Speed Dating (Speed Dating #1)

by Tabatha Vargo

  “Don’t you think that would have been helpful thirty minutes ago?”

  “And miss me make a complete fool out of myself? Probably.” I mumbled nearly half asleep.

  He laughed and I enjoyed the sound. Seconds later I felt the ground shift and I was no longer standing upright as Sam scooped me up into his arms. I let the guilt of enjoying his embrace fade as sleep took over.

  I didn’t wake again until I heard Sam calling my name softly.

  “Yeah?” I answered on a yawn.

  “We’re home, but I need your code to get into the building.”

  I opened my eyes and the light above the entrance to the door felt like I was staring into the sun.

  “That hurts.” I slid my arm over my eyes and it felt heavy against my face, but it blocked out the hard light. “1432”

  His arms bunched and rippled as he punched in the code and the sound of the lock clicked. My stomach rolled as Sam made his way up the stairs, but I refused to be sick in his arms.

  “Did you see the for rent sign,” I blurted randomly. “They’re renting the apartment three doors down from me. Do you think I’ll get a crazy neighbor?” I sounded like the drunken mess I was.

  “With your luck? Probably.”

  I groaned. “My thoughts, too.”

  I must have dozed again because I felt myself being lowered onto something soft and then I was being covered by something warm. My eyes fluttered open and Sam was kneeling over me.

  “Sam?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m probably not going to remember any of this in the morning.”

  “That’s probably a good thing, Julia.”

  I nodded and Sam’s face was swallowed in darkness.

  The next morning I woke with a screaming headache and no idea how I got home. That was never a good thing. Snatching my phone from the side of my bed, I quickly texted Sadie to make sure she made it home okay.

  Me: Hey. Are you okay?

  Sadie: I feel like a rock star. You?

  Me: I feel like a bag of ass. How did I get home?

  Sadie: Sam

  Me: Sam took me home?

  Sadie: Yeppers. Did you guys fuck?

  Me: Omg. No! I don’t even remember coming home.

  Sadie: Then how do you know you didn’t fuck? Maybe you just don’t remember it.

  Me: Shut up. I’m getting ready for work. I’ll see you at lunch.

  Sadie: Ok bitch. Deuces.

  Me: You’re beyond screwed up.

  Sadie: I know. It’s why you love me.

  Unfortunately for me the first experience with the whole speed dating thing could only be described with the words crash and burn. So after an uneventful week at work, a kick ass commission on a beach house, and two nights using my vibrator to squirter porn online, don’t judge me, I figured I’d give the speed dating thing another try.

  Sitting down to google a new speed dating crowd wasn’t hard at all. In fact, I was damn near shocked at how many met in the metro area. Maybe getting out of Daytona specifically would bring me some quality men.

  I’d drag Sadie to Orlando with me, as much as I didn’t want to bring her along on my excursions, I didn’t wanna drive a full hour by myself. Or be stuck in the car for that drive alone on the way home.

  My phone vibrated on the desk signaling a text and when I looked at the screen I cringed. The name that appeared on the screen sent a flood of unfortunate memories through my head. Memories I had no desire to remember.

  Small Peen: Hey Julia. Would you like to get dinner tonight?

  Ugh. I thought he’d given up after I didn’t return any of his phone calls, but apparently it was going to take changing my phone number to get rid of him. I tried to ignore the text, but my phone buzzed again and again. Damn it!

  Small Peen: You there?

  Small Peen: I had a good time with you. I’d love to take you out again.

  Relentless!

  Taking my phone off of vibrate, it sat silent on my desk. There was no way I was going to be able to make it through the rest of my work day if he continued to blow my phone up begging to take me out again. I could only take so much.

  Forty seven texts. That’s how many I had by the time Sadie picked me up for our drive to Orlando. Forty fucking seven text messages from Small Peen.

  “That pencil dick still blowing your phone up?” Sadie laughed as I opened the door of her car.

  “Hello to you, too.” I should have never told her about the texts, or the incident.

  “Sometimes a small dick isn’t a bad thing. Especially if you’re a back door girl,” she said, pulling out into traffic.

  “Okay, but seriously, I never wanted to know that much about you.”

  The bar in Orlando was the total opposite of Dudley’s. There was no beach atmosphere or old drunks sitting at the bar. The place was full of people our age or younger. It wasn’t a terrible change. I’d always thought about going cougar for the night.

  The speed dating started out similar to the one at Dudley’s except instead of three minutes we got five. That wasn’t a bad thing when a cutie sat in front of me, but then a dreaded teenager sat in front of me, and although I knew it was way wrong, I smiled back at him.

  “How old are you?” I asked straight off the bat.

  “How old do you think I am?” he flirted.

  “I think you’re too young for a woman like me.”

  “I think you shouldn’t knock it until you try it,” he winked.

  Winking was so unattractive if not done correctly, and this boy had nailed it. I liked his quick wit and the fact that he was gorgeous didn’t hurt. He was taller than me, and fit like a college football player. I didn’t hate it. His brown eyes were large and deep set and his nose was perfect. Yes, I looked at noses. I was that girl.

  My phone vibrated against the table letting me know Small Peen wasn’t giving up. Leaning forward, Mr. Heisman Trophy covered my phone with his hand and smirked up at me.

  “So what’s your name, gorgeous?” he asked.

  I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my lips. I didn’t even know his name yet, but I really liked his way of flirting. Even though I know this boy was only looking to get laid, the compliment actually made me feel good.

  “Julia. And yours?”

  Reaching across the table, he took my hand in his and shook it. “Hi, Julia, I’m Brody, and I don’t know about you, but I think we’re done for the night.”

  “We are?”

  Needless to say, thirty minutes later, I was face down in the mattress of a local dorm room. Lucky for me, Brody, aka Mr. Heisman Trophy was of age. Also lucky for me, he was as fit as I figured he was, which meant three different positions every five minutes. I was reminded just how old and out of shape I was.

  Muscles I hadn’t used since college burned and no matter how hard I tried to keep my hair and makeup sex worthy, it wasn’t happening. I caught a glimpse of myself in his dresser mirror and almost died.

  My face was sweaty and red. My hair was piled on top of my head and mascara was leaking down my face. I was good and fucked, and by a boy young enough to be my little brother. It was wrong on so many levels, but oh so right.

  “I’m going to fuck you into next week,” he said, pounding me from behind and forcing the top of my head into the oak headboard.

  Next week? Really? Should I start calling him Doc Brown? I swear if this little fucker drove a DeLorean I was done. Done, I tell you!

  Kids were getting inventive these days. Every position Brody put me, he was sure to call out the name of it and let me tell you, there was shit I’d never heard of. Had I not been the one whose legs were slammed into places I didn’t think I’d ever make it out of, I wouldn’t have believed it myself.

  “Flying seahorse!” he called out.

  Which consisted of him climbing up on his dresser, and then proceeding to superman fly onto his bed to see if he could make entrance. The crazy part is, after three tries he actually almost mad
e it. I shit you not, if I hadn’t already gotten two insanely perfect orgasms, I would have run from the room screaming.

  “Pocket douche monkey.”

  Yes. You heard that correctly. He said it. No joke. Pocket. Douche. Monkey. You’re probably asking yourself what the hell that position is. Let me tell you from experience, you don’t want to know. Shit got real, and I left his room with bruises in places I didn’t know I had, shaking legs, and a tad bit of fear for my life. He indeed supermaned this hoe. Soulja Boi would have been proud.

  “He called it the flying seahorse, seriously?” Sadie asked.

  I’d spent the following morning filling her in on the festivities of the night before at the fucked up fun house of Brody Heisman Trophy.

  “Yes. I’m telling you, it was crazy,” I said, sipping my coffee and trying not to move.

  There were tiny twinges of pain every time I did. Internal bleeding was a real possibility.

  “Sounds magical,” she sighed dreamily.

  “Yeah. Not so much.”

  The worst part was I’d broken the promise I’d made to myself to not sleep around anymore, and I’d broken that promise for a boy who was still wet behind the ears. Even if he did fuck like a veteran porn star on crack.

  “Round two tonight?” Sadie asked, sliding out her chair as we left the coffee shop by my office.

  “Hell no. I’ve had enough speed anything to last me a lifetime after last night.”

  “Oh come on, he couldn’t have been that bad.”

  “Actually, had he not been coming at me like a WWE Champion the night could have been a success.”

  My body didn’t feel normal again for three days. There would be no more young bucks for me—only guys my age or older. It was Thursday when I finally had the time to go by and have a drink at Dudley’s after work. My schedule was nuts, one showing after another. Which I guess wasn't bad because it only meant more money in my pocket once I finally sold a couple of these houses.

  “Long time no see, stranger,” Sam said, sliding my usual across the counter.

  “It’s definitely been too long. And this,” I held up my drink, “is much needed.”

  “That bad, huh?” he smiled.

  He was acting different, as if he was uncomfortable and shy. I didn’t know what to make of it. I felt shitty, as if I’d done something to him in my drunken stupor. I wanted to ask and apologize, but frankly I figured bringing it up would only make it worse.

  “That bad.”

  “Want to tell me about it?” he asked.

  “I don’t know if you can handle that story,” I chuckled.

  “Try me,” he bent over the bar, using his forearms to hold him up and bringing himself face to face with me.

  “I’m a cougar,” I simply stated.

  Shaking his head, he laughed. “Took a ride on the young side?”

  “Yes, and I’m scarred for life. College students these days are seriously messed up. Only men my age or older from here on out.”

  “That sounds like a good plan. Want another one of those?” he asked, pointing at my empty glass.

  “I don’t know. After the last time I was here, I’m thinking maybe I should pace myself,” I laughed referring to the night he’d taken me home. “I’m really sorry about the other night, Sam.”

  It was embarrassing to even think about, much less talk about, but I wanted to clear the air since Dudley’s was one of my favorite places to relax after work. I didn’t want any weirdness between me and my bartender buddy.

  Setting another drink in front of me, Sam looked up at me and shrugged. “Don’t be, I’m not.”

  He walked away leaving me confused with a full drink and questions I wasn’t sure I should ask. Something's are better left alone.

  Exactly two weeks later I broke and promised Sadie I’d go with her one last time to a speed date meeting. After all, third time’s a charm, right? Except this time I refused to go anywhere else but Dudley’s. No more college towns or crazy houses.

  I was on date number four when an older gentleman sat in front of me. He was attractive in a Sean Connery kind of way. Sophisticated and dressed entirely too nicely for a place like Dudley’s.

  “The name’s Thomas,” he said.

  Even his name was out of my league, but for once I didn’t feel like I was totally wasting my time.

  Conversation flowed about hobbies that I could actually find interesting. Paddle boarding, and surfing. He didn’t wreak of nasty surfer like Mr. Xbox from my first speed dating night. Frankly, my hopes were high. Really damn high.

  After the night was over, he walked me to my car.

  “I’d like to see you again, Julia. Would you be interested in going on an actual date with me?”

  As if he needed to ask.

  “That sounds fun.”

  We exchanged numbers and made plans for an actual date the following weekend.

  The first highlight of my night was the fact that Mr. Perfect had driven from Orlando to Daytona just to take me out. Picking an upper class beach front restaurant in a surrounding town was his second plus in the date column. A man that wasn’t afraid to spend a couple extra bucks on a good meal was always nice, but a nagging feeling ate away at me as we sped down beachside in his convertible Porsche.

  I felt self-conscious, something that wasn’t a common trait for me. I cursed Bryan for planting a seed of doubt in my mind all those months ago. I for sure thought I was destined to be the old cat lady. Or should I say dog lady.

  “I hope you don’t mind seafood,” he smiled in my direction as he continued to cautiously eye the road.

  “Actually, I’m not really a fan, but I’m sure there’s something I can find on the menu.” I politely smiled back.

  “You live on the ocean, and you don’t eat seafood?” His tone took me off guard, and I wanted to shrug it off, but it actually kind of pissed me off.

  I tried to talk myself down.

  Don’t blow this, Julia.

  “Allergies,” I lied.

  Jesus could this guy be any nosier or maybe I was just being way too defensive.

  “Well that sucks,” he shrugged the conversation off as we pulled into the parking lot of The Chart House.

  People from all over Florida made the trip to The Chart House. It was a swanky seafood restaurant that was raved about in all the food magazines. Needless to say, getting a reservation there was next to impossible. I was pleasantly surprised that Thomas was able to get one so quickly.

  A young valet rushed to the car, helping me out as my heel snagged on the doorway causing me to trip.

  “Shit!” I screeched out as I fell into the arms of the guy who was supposed to be parking the car, instead of my molestation victim for the night.

  “Julia?” the voice sounded vaguely familiar, as I turned my head to see the face that belonged to the strapping young lad holding my klutzy ass upright.

  Our eyes locked, and without a second thought, the words fell from my lips. “Small peen?”

  The look on his face probably matched the mortification on mine. I kicked myself for actually letting the nickname slip. My inner crazy exposed herself and I let myself have it.

  Shit. Shit shit shit! Fuck! Son of a whore mongering bucket of douche. Fuck it all to hell and back with a broomstick.

  That message was approved by Sadie. My thoughts would have made her proud.

  “Are you okay?” Thomas asked from behind Small Peen.

  The worst part of it all, was I couldn’t even remember the poor guy’s real name.

  Ken? Keith? Karl? Kraig! It’s Kraig!

  “I’m so sorry, Kraig. How have you been?” I asked, trying to mask the twelve shades of red on my face.

  His face dropped. “Kyle. My name’s Kyle.” Small Peen said, taking the keys of Thomas’s expensive sports car and walking for the open door on the opposite side of the vehicle.

  “You know the valet?” Thomas asked with a slight look of disgust.

  Of course h
e would be disgusted to know I actually fraternize with mere commoners. This date was quickly going down the shitter.

  “I went to high school with him. Guess he isn’t doing too well for himself now,” I replied without missing a beat.

  I was trying to fit into the social class Thomas belonged in. Just call me Poser the Pussy.

  “Reservation for Wellington,” Thomas said without looking the hostess in the eye.

  If his nose got any higher in the air, I was pretty sure I could see straight up it into his pea sized brain. One red flag for me is the way someone treats those who work in food service. Especially because I don’t want some college dropout making $8.75 an hour to piss on my pasta salad.

  The hostess sat us at a small table for two, candlelit and all. Had Thomas not been such a snob I would have been able to enjoy it far more than I was, but I was still determined to make the best of the night.

  “So, why don’t you tell me what kind of things you’re into, Julia?” Thomas asked across the table while I slowly sipped on my glass of overly expensive white wine.

  I think at this point in time, I realized I should have gone straight for the strong shit, but it was too late to beckon the waitress for a shot of whiskey and a Xanax.

  “Photography, sunbathing, a little bit of everything. But we talked about all this, remember?”

  Was this guy also senile? Dear God what had I gotten myself into?

  “Don’t play coy with me, it’s obvious you aren’t a virgin.” he said matter of factly.

  Damn. He wasn’t even going to give me any foreplay. Shame on you, Thomas.

  “Oh, you want to talk dirty, huh?” I flirted back across the table.

  It was at that moment I made my choice for the evening. Instead of enjoying the expensive meal and having him drop me off at my apartment, I would indulge him. Give in to his wants, and frankly I had an itch I needed to scratch. I said I was over the bed hopping, but Jesus I needed a hard cock in my lady love garden.

  “Why don’t you tell me what you are into,” I turned the question around on him.