* * *
Also, stargazing rules. Did you know that the Andromeda Galaxy is going to crash into the Milky Way in 4.5 billion years? Of course you do. But what do you think that collision will look like?
* * *
Best,
* * *
ThinkingMan
* * *
“Damn, she’s good,” I say in appreciation.
“I know.”
I tap the screen. “You do realize what she did here? She used my voice. She made it sound just like me.”
She tilts her head, studying me. “What do you mean?”
“At the auction, she was telling me you were single and had started online dating. I was telling her I’m not a fan of online dating because it removed chemistry and connection. And then I said I don’t believe opposites attract, that I love debating all kinds of interesting topics, and that I love theories and philosophies and talking about meaningful issues. In this note, she basically parroted all the things I said.”
Her jaw falls open. “Do you know what she did, then?”
“She mimicked me?”
“And she also created a perfect online persona of what I want and what I’m looking for.”
And is it crazy that I want that online persona to be mine? That I want Jeanne to have stolen my traits to romance Kristen, Cyrano de Bergerac–style? “Is that so?”
She adjusts her glasses. “I don’t believe opposites attract. I think they repel.”
I tap my chest. “Choir. Preach it to me.”
She laughs again, and if this were a real date, I’d chalk up another point. But I’m not sure what this is at all now. She brushes her hand lightly against my chest. “And she had you talking about all the things I like to talk about.”
“Then she asked you to play her in poker against me. And when she realized we were getting along well, she set us up,” I say, continuing to slide the pieces together.
Kristen scoots closer, drops her voice like we’re detectives passing out clues. “That’s why I don’t think it was a prank, Cameron. I mean, it was. But I think she was playing matchmaker all along. She knew I only wanted to meet guys online, so she put the guy she wanted me to date online.”
“And she knew I wasn’t into online dating. But she wanted me to meet you. So she engineered a way for us to meet, each thinking it was exactly what we wanted—real life for me, and online for you.”
Kristen scratches her head. “But she had to know we’d find out.”
“Maybe she thought we wouldn’t care.”
“Because she figured we’d like each other and it wouldn’t matter.”
And I do like her. But it seems it does matter how we met. And how we didn’t meet. “That must have been her grand plan.”
Kristen scoffs. “That’s crazy.”
“Is it?”
She stares at me through her glasses. “You’re fun and great and smart, and I don’t know which side is up.”
“I hear ya.” I swallow roughly. I was hoping she’d be into me for me. And yeah, I shouldn’t be bummed. I hardly know her. This is only one date.
One fun, amusing, bizarre date. One highly entertaining online chat. One moment bursting with possibilities and potential.
And that moment seems to be fizzling.
“She really hates the idea of me online dating,” Kristen adds.
“And see, I’m the opposite. I don’t care for online dating. Well, not until I talked to you.”
She pulls away slightly to stare at me. “But was that online?”
“I think it definitely was. We were on our phones.”
“Yeah,” she says, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. But the smile fades. “It’s crazy though. You live in New York. I didn’t even really know who I was talking to. And it’s all just a setup. It never would have worked.”
“No. Never at all,” I agree. She’s right. But I wish she was wrong.
I sigh and figure it’s best to end the date sooner rather than later.
But Kristen arches a brow, looks at me with a glint in her eyes, and I swear I see computer algorithms whirring inside her brain.
“It wouldn’t. But I have a crazy idea.”
13
Kristen
* * *
The first order of business is to send a note to Grams.
* * *
Me: Cameron is awesome! You were right. We’re getting along so well. I can’t wait to tell you everything.
* * *
Then we’re off and running. We slide into his rental car, his bag with him, and drive to Miami International Airport. Once inside, we take a photo, waving with the airport sign behind us. We head all the way to security, snapping selfies as we go.
A little later, we grab our seats. More photos taken. Champagne poured. Glasses raised. “What should we toast to?” I say, a smile tipping the corners of my mouth. I’m having too much fun.
Not that there is such a thing.
Cameron stares off into the distance, as if he’s thinking. For a second, it hits me—he really is ThinkingMan. He fits the bill. He talks like the man online. He seems like the man online.
How could my grandmother conjure him up so perfectly?
I blink away the thought since I don’t quite know what to make of it or what to do with the wild caper we’ve embarked on tonight.
He meets my gaze, and those blue eyes hold mine. They shine with desire and with possibility. That look—I haven’t seen it in a long time, and I like it. I like it because I feel it too.
He inches closer. My breath hitches from him being so near.
This is connecting.
“Let’s toast to what comes next,” he says, and the words are drenched with possibility. So much unexpected possibility that whoosh goes the rest of the world.
My heart flutters, and my skin sizzles as I imagine what “next” could be. Touches, kisses, sighs, moans. Butterflies, and their naughty cousins in lingerie, inhabit my chest as I clink my glass to his. “To what comes next, whatever it might be.”
With my free hand, I hold up my phone and snap a photo as we move in close, cheek to cheek. I catch a faint scent of his aftershave, or maybe it’s his soap. It’s clean and fresh and decidedly masculine, all at once. The scent makes my stomach flip, sending a shimmy down my body on a fast track to right where I need him.
For a moment, I stop and assess the situation. That’s what I do best. I apply numbers and reason. Numbers don’t lie. I’ve felt quantifiably more first-date tingles with Cameron, and more intense ones too, than I have on other dates. Certainly far more than I’ve had on any cheese-making or carrot-pickling outings.
Obviously.
I set down my glass. He does the same.
Numbers wash away, and I let chemistry take over as I press a quick kiss to the sandpaper five-o’clock shadow stubble on his cheek. When I dust my lips to his face, I close my eyes, and a whole new zip of pleasure races across my skin, leaving a trail of sparks in its wake.
I love the scratch of his cheek.
I love the feel of his skin.
I love what it does to me.
He moves ever so slightly, and then we’re looking at each other, not like two people playing a game. Not like a man and woman orchestrating a crazy idea.
We’re lingering like two people who want something else.
Something we both crave. The reason we date. The reason we sift through online profiles, the reason we let our friends and family set us up, the reason we seek out another person.
For connection.
For chemistry.
And the cherry on top . . .
The prospect of a kiss.
“Kiss for the camera?” I ask. It comes out breathy, betraying all my inner longing.
I don’t care.
“A kiss for the camera is necessary to pull off this caper.” He makes the first move, inching closer to me. I watch him until I can’t watch him anymore, until my eyes cross, and then I shut them and
feel the soft whisper of his lips across mine. I gasp quietly, savoring the first touch from this man who’s maybe two men, or maybe he’s half of both men I liked. But even though the seesaw of LuckySuit and ThinkingMan threw me off, there’s nothing confusing about the way his lips feel against mine.
Even though it’s a staged kiss, it feels wholly real, especially as he lingers and I taste him on my lips.
He tastes like the one man I want now. The man I want a second date with. A second date we won’t be having.
But oh, how I wish we could.
It’s a good thing I’m sitting, because I’m melting from his lips brushing mine, from his scent flooding my nostrils, and from his hand cupping my cheek.
By all accounts, it’s a modest kiss.
But tell that to my body.
To my body, his kiss feels dirty and delicious all over, like it could lead to hotel rooms after dark, to wrists pinned, to up-against-the-wall escapades.
To all night long.
We break apart.
He whispers, “Wow.” All of those sparks turn into a fireworks show in my chest. Exploding, bursting. A wow from the barest kiss.
That may be the most unexpected part of today.
Because it’s a wow for me too.
When we arrive at our destination, we scurry to a nearby palm tree, and we point upward. I know the Welcome to Vegas sign will be lit up and neon in our shot.
We high-five.
“We’re pulling this off.”
“We are seriously kind of amazing,” I say.
He shoots me a look. “Kind of? We’re just plain and simple amazing.”
“Fine, fine. Have it your way. We’re absolutely amazing.”
“Are you ready for what comes next?”
I nod. “I’m absolutely ready.”
“Positive? You don’t want to go roller skate or lie on a blanket under the stars instead?”
I narrow my eyes. “I want to do both. Right now. All the time. But I want to do this too. Do you?”
“Just making sure,” he says with a smile.
“Are you sure?”
Cameron laughs, and the sound makes my heart vault. Why do I like the sound of his laughter so much? I wish I knew. But I really, really like it.
“I’m very sure,” he says with a smile, then loops his arm around my waist and yanks me close. “By the way, have I told you you’re a whole lot of fun? Like, more fun than monkeys in a barrel?”
“But how does anyone know how much fun monkeys in a barrel really are?”
“I don’t know. Has anyone ever put monkeys in a barrel and tried to have fun with them?”
“I hope not. That doesn’t seem like it would be fun for the monkeys.”
“And we really should be nice to monkeys,” he says, then presses a kiss to my nose.
I sigh into the kiss and whisper, “I’m having fun too. More fun than if I was watching Cupid stream online.”
He arches a brow in a question.
I wave a hand. “It’s this old TV show. I keep hoping someday it’ll stream online. Let’s skedaddle, and we can discuss Camus, you philosophy major, you.”
His eyes twinkle. “Don’t get me excited, Kristen.”
“Camus gets you excited?”
“Almost as much as Descartes.”
As we hop in the car, racing to our next destination, I flash back over the night. Over the kiss and the champagne, the fun and the conversations. The way we get along so weirdly well, the way we both jumped on this crazy idea.
And it wasn’t an algorithm that brought us together.
It was a person.
Or maybe it was us.
At the chapel, we say hello to an Elvis impersonator and we snag a photo with him. Then he does the deed.
“I now pronounce you man and wife.”
With those words, all I can think is we are getting so even they’re going to need a new word for “even.”
“You may kiss the bride.”
“Take our picture, please, would you, Elvis?”
Elvis nods as Cameron hands him his camera.
Cameron cups my cheeks, brings my face to his, and plants the most delicious kiss on my lips.
He’s gentle at first. A tender sweep of his lips. A brush against mine. Just enough for tingles to spread down my arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.
I feel a little swoony, a little shimmery, as flutters race across my body.
Then, he kicks it up a notch. He’s more insistent, a touch greedy.
And holy hell, I like greedy from him. I like it a lot. His kiss becomes demanding as his hands clasp my face, and his mouth explores mine. Tongues, lips, teeth. He kisses with an ownership, like he wants me more than he ever expected.
It’s the same for me, I want to say. It’s absolutely the same for me.
And I don’t need to speak those words, because our bodies are talking. He tugs me closer, deepening the kiss.
The game is all the way on, and his lips devastate mine as he kisses me with a delicious intensity.
I rise on tiptoe, thread my hands around his neck, and kiss him hard. Like he’s mine. Like he belongs to me tonight. And that’s how this feels. Like I get to have him in this moment.
A fevered, frenzied moment punctuated by moans, and groans, and needy sighs. By kisses that can’t possibly end. By a connection neither one of us wants to break because it feels so damn good.
Everywhere.
He doesn’t just kiss my lips. His mouth travels along my neck, visiting the hollow of my throat. Dear god, that’s spectacular. His lips on my throat send an electric charge straight through me, and I’m operating at a high voltage. He senses my reaction. I can feel his naughty smile against my skin as he kisses his way up my neck now, on a path for my ear where he nibbles on my earlobe.
And I squirm.
The good kind of squirm.
The kind where my knees are jelly from the nip of his teeth right there.
This kiss hits me all over—toes, knees, belly.
It sizzles through me, frying my brain and filling it with thoughts of where it could lead to.
Kiss me everywhere. Kiss me all over. Kiss every inch of my skin.
These thoughts run rampant in my brain, surprising me.
Stunning me with the depth of my response to him.
We hit it off instantly online, and in spite of all the mix-ups and all the puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit earlier, I feel far more connected to him in person than logic dictates I should.
Than the strange circumstances of this most bizarre date say I should.
I feel connected to him. I like him. And I don’t want this to end.
But we have to disconnect.
I break the kiss, pressing a palm to his chest. “We should stop before . . .”
“Before it goes too far?” he asks.
“Yes. Exactly.”
“We better. Because far would feel far too good.”
“It would feel amazing.”
Later, much later, it rains.
It seems fitting, especially since it’s time to say good night. There’s an empty ache in my chest.
I didn’t expect to feel a hollow spot as I said goodbye to Cameron.
But the ache is real, and it hurts as I stand curbside. The rain falls, so I grab my red umbrella from my purse and open it, holding it above us.
“One more picture. Just for me,” he says.
I smile faintly, and he tugs me closer and snaps a close-up. He tucks his phone away and hands me a rose.
“Where you’d find a rose?”
He wiggles an eyebrow. “I have my ways.”
“No, seriously. Where did you find a rose?”
Laughing, he tells me, “Elvis gave me one to give to you.”
“Well, thank you to Elvis.”
Cameron runs a thumb across my jawline. “One more kiss? Just for me. No cameras.”
I smile, and it seems to reach to my toes, the ends of m
y hair, my fingertips. “No cameras. Just us.”
“Just us,” he echoes as he slides a hand into my hair, brings me close, and whispers, “I’m so glad she tricked us.”
“Me too.”
As I hold the rose, he kisses me goodbye, and this one is bittersweet.
It’s full of promise. It speaks of where those kisses could have led. To how far they would have gone. To the kind of nights that might have unfurled between us.
But it also tells stories that must end, since the story of our one and only date is marching toward its inevitable final line.
His lips linger on mine, the barest of touches, like he can’t bear for this to end.
Same for me.
“One more,” I whisper, and I’m the greedy one.
But he obliges, banding an arm around my waist, hauling me close, and planting one helluva goodbye on my lips, like the kind a sailor gives his woman when he leaves.
Then he does just that.
He leaves.
He takes off on a plane to Vegas for real this time, and I run my finger over my lips, remembering.
I go home, set the rose in a vase, and crash. I’m glad too that Grams tricked us, but I’m also not, because I wanted to believe this was something real.
14
Jeanne
Earlier that day
* * *
As she finished up the Camaro, her phone dinged.
Wiping her hands on a red bandana, she took the device from her back pocket, clicked opened the text, and nearly squealed when she saw that Kristen and Cameron were having such a good time.
* * *
Kristen: We had a blast! We’re going to spend the whole evening together since we’re taking a little trip.
* * *
Jeanne had never been so pleased.
Grandmas always knew best. With seventy-five years on this earth, she was simply right.
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