by Meghan Quinn
“I see.” Jack takes another sip from his margarita, so I do the same but instead of a sip, I take one giant gulp. “This guy, he seems to know what he’s doing, as if he’s getting you to a point in conversation where you have no choice but to beg to finally meet him.”
“Well, begging seems a bit aggressive.”
“But from the sparkle in your eye when you talk about him, I can see he’s on your mind; he really has captured you.”
You have, I want to scream. I want to throw this table to the ground, hop on his lap, and kiss him senseless.
“You know, I wonder where we would be right now if I didn’t foolishly break things off with you. If I’d talked to you rather than run away.”
Feeling sad about all the wasted time we’ve endured, I say, “We wouldn’t be just friends, Jack.”
“No we wouldn’t.” He humorously shakes his head. “We would be a hell of a lot more than just friends.” Running his hand over his face, he blows out a long breath, as if he’s truly distraught over our situation.
Before I can break the silence and question him, our food is placed in front of us, and the smell of shrimp tacos consumes us. For the rest of the “date” we talk about unimportant things like my work, and the weather, things that go nowhere to digging deep.
The ride to the studio is just as awkward and instead of a hug goodbye, Jack gives me a small wave from his side of the car.
That night, I don’t receive any messages from NY152, nor do I receive any from him the next day, or the day following.
What on earth is going on? Does he really not know that I believe NY152 is him?
Was I wrong? Have I lost Jack?
Again?
Chapter Thirty-Seven
JACK
NY152,
You know that scene in You’ve Got Mail where Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan are at that party together where Meg Ryan finds out Tom Hanks is in fact, Joe Fox, and they are both getting food from the table. Tom Hanks grabs all the caviar off one of the plates and Meg Ryan yells at him, telling him the caviar is a garnish? Do you remember that? Well, I had caviar today for the first time and I’ve come to the conclusion that it should be a garnish and nothing else.
Ugh, I can’t get the taste out of my mouth.
Help!
Noely
NY152,
On the show today, Turk Gunderson came and did a piece about Christmas trees and how to decorate them. He was insistent about using fake fiber-optic trees because they glistened and shimmered rather than glowed.
When did glistening and shimmering become better than glowing? I always thought glowing was the optimal way to shine light. Are you a glower, glistener, or shimmer-er? In my head, you’re a glower, but maybe that’s because I hold you in a higher regard.
Noely
NY152,
My brother made duck last night for our little family dinner. Duck, like the little quack, quack ducks you can feed at a pond.
I wasn’t a fan of his menu selection, nor was I fan of him using the head of the duck as a “decoration.” Hell, I would have rather seen the caviar gracing the plate at that point.
When he brought it out, all I could think about was the end scene in A Christmas Story when they are at the Chinese restaurant, singing Fra ra ra ra all night long.
Despite the fun memory, and that song playing on repeat in my head, I still couldn’t get over the dead duck head. Why my brother had to do that, I have no idea. Thankfully, he got an earful from his wife when their daughter buried her body under the table and would not reappear for dinner.
He doesn’t think things through sometimes.
Noely
NY152,
I’m not sure why you’ve been so silent lately, but please know this. I’ve missed you and your messages. I’ve missed the way you make me laugh, and the sweet words you say. I’m not sure if I said something wrong, or if you’re pulling away, but whatever it might be, I hope you tell me because honestly, I’ve missed you.
Hope to hear from you soon.
ShopGirl
I close out of the app and run both hands over my face, squeezing my eyes shut in the process. God, I miss her too.
I miss her so damn much, just as much as I missed her when I stopped us from going further the first time.
Why the hell did I do that?
Hmm . . . maybe because I’m a scared asshole with a tendency to run when things get complicated. Just like they are now.
Fuck, are they complicated.
I didn’t think this through, not even in the slightest.
When we went out for tacos the other day, I wanted to gauge where she was at, to see if there was any inkling that I could be the guy she’s messaging. But when she talked about it, when she talked about “him” it seemed like she was talking about someone completely separate from me, and that’s what is terrifying me.
I thought I’d been winning her over during the past few weeks. I thought I was doing a really good job at it actually, turning our sour encounter into a relationship to last for years to come. But now, now I wonder if I inadvertently friend-zoned myself?
Is she thinking The Rebel is who she’s been talking to? Is The Rebel the one who’s captured her? If only she would give me some sort of hint, because frankly, I’m terrified to meet up with her as NY152 and for her to be tremendously disappointed.
“Shit,” I mutter and walk out to my deck. What I wouldn’t give to have Noely here right now, laughing and teasing me.
I didn’t mean to meet anyone with the app. My profile was just a test profile, to make sure we had everything setup properly, but when the system matched me with Noely, and I read everything about her, I was intrigued. I had to meet her, so I said yes to a date.
Best decision of my life.
That night we spent together, hell, I haven’t stopped thinking about it.
Scratch that, I haven’t stopped thinking about the kiss we shared in her house, with her hair crazed with curls.
Wait, no. I haven’t stopped thinking about what we did in her dressing room. God, she’d felt perfect in my arms. So damn perfect. The taste of her. The feel of her wrapped around me. The softness of her skin. Fuck. How did I mess this up so badly?
I rub the scruff on my jaw, contemplating what I should do next. I thought using the You’ve Got Mail identities would make it so easy for her to know it was me. Wasn’t it the first thing we really connected on? The first big tick that said she and I were so suited? Had she actually found that in common with The Rebel as well?
I have two options, I can continue to be Noely’s friend, or I can nut up and message her back, ask her out on a date.
Knowing I can’t drag this on anymore—I’ve reached my breaking point—I pull my phone from my pocket.
Noely,
I’m so sorry about the silence recently. To be honest, I was trying to come up with different excuses as to why not to answer you, but they were all lies and you deserve better than that. So to tell you the truth, I took some time to do some serious thinking about what’s to come, about us, if there even is an us.
Despite being a strong and confident man, you’ve bewitched me. You’ve invaded my mind and turned it into a dusty fog, a place where nothing but your beautiful eyes and smile exist.
But even that is not an excuse, so I deeply apologize if I bewildered or upset you in any way. Please don’t think I’m not thinking about you, because your mouthy remarks and funny banter ring through my head every damn day.
Me
I hit send and take in a deep breath. I’ve never been this edgy about a girl in my life. Hell, I’ve never been nervous about anything really for that matter. Million-dollar business deals barely grant me a perspiration, but Noely in a tight red dress with matching lipstick? Fuck, she had me sweating from my hands to my feet.
Below me the waves crash onto the shore, calming my racing heart just as a message pings on my phone. That was quick, but I’m glad. I don’t know if I can wait very long
for a response.
NY152,
Some serious thinking? What were you thinking about? It kind of makes me nervous that you took a while to respond because of thinking.
If we’re being honest, I like you, a lot, and if you were thinking about possibly ending this messaging relationship without even meeting, it would probably crush me.
Noely
Fuck. I run my hand through my hair. I have her just where I want her, liking the man who has won her soul over, but the only question is, is she going to like the man who’s behind the messages?
How on earth did Tom Hanks do this in You’ve Got Mail? I know it’s fiction—a movie no less—but it took some serious guts to win Meg Ryan over after he put her out of business. I would feel way more confident if The Rebel wasn’t in the picture. I know nothing about him. For all I know, he could be her soul mate.
Yes, I could have looked him up in the system, since I created it, but that would be a gross invasion of privacy. Now I’m second-guessing that decision.
My lips twist to the side as I think about my options. Well, option . . . because there really is only one.
It’s time to come clean. I hope that when she sees who NY152 is, she’s not disappointed.
Gathering myself, I open the app back up and click on the date request for ShopGirl. When I hit send, I go to the message bar and type her a quick message.
Noely,
Ending our messaging, no. I could never do that without at least taking you out on one more date, without giving myself one more chance at winning over your heart.
So, will you do me the honor and go out with me this Friday night? If you’d like to, accept my date request and I’ll see you at Going in Blind. Until then, sleep well, beautiful.
Me
Pressing send, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly as I stare out at the ocean, trying to let the crash of the waves calm my nerves. Unfortunately, I’m at a point where nothing is going to soothe me, not until Noely is once again in my arms. Not until she is truly mine. Because when she is, I am never letting her go.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
NOELY
“You smell nice.”
“Uh, thank you,” I reply to the Uber driver taking me to the restaurant. I’m glad I smell good, because from the way I’ve been sweating ever since I put on this dress, I’d think I smelled like a pungent Vidalia onion.
“Are you meeting someone special tonight?”
Staring out the window, I answer, “Yeah, someone very special.”
When I heard back from Jack—or NY152—I felt relief. Initially. I know it’s Jack who’s behind all of this, but he second-guessed our relationship, questioned whether we were an us. As a result, I lost some of my confidence. Again. I hope that when we finally admit how we truly feel about each other, that this discomfort will go. I told him it would crush me if he backed away, and I wasn’t lying. He’s become someone so important to me. Those days without him were . . . agony.
I’ve tried to remind myself of how well we connect. The fun and deep conversations, the laughs, the games, the teasing . . . the . . . well, you know, what we did on my dressing room table. Let’s not go into detail about that weak moment, even though it was a deliciously weak moment, a moment I wouldn’t mind repeating, not even in the slightest. Honestly, it shouldn’t be that big of a deal. I mean, we’ve spent a lot of time together and we, you know, did it on my dressing room table.
“Oh, he must be a very lucky man.” As she pulls up to the curb, the Uber driver, a sweet older lady, turns in her seat and says, “Do you want to touch-up your lipstick?”
Eyes wide, I press my fingers against my lips. “Does it need touching up?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “It looks great.”
Okay . . . then why say that? Now I feel self-conscious.
“Smile for me, sweetheart. Let me see if you have lipstick on your teeth. I’m notorious for having a large line across mine.”
Probably because she uses lipstick from the fifties.
Awkwardly, I smile at her, showing my teeth. In return, she gives me a thumbs up. “All clear, honey.” Clapping her hands, she says, “I hope you have a wonderful night.”
“Thank you.” I gather myself and open the door. “Have a good one.”
“You too, knock him dead!”
She’s still giving me the thumbs up as I walk toward the restaurant. I smile to myself, happy for the small distraction from my nerves.
Last time I was here, I was drunk. No, that’s not quite the way to put it. I was absolutely cabbaged. Trying to make Jack jealous while acting like an ass in front of Hayden. Why he continued to go out with me, I have no idea. Maybe I was entertaining in my turtleneck. Can’t hate on a girl who rocks a turtleneck like it’s a laced-up bustier.
I open the door to the restaurant, the white exposed brick calming me from its familiarity. Veronica smiles brightly.
“Miss Clark, what a pleasure to see you again.”
“Hi.” I wave with a tight smile, feeling a little embarrassed. “Lucky number four.” I cross my fingers and she smiles kindly.
“Shall I show you to the bar?”
I hold up my hand. “I think I’ve got it, thank you, though.” I turn toward the bar when I stop and say, “Veronica, can I ask you a question?”
“Of course, Miss Clark.” She’s so pretty and sweet; I have a slight crush on her.
Only a slight one.
“Are you with someone?”
She nods with a bright smile. “I am.” She glances in Danny’s direction and I put two and two together.
“You’re with Danny? Wow, that’s . . . that’s great.”
“Thank you.” She smiles and eyes Danny for a second before turning back to the screen in front of her. “Is there anything else I can assist you with?”
“You don’t happen to have any dating advice for me, do you?”
Chuckling quietly, she says, “Just be yourself, Miss Clark.”
With that, she turns back to the screen. Just be myself, well, that’s easy.
I walk over to the bar where Danny is filling a tumbler with the bar gun and take a seat.
“Miss Clark, what a pleasant surprise. How are you?”
It’s nice they know me by name here, but also slightly embarrassing. It’s not like a coffee shop where they know my order the minute I walk up; it’s a dating restaurant.
“I’m doing okay, a little tense.”
“I would be shocked if you weren’t. Going on a first date is always nerve-racking, but isn’t it a little thrilling?”
“No.” I shake my head and laugh. “Not at this point. I’m just . . . really nervous.”
Setting the glass down, Danny leans on the bar in front of me, his hands gripping the edge. “Sometimes, we can be blind to what’s right in front of us because of all the nerves and anxiety of meeting someone new, but the heart”—he taps his chest—“is never blind, so listen to what it’s telling you.” He winks and walks to the other side of the bar to hand someone their drink. Why are the employees here so damn insightful? Was that a requirement? Must be great at making patrons feel at ease. If so, well done, Jack, well done.
Tapping the top of the bar countertop, I look around the restaurant, listening to the light hum of conversation. There are old couples, young, gay, and bi-racial with, I presume, one giant thing in common: they are looking for love. I’m glad I’m not the only one.
There is a tap on my shoulder and immediately my stomach flutters with nerves. This is it. Deep breath.
Shaking slightly, I turn around where I’m greeted by a cocky smirk that is all too familiar.
“Hey there, Sassy.”
Beck.
What the . . .
Stunned and caught off guard, I sit a little taller.
“Beck.” I clear my throat, feeling . . . God, I don’t even know what I’m feeling. I wasn’t expecting to see that leather jacket and motorcycle helmet tonight. I was expecting to
be greeted by a Windsor knot. “Wow, I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I don’t know if I should be insulted or not.” He winks and pulls my hand to his mouth where he lightly kisses it.
I just . . . I don’t . . .
I mean . . .
Beck is NY152? I don’t understand how that is even possible. All the clues hinted toward Jack. He had Butterfingers in his trashcan for crying out loud. He had a new house. He had a wicker basket.
Maybe it was all coincidence. One giant coincidence. Orrrrrr, it could be the dating gods messing with my head. Surely Beck isn’t here on a date yet. He propositioned me recently. Why are men so confusing? Was I just seeing things in Jack’s house because I wanted it to be him? Was I trying to convince myself that NY152 was Jack because deep in my heart, he’s the one I want?
When Beck’s lips press against the back of my hand, I feel . . . nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not like I used to. Not like when Jack is in the room, or when he looks at me, his dark eyelashes blanketing his irises causing a serious wave of heat to erupt all over my body.
“You look gorgeous.”
I glance at the deep purple dress I chose to wear tonight along with my black strappy heels.
“Thank you.” Still stunned, I sit back and say, “I had no idea.” I feel like I should follow up my sentence with something like “but I’m pleasantly surprised,” but I don’t think I am. So instead, to make this awkward, I place my hand on his chest above his heart that seems to be beating at a normal pace, unlike mine that almost feels like it’s going to pop out of my chest.
Beck’s brows draw together just as I catch a movement of navy blue behind him. Looking over his shoulder, I make eye contact with deep chocolate eyes. Eyes that have caressed me as they’ve wandered up and down my body. Eyes that have haunted my dreams, made me dizzy in lust. Eyes I want to wake to daily.
Jack.
And just like that, my stomach flips, my veins buzz, and in my heart, I know. He’s the one.