by Meghan Quinn
“Because we always think we have the perfect person for you, right?” Dylan chuckles.
“The worst words to hear from a friend in a relationship are oh I have the perfect guy I want you to meet.” I roll my eyes and shake my head. “Nine times out of ten, they are not perfect, not even close. I’ve been on my fair share of setups and not once has a friend, brother, mom, or neighbor been right, but with Going in Blind, there’s a lot of promise.”
“Does that mean you’ve been on a blind date already?”
Dylan clearly knows the answer to that question already but the viewers don’t. Therefore, I must answer. “I have been on a date. It was flawless from the initial process of being matched on the app, to going to the restaurant, and then to the actual date.”
Leaning forward, Dylan presses her hand against her crossed legs and says, “Tell us more about your date. Was he cute?” She wiggles her eyebrows at me, and I stop myself from rolling my eyes.
“He was . . .” I look to the ceiling, trying to recount Jack. “He was everything I was looking for in a man. I was kind of surprised actually. When I met Jack, I was a little worried we wouldn’t have anything to talk about, but the minute we met, conversation was never at a lull. I believe a lot of that has to do with the restaurant as well, because they give you games to play to get to know each other better. Their sole purpose is to help you find your one and only.”
“And did you find that in your blind date?”
I shrug. “Only time will tell. What I do know though is that I have a date with The Suit tomorrow, and I can’t wait to see where it takes us.”
“The Suit.” Dylan nods and smiles. “I like that. Well, we hope your date with The Suit goes well tomorrow.” Turning toward the camera, Dylan reads from the teleprompter. “This is only the beginning for Noely and her dating adventure. We can’t wait to hear more and tell you more about the Going in Blind program. Until then, have a beautiful weekend.” Dylan and I both wave at the camera until the red light turns off and Kevin tells us it’s a wrap.
Exhaling, I lie back on the couch and look at the intricate set lights. That wasn’t as painful as I thought it was going to be.
“You said his name,” Dylan says, causing me to turn my head toward her.
“What?”
“Jack, you said his name.”
“I called him The Suit.”
Dylan shakes her head, “Not at first, at first you said Jack.”
Did I?
It was such a blur. I can’t remember what I said at all. It’s all just morphing into one giant run-on sentence.
“Did I say his name?” Dylan nods, biting her lip. “I mean, I didn’t say his last name. Hell, I don’t even know his last name. Do you think it’s going to be a problem?”
“I don’t know, you’re the one who has spent time with the guy. He watches the show, doesn’t he?”
“On occasion . . . I think.” Would he care if I said his name? It’s not like anyone is going to know who I’m talking about. There have to be thousands of Jacks living in Malibu alone.
“Well, I would message him just in case, so he’s not caught off guard.”
“Yeah, maybe I will.”
As I ponder my little slip-up, Dylan starts to take her bra off, once again making the entire production crew uncomfortable. It wouldn’t be a Friday without Dylan tossing her bra to the side.
***
Dearest Noely,
Checking in, how’s the hair? I know it’s early, but I thought I would try to catch you before you went on air. I’m kind of hoping for your sake you were able to straighten out your hair situation . . . no pun intended.
For what it’s worth, I still thought you were beautiful with your curly hair. It just made you that much more endearing.
Jack
Dear Considerate,
Thank you for checking in. You’re so sweet. If you caught the show this morning, you would notice a lack of curls in my hair, because thankfully, all went well last night. Besides this one hair that keeps curling at the base of my neck no matter what I do. I just tuck that little defiant chunk of hair away.
Speaking of the show, I want to talk to you about a segment we went live on today. When you see the show, you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about.
Noely
Chapter Eleven
NOELY
The breeze lifting off the ocean whips my hair in my face, temporarily covering my eyes. I push my hair out of the way and curse myself for not putting it up. I’m usually smarter than this, but because I went through hair drama yesterday, I wanted to show off my straight locks.
Bad idea.
Very bad idea, because not only am I eating my hair with each passing gust of wind, I’m getting lipstick all over my face from my hair brushing against my lips and then onto my cheeks. It’s not even the slightest bit attractive.
Holding my hair to one side, I look around the beach, wondering where Jack is. He doesn’t seem like a guy who is normally late, not that two minutes is late, but still. From my general impression of the man, time is a precious commodity.
And he’s the one bringing the food and wine, so it’s not like I could start drinking if I wanted to, not that I need to drink right now.
Well . . . that’s sort of a lie. I wouldn’t mind a little booze to ease my nerves. I shouldn’t be nervous when it comes to Jack, but for some reason, I have a bad feeling. A very bad feeling.
Since my last message yesterday, I haven’t heard from him. And who knows, he might have been busy all day with whatever business he conducts, so I have to give him the benefit of the doubt . . . but it also seems uncharacteristic of him to not message me back. The man sent me a dozen lightbulbs for crying out loud.
I shift in my miniscule jean shorts and tight-fitting purple blouse. I wanted to wear something casual but also pretty, something that showed off my body but allowed me to be able to sit on a blanket in the sand without worrying about some passerby able to see straight up my skirt.
I rest the blanket on the fence and look at the parking lot just as a black BMW sedan pulls in. I have no idea what kind of car Jack drives, but my stomach flips from the thought of him stepping out of that car.
I watch intently as a black loafer appears from behind the car door, followed by an impeccably dressed Jack wearing black trousers, a black button-up shirt sans tie, and black sunglasses that cover those deliciously dark eyes of his.
I smile widely at him when he spots me. Taking off his sunglasses, he tosses them on the dashboard of his car and he locks up, carrying nothing with him.
Odd.
When he approaches, I push off the fence and wait for him to reach me. When he does, his gaze is cast down, his features not the jovial ones I’m used to.
“Hey,” I say shyly, feeling more nervous than ever.
“Hi.” He places his hands in his pockets, and his standoffish stance is rocking my equilibrium.
Shouldn’t he be scooping me up into his arms and kissing me? Isn’t that what he’s been wanting to do since we kissed the other night. Hell, isn’t that what he wanted since date one?
Unsure on how to read this man, I take another step forward and ask, “Is everything okay, Jack?”
His lips purse, and he shakes his head.
Yeah, I don’t like the look of this at all.
“I’m going to be honest with you, Noely.” He looks up at me and those mysterious eyes slice me in half. They’re stern, unforgiving, almost scary. “Do you remember what we talked about on our first date?”
First date? How about only date?
“You’re going to have to be more specific. We talked about a lot of things, Jack.”
“I’m a private person, Noely.”
Oh crap, he did watch the show from yesterday.
“On our first date, I told you privacy was important, that I was burned in the past from my private life being shared without my consent.”
Stepping forward again, I say, “Ugh, Jac
k, I’m so sorry. It was a slip-up and I feel awful. I really meant to just call you The Suit, but I was so nervous, and when I’m nervous I don’t think and things just fly out of my mouth. I hope you don’t think I did this on purpose, because exposing you like that is the last thing I would want to do.” His eyes are trained on the ground between us. “But at least it wasn’t your last name, right? There must be thousands of Jacks in Malibu. I think you’re safe.” I tug on his shirt, trying to lighten his mood, but it doesn’t work.
“Two people have already asked me if I was the Jack you were talking about.”
“What?” My voice reaches decibels only dogs can hear. “How is that possible?”
“They both knew I was taking part in the dating program, so they put the two and two together.”
Oh God.
“I’m so sorry, Jack. I didn’t even want to do the segment. It was my producer who kept pushing and pushing. I’m really—”
“I can’t do this, Noely.” He shakes his head, and my body goes stiff from his words. Stroking his jaw, he lets out a frustrated breath. “I can’t have my life in the public eye. I don’t want it in the public eye. I’ve spent a great deal of time trying to step out of the spotlight, trying to make my investments the center of attention and not the man behind them. It’s taken a long time, but I’m finally there.” He continues to stroke his jaw, his eyes pinned on mine now. “I like you, Noely, a lot, but you’re too high profile for me right now. I’m in the midst of something big, a business that is on the verge of exploding into something amazing. I can’t jeopardize that . . . for anything. If it doesn’t work out, I’m not the only one affected by it. I’ve hired fifty employees to keep everything in check, and I can’t possibly hurt them, not after all the hard work they’ve put into this project.”
Is he really breaking up before we get started?
“Jack, I’m sorry. I really am, and I will do whatever I can to help fix things. Just tell me what I can do.” I bite my bottom lip and hate that I’m getting emotional over this. “I don’t want to say goodbye to you. I really think there is something special between us. Can’t you feel it?”
He nods, and a brief glimpse of hope springs inside me. “There is something special between us, but I can’t pursue it.” He shakes his head. “I won’t jeopardize anything. I never should have gone on the first date to begin with.” He sighs and runs a hand over his face. “I just couldn’t stay away.” Shaking his head, he steps away, causing my heart to slightly crack. “I have to go.” Looking me up and down, he says, “Take care, Noely.”
When he turns around and heads to his car, I’m almost too shocked to do anything, but before he can close his car door, I call out to him. “So that’s it, Jack? You’re going to be just as evasive in stopping this as you were in sharing anything about you? Because of privacy? Even if what we can both see between us seems so good?”
“It’s much more than that.” Well, hell if I know how it can be after one date, one kiss, and a few messages.
“Yeah, like what?” I fold my arms over my chest, growing angrier by the second.
“It would be a conflict of interest, Noely.”
A conflict of interest? What the hell is he talking about?
Before I can ask, he’s shutting his car door and starting the engine. I watch as he places his sunglasses over his eyes and backs out of the parking lot, kicking up dust in his wake.
I’m stunned. I stand there for a few minutes before I finally say to no one, “You’ve got to be freaking kidding me.” Shaking my head in disbelief, I repeat a little louder. “You’ve got to be FREAKING kidding me.” Throwing my arms to the sky, I stomp toward my blanket, snag it along with my keys and head to my car.
A conflict of interest?
Privacy?
Not wanting to be burned?
What in the ever-living hell is he talking about?
And what’s even more frustrating is that the man refuses to talk about it. I don’t need to know his social security number or anything, just a little explanation, something more than his evasive answer.
But noooooo, The Suit can’t possibly share that side of him.
Well guess what, Jack? You’re dead to me.
Once in my car, I pull out my phone from my back pocket and open up the Going in Blind app. Without even giving it a second thought, I look at the second match sent to me. I have no idea if they normally send daters second or third matches, whether this is normal or not. But it’s as if they knew I’d be needing another attempt.
RebelWithACause.
I study the profile. It doesn’t say much; he is adventurous, loves homemade brownies, and does a lot of philanthropic work.
Interesting and what’s even more interesting is his profile emoji. It’s a motorcycle, something that seems like the complete opposite from The Suit, just what I need. I’m still completely confused how someone who was very forthright with what they wanted to do with me, can so quickly turn off that passion. He sent flowers. Lightbulbs. He gave me hope.
And now that hope has dulled, much like my apartment when I throw out all the stupid bulbs I didn’t need in the first place. One down. Hopefully not too many more before I give up completely.
Looks like we’re about to get cozy, rebel.
PART TWO
THE REBEL
Chapter Twelve
NOELY
Hmm . . . I might have gone a little overboard.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection of Going in Blind’s front door and cringe. When I dressed for my blind date tonight, I might have angrily dressed. Meaning, I put on the sluttiest thing I owned, sexi-fied my hair, and donned the tallest heels I possess. I read like a classy hooker looking for a good time. Notice how I said classy and not trashy? Huge difference. Even though my boobs are spilling out of my tight black dress that ends mid-thigh, my makeup isn’t smeared, and I’m wearing underwear . . . full-butt underwear.
See the difference?
Knowing there is no time to go home and change into something less “rebel” like—that’s the theme I was going for—and more nun from the convent, I push through the door and I’m greeted by Veronica, the hostess.
“Miss Clark, it’s lovely to see you tonight.”
“Hi,” I say shyly, feeling a little uneasy that I’m here again. They obviously know the first date didn’t work out, the first date that’s supposed to be THE match. It’s kind of embarrassing, but when I look at Veronica, there is no judgment in her eyes. If there had been, I would have wanted to turn around and leave. Instead, I take a deep breath and say, “I have a date with RebelWithACause tonight.”
“Yes, I have you right here. He hasn’t arrived yet. Can I show you to the bar?”
“Please.” Pulling on the hem of my skirt, trying to magically elongate it, I follow Veronica to the bar where there is another woman waiting on the far end. She’s dressed far more conservatively than I am in a pretty royal-blue turtleneck dress. Unlike my curled and teased hair—yes, teased—hers is brushed crisply against her head into a high ballerina bun pinned at the top. She went classy sexy. Good for her. I tried that last time and look where I ended up. Right back where I started. Who knows, maybe her approach will work for her.
I take a seat across from her at the bar, the length putting enough distance between us so we don’t have to make awkward conversation, which normally wouldn’t be an issue for me. For some reason, I’m feeling slightly bitter tonight, a sensitivity I need to drop before my date gets here because no one likes sharing a delicious dinner with a bitter human.
“Miss Clark, it’s a pleasure to see you,” Danny, the bartender, says while placing a napkin in front of me. “Can I get you another Moscow Mule?”
I don’t know if I should be impressed he remembers me or depressed. I wonder how many second timers he sees in here.
Trying to give him a smile, but failing, I say, “Maybe just a glass of rosé for me this evening.”
Sensing my humdrum attitu
de, Danny leans forward and tips my chin up. Smiling brightly, he says, “You’re not the only one in here on their second date. About half of the daters here are on their second, some on their third and fourth. It takes time to find the right match. It doesn’t happen magically. On paper or in our data system, you might seem like a good match with someone else, but computers and graphs can’t calculate the human emotion. So give yourself some credit, okay?” I needed that. I have to trust he’s telling me the truth.
Perking up, I return Danny’s enigmatic smile. “Thank you.”
“Anytime. Now”—he looks me up and down—“how about I fix you one of my special Tom Collins?”
Perching up on the bar, I ask, “What makes it special?”
“The way I shake it.” He winks at me and gets to work.
Danny would be quite the catch. I wonder if he’s taken. Is he married? I want to be part of that breed. Yes, the married are their own breed. I want to swim around in that breed. I want to be the freaking HOA president of that breed.
“So, do you know anything about your date tonight?” Danny asks as he pours my drink into a tumbler from the shaker he was shaking vigorously.
I play with the napkin in front of me. “Um, not too much. He is adventurous and does a lot of philanthropic work. He also makes me believe he—”
“Hello.”
I feel like I’m living in a déjà vu moment. Once again, a deep voice pulls me away from Danny to the man behind me.
Turning slightly as Danny sets my drink in front of me, I come eye to eye with a man who I can only describe accurately as a rebel. From his thick hair—pushed to the side on the top of his head—to his harsh scruff on his jaw, to the leather jacket draped tightly over his shoulders, and the motorcycle helmet under his arm, he has rebel written all over him. Gorgeous rebel.