The Perfect 1

by CORY CYR

  He threw back his head and roared in laughter. “Seriously, woman, you are a piece of work, and I suspect you’re also quite a piece. Your scent is driving me nuts. And speaking of nuts, I suppose I’m going to have to apologize.”

  I looked at him as though I were expecting him to return my stare. “Apologize for what?”

  He spun around as my eyes began to span his body. Holy hell, he was erect. He actually had a hard-on. And it was large and extremely difficult to miss. “You’re on your own with that monstrosity,” I said, backing out slowly.

  “Now see, I could view that as a compliment. I can’t even see, but you aroused me nevertheless.”

  “Oh please, that probably happens when the surf is high,” I retorted.

  He tossed the towels on the floor as he felt for the shower doors. I watched as his hands slid down the fiberglass wall to the faucet. He turned it on, testing the water, adjusting it for temperature. “Sure it wouldn’t be safer if you got in with me?” he taunted.

  “I think you can handle yourself just fine.” I closed the door, biting my tongue, realizing what connotation my words had. He chuckled as I heard the rustling of clothes. Several minutes later, after a few swear words, he began to sing.

  I strolled into the kitchen. There was box after box of cereal. He must have had fifteen brands. No wonder he’d lost weight. I checked the refrigerator. Cartons of milk. Most were empty or expired, and not one of them had been discarded. I didn’t get his reluctance. He had access to takeout. One phone call and he could have food delivered. It was like a flashback. This had been me thirteen years ago.

  I filled the dishwasher with bowls and spoons and wiped down the countertops. I wasn’t used to maintaining a household myself, but I could do this. I bagged the empty boxes and miscellaneous trash, hauling it outside. I opened all the windows and the front door, then searched for a mop. Lincoln had beautiful wood floors that hadn’t seen a good cleaning in months.

  An hour later, the bathroom door opened and steam poured out. I choked back a gulp as I surveyed him from top to bottom. I knew he couldn’t see my obvious interest, but could he hear the quickness of my pulse or the increased tempo of my heart? He stood in the center of the bathroom with a towel around his waist and water dripping from his hair. My eyes couldn’t decide what to take in first. His shoulders were broad, his arms muscled flesh. His stomach was flat and rippled with the most delicious six-pack I’d ever seen. Even the weight loss hadn’t hindered his athletic body. He looked thinner but lean and taut, and his figure still represented someone who had led a disciplined lifestyle.

  “You going to stand there and gawk or will you shave me? I mean, I can’t blame you. This body is rather a masterpiece.”

  My face turned red in embarrassment. “How did you know?” I inquired timidly.

  “I heard your breath change. My eyes may suck, but my hearing is excellent. Now, if you think you can maintain your desire for moi”—he waved his hand down his body, then tightened the grip on his towel—“find my razor and have at it.”

  He had guessed I was staring. Damn him. I should shave him bald. Make him less attractive.

  Who was I kidding? There was no way to make this man hideous.

  I touched my own face, wishing. He and I would have been matched in perfection if not for my scars. Well, that and the huge age gap. Cradle robber, cougar. He’d been twelve, barely a teenager, when I had my incident. His appearance and salty vocabulary had me forgetting the difference. It didn’t matter anyway. I was here to help him finish his next book, nothing more.

  Then why did I feel the hole in my heart splitting wider? This man had suddenly awakened my sleeping desires. No, those feelings hadn’t been in slumber. I wasn’t a beauty, and Lincoln was definitely no prince. I was gravitating toward a blind man because, without sight, he was safe.

  Chapter 4

  “Leave some beard. I haven’t been clean shaven since I was twenty. And maybe trim my hair,” he demanded.

  I put down the straight edge because the thought of cutting his throat was just too tempting. “Do I look like a stylist? Just be happy I cut a straight line, or maybe I’ll just shave your head.” I cringed at taunting a blind man.

  “You’re supposed to be assisting me. Well, this is what I need right now. Be grateful I’m not asking for sexual relief, because it’s been a while”

  “You’re awfully brave. I am holding a razor, and I have scissors nearby. I’d cut my losses and shut the fuck up before you end up looking like Vin Diesel.”

  “He’s a good-looking guy, but he doesn’t have my eyes.”

  Jesus. This man was trying my patience. Tempting my sexuality and giving Xavier a run for crown prince of douche heads. “Funny for a blind man.”

  He looked up at me. “I was talking about the color, not the fact that I’m sightless, visionless, without seeing…”

  “Shut up and sit still,” I hissed, exhausted, repositioning his head.

  I’d been here less than two hours, and he was making me question my choice to take this job. Wait, this really wasn’t an actual job. I was doing this out of the goodness of my heart. I swallowed a silent chuckle.

  “Be honest. My eyes intrigue you.”

  “Yes, they’re very unique. Unfortunately, they’re on your face with your mouth. That part I find less appealing.”

  His body shifted, and the towel slipped. I could see the top of his pubic hair.

  “Trust me. My mouth is quite a bit more captivating than my eyes. When I get to know you better, we can put that to the test.”

  I snorted as the blades of the scissors crossed. “This discussion is futile. You already know you’re attractive, rich, and talented, and you being blind isn’t going to change any of that. If anything, droves of women will shower you with sympathy—as undeserving as that might be.”

  He stood, knocking the shears from my hands, the noise echoing off the walls. His towel slipped dangerously low. I tried to avert my eyes, but when I finally looked, he had retied it around his waist.

  “Get out. Just leave.” His voice was harsh and unforgiving. What I’d said had obviously hit a nerve.

  I touched his arm, causing him to flinch. “Look, what I said… I shouldn’t have. I don’t know you. I’m sorry.”

  He faced me as I stared into beautiful eyes that couldn’t see how damaged I was. “I don’t want to be pitied. I plan to make sure no one finds out about this, and since I don’t know you, I think an NDA is in order. Maybe you’ll sell my story to a tabloid.”

  My body shook. He had no idea I would never do that. I hated the paparazzi’s guts. Someone had done that to me. My disfigured face had been plastered everywhere. Those people were below cockroaches. The vilest scum of the earth.

  I picked up the other wet towel from the floor and snapped him in the ass. “I take all of it back. It would be a hardship for any sane person to feel sorry for such a shit. As far as pity, from what I’ve heard, you’ve been such a sad sack, there would hardly be room for anyone else’s.”

  He rubbed his backside where I’d toweled him. “What the fuck? What else did my brother say? Nice to know he’s on my side.”

  “He cares about you. He wanted me to know what I was getting into. Frankly, I’m beginning to have more sympathy for him because he doesn’t know the half of it.”

  He stuck out one hand. “So truce. I suppose if my asshole brother sent you, I should be able to trust you. But what I said before I meant. I cannot have any of this coming out. It would ruin me. Somehow, someway, I need to sort out what I’m going to do. And unfortunately, that requires help. I need you to stay.”

  I shook his extended hand. “Big difference between need and want. I don’t doubt you need me; that’s obvious. But I can’t be here if you only expect me to listen to constant whining and to verbally spar with you on a daily basis. So if I’m going to stay, wanting me to is more valuable then needing me.”

  “Okay, I want you to stay. You smell like sunshine, a
nd if you can type, I’ll marry you.”

  “Thank you, Jesus. Saved me from the altar.” I chuckled. “Probably twenty words a minute, with two fingers. I haven’t been around a keyboard in twenty years, but I can read anything you want. I’m sure with practice, my typing skills should improve enough to help you finalize your manuscript.”

  “You were typing at three?” he asked, his voice inquisitive.

  “Very funny. You may be young, but I’m not. So unless you’re into old ladies, forget whatever your perv mind is thinking.”

  He put both thumbs into the towel still wrapped around his waist. “I’ve had many flavors. You know what they say—anything that has been aged to perfection is finer. You’re not fooling me, Jen… syn. You are what we term in writing sassy. And I’m intrigued by sassy. Plus, I can’t see you, so kind of a win-win.”

  “What a dick,” I said in a guff, rolling my eyes at the double-sided compliment.

  “Yes, I am, and hopefully, you’ll get used to that fact. It seems like eons ago, but I was never like this. So let’s start fresh. I’m going to ask for forgiveness now for all future offenses, because if I’m honest, I can’t promise I’ll be charming day after day. I hope you have patience, because I can be a royal pain in the ass, especially when I’m up against a deadline.”

  “So I’ve noticed. It takes time to get accustomed to change, and what you’re going though is drastic. I know this is challenging and unfair, but somehow you’ll survive it. I think you’re much stronger than you know. I’m going to try to remember the personal attacks aren’t about me, but rather your circumstances. Now let me finish your hair. Then you’ll be all GQ again.” I took his hand and guided him onto the toilet seat, then reached for the scissors.

  “I get the distinct feeling you’ve managed to slay your own demons. I hear experience in your voice. Is that why Lucas put us together?”

  “You’ll have to ask him.” I inhaled.

  “All done. So much better,” I announced a little while later, watching him slide a hand over his face, then hair.

  “Nice. But do I look good?”

  “You look fine and smell even better. I hope showering becomes a regular occurrence now.”

  He looked beautiful. His once long, stringy hair was now short enough to curl on the ends. I had used a razor on most of his face and a trimmer to clean up his mustache and beard. Lincoln Bass now resembled his author’s photo. Once he started eating real food again and gained a few pounds, the transformation would be complete.

  “As long as you’re within hearing distance, I swear to shower every day. You wouldn’t want anything to happen to these gorgeous limbs, would you?” he asked, his balance wobbling as he grabbed his head.

  “Are you okay?” I questioned, extremely concerned because I wouldn’t know what to do if something were truly wrong.

  He stared at my voice. “I’m fine. I just need a minute. I occasionally have these flashes of light accompanied by splitting headaches, and they have a tendency to knock me off my ass.”

  “How often?” I asked, kneeling in front of him.

  “Sometimes I’ll go for weeks, other times two or three in one day. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but they startle me. I keep hoping they mean my sight is coming back.”

  I stood contemplating his words. “Don’t you think it’s better to resign yourself to accepting this as permanent? You need to move forward.” Maybe this great advice is something you should have followed. You’re a hypocrite, Jensyn.

  “No, the surgeon said there was a good chance it could come back. They called it hysterical blindness. I guess it’s the only explanation they could come up with after my brain quit swelling and I still couldn’t see. It’s fucking complicated, all this medical shit. He told me there’s no physical reason for my blindness, other than the trauma I endured. Numerous days in a coma and six weeks of physical therapy. A sum total of five months of this bullshit and still darkness. I wish my vision would just come back. I had to push back my book by six months, and my life consists of nothing but black, empty space. Maybe if I could sleep… I’m so goddamn tired. But this perpetual night blows.”

  I was torn between compassion for his plight and my impending fear that his sight could spontaneously return. Jesus, I felt like crap. I was a horrible and narcissistic person. I would hope this man, someone I barely knew, would stay locked in a world of darkness just because I’d never had the courage to heal myself. Lucas was wrong. I was truly fucked up and much too broken to help his brother. I wanted Lincoln to stay visually crippled because it allowed me a renewed sense of worth. I could almost forget who I’d been and now center on who I was becoming. And as much as he irritated the hell out of me, I knew we’d become friends, eventually.

  “Maybe you should think of the dark as a state of mind. I’m sure you can remember the things you loved. And if you can’t, I’ll help you. Maybe we can get you to a place that allows you to see, even if you can’t. The mind can be remarkable.” I touched his arm, and his hand immediately captured mine. The warmth of his fingertips traveled along my spine.

  “Can I touch your face?” he asked softly.

  I snapped back my hand immediately as my body recoiled. “What? No. Wait. Why?” I questioned in a shaky voice.

  “I want to see you. The physical therapist said by tracing someone’s face with my fingers I would get a sense of sight through touch. You’re the first person I’ve had contact with. I haven’t wanted to see anyone else. Besides, I recall what my hideous brother looks like,” he joked, chuckling. “And my editor.”

  “I’d rather you not. Touching my face, it seems too personal.” I backed away from him. My emotional alarm had gone off, and I was afraid. If his senses were acute, he would feel all my scars. My imperfections. I’d rather he liked the person he couldn’t visualize.

  “Okay then, I guess I can wait until Kami shows up. I’m sure my editor will let me touch her face.”

  I scoffed. “Her face is probably the only area you haven’t fondled.”

  “Wow, you did do your research. Yes, I banged my editor. So what? No big deal. Glad we got that out of the way, because I don’t want weirdness when you meet her. Interestingly enough, she’s older.”

  “Older, but obviously not wiser.” I laughed, attempting to suppress my anxiety. What if she knew who I was and told him? Maybe I should confide in her and ask her to keep my secret. I was worrying for nothing, because chances were we would never cross paths. “How old is she?” Why in the hell did I just ask that?

  “I’m not sure. Early thirties, I guess. Why?”

  “Just wondering if we’d ever met.”

  He grinned. “So it’s not jealousy because we fucked a few times? I am curious, though. You never said what you did for a living.”

  “I’m retired,” I replied with a snort, almost relieved he had no sight so he couldn’t witness my continual eye rolls.

  “Learned to type at three and retired by, what, thirty?”

  “You are hilarious. I’m not telling you shit, so forget it. Me being here is about you, not me. So how about you put on some clothes and introduce me to your new book?”

  The smile he gave me was so intimate it felt like sex. Or what I remembered it to be like. “You’re telling me this towel does nothing for you? Come on now. Tell the truth. You forget how sharp my senses are. When I said you smelled good, it wasn’t just your perfume I was referring to.”

  Oh my God. Would he ever shut up? I wondered how much time I’d get in prison for accidently cutting his vocal chords, too. He could smell me. Bullshit.

  I pushed some clean shorts and a tank I’d managed to find into his lap. “Just dress. You are an irritating bastard.”

  “Some disability advocate you are.” He snorted, dropping his towel as he stood.

  He knew I would look, and I did. I’d never paid much attention to the male appendage. From what I could tell, they all looked the same except for the length and girth. But even flaccid
, Lincoln Bass had a decidedly impressive one. Perfect in size and proportioned well with his balls. And I had the nerve to call him a pervert. I had now entered the realm of deviant. But it wasn’t as though he had proof I’d looked. After my appraisal, I’d left the room, closing the door behind me.

  Ten minutes later, I heard him emerge. I was in the living room, where the open door and windows had made the place smell better. My jaw dropped as he carefully navigated his way toward me. “I’m sure I gave you a shirt.”

  He nodded. “I didn’t feel the need to wear it or, for that fact, briefs.”

  “Seriously, that’s a little too much information. In the future, you can keep that stuff to yourself. It’s kind of on a need-to-know basis, and I don’t need to know,” I stated, sounding rattled. He already knew how to push my buttons.

  “You know, Jensyn, you’re the diversion I’ve needed. Look at everything you’ve accomplished your first day. My house smells clean, my body feels all tingly, and I may be blind, but I still have it going on with women. Go ahead and admit you’re kinda into me.”

  “Okay, I’ll admit it. Lincoln, I want you—to go screw yourself.”

  His hands traveled across the top of a recliner as he sat. “Speaking of fucking—and this is for business purposes only, so don’t get your panties in a twist—whenever I write an erotic scene, I normally try out the sexual positions firsthand. You know, for my craft. I want the writing to be realistic.”

  “Really? I had no idea. However will you accomplish that? Oh, wait. I know. Hand puppets. I’ll watch as you pretend. I’m sure you’ve gotten used to Old Millie after five months.”

  He looked perplexed, leaning toward my voice. I had seated myself across from him on the sofa. “Who’s Millie?” he questioned in confusion.

  “Men tend to name their dicks, and since you won’t be using yours anytime soon, I’ve decided to name your hand. I’ll even make your very own sock puppet. It will work beautifully for all those ‘realistic sex scenes.’”