. I started to wring my hands together and knew I needed to get out of there fast. I liked my safe existence. I didn’t like making conversation with gorgeous strangers.
“I’m Finn,” he said as he extended a hand.
I stared at his outstretched hand and quickly assessed my options. None of them looked appealing so I went with option, get this over with and go back home. “George,” I replied taking his hand and giving it a half-hearted shake.
“Is something wrong?” I asked him. He was still staring at me with a tiny half assed smiled on his face.
He shook his head slightly and lost the crazed look. “No,” he said. “Nothing. I was just a bit stunned from the head butt. George? Is that short for something?
“Yes, but what it’s short for won’t be leaving my lips today.”
“Would you like to grab a drink?” he suddenly asked.
Now I felt as crazed as he looked. My blood pressure increased and the blotches on my next dialled it up to a ten. “Me? Um, no thanks. I’m meeting someone here for dinner. Well, I thought I was but he hasn’t shown up yet. Not that I would know when he did, but still.” Oh dear, now I was rambling. Where the hell was my date? I needed to get on with the night and get back to my safe, solitary existence.
“Ah, blind date?” he asked.
“As blind as they come. He’s ten minutes late so far and before you cracked my head open, I was sitting here trying to come up with a fantastic disease that I am sure I picked up while travelling through the Amazon living on only my smarts and the tools that nature provided me with, but thanks to my new headache, I don’t have a plan to fall back on and it’s all your fault.”
“So, how will you know it’s him?”
“He gave me the usual description. Tall, blonde hair, blue eyes, amazing pecs, ass hard as a rock. You know, every guy here in LA’s description of themselves, present company excluded, I’m sure.”
He laughed an infectious, deep laugh and I caught myself starting to enjoy the interaction. I reeled in my smile before it started and pulled from my deep well of pain to get my act together.
“I’m pretty sure I haven’t described myself like that to anyone lately.”
“Well, looking at you, I kind of think you haven’t had to go on any blind dates recently, if ever.”
He laughed. “You’re not the typical LA girl, you know.”
“I am going to take that as a compliment. I’m not a native Californian so my genetics are helping me keep it real.” I twirled my hair in my hand and batted my eyelashes at him. Jesus, George. Get the hell out of there. Situation critical.
I saw a flash of irritation cross his face and knew the end of this conversation was near. “Do you have a pen?”
I dug one out as he grabbed a napkin. He scribbled something on it and handed it over. I turned it around only to discover his name and phone number. This had never, ever happened to me before. Right beside my picture in Google was the description: sad, loner, and inexperienced with men – attractive men, run the other way. I looked up at him. He was smiling again. “You can read, can’t you George, short for something, who’s not from LA?”
“Of course, but this is kind of confusing for me.”
“Nothing confusing about it. Now you offer to do the same.”
He handed over another napkin and offered me the pen. I froze. It was like I hit an invisible wall. I had the power to break through it, but it wasn’t an option I really wanted to try out. I lived in a world where he and I just won’t ever exist.
“Please. George, I have to get going but I would like to see you again. It’s just your phone number. This kind of thing happens every day, all over the world.”
He was right. Besides, what were the chances he would ever actually call? Ziltch. I scribbled out my number and drew a breath back in to steady myself. And with that, he walked back the way he came in, through the private area of the restaurant. As I turned to watch him go, I felt a tap on my shoulder and spun around to see who it was now.
“George? I’m Brad.”