by Sarah Spade
I can’t really blame Sheila. I want to, but I can’t really blame her. I think the wine on Christmas might have hit me a little harder than her because, two days later, my memories of the day we spent binging on sugar, carbs, and alcohol is a little fuzzy.
Not for Sheila. Like a friggin’ tape recorder, she’s able to spit back all of my moping. So maybe I might’ve gone on and on about how I hate being alone, and how that Christmas Eve kiss was the best kiss I’ve ever had, but did that mean I was begging to be set up on a blind date?
According to my cousin, the answer is a big ol’ yes.
Even worse, she insists I actually agreed to this madness! Me, agreeing to a blind date? I know I get a little stupid when I’m drunk, but did I lose my mind?
Maybe.
There’s no getting out of it. I might be able to push it, get Sheila to drop it if I really ask, but for all my complaining, I’m kind of looking forward to this dinner she sprang on me this morning last minute. Not because I think it’ll mean something, or that I’ll get something out of it. But because I’m desperate enough to do anything to get the man at the Christmas Eve party out of my head.
It’s the 27th. The party was three days ago and, if I close my eyes, I can still remember the feel of his hand on my hip and his mouth pressed sweetly against mine. The unfinished business left between us is pure torture made even worse by the fact that there’s no chance I’ll ever see him again.
Even if I broke down and asked Sheila for the information about the man who threw the ball, it wouldn't help me. Thanks to the masquerade theme, I don’t know if I would recognize him without the mask, especially since I, um, spent more time focusing my attention elsewhere.
It doesn’t matter. Without the confidence the mask gave me, I probably would’ve spazzed and ruined any chance I might’ve had with him. Be better off if I forget about him, and focus instead on this guy Sheila’s decided I’m perfect for.
She says he’s handsome and he’s single and he digs brunettes.
Why not?
I sigh, and run my hands anxiously down my side. The sweater hits my hips, making them seem a little wider than I’d like, but she’s right. My boobs look amazing.
“Okay. Let’s do this.”
Sheila bites back a squeal. “He said he’ll meet you at the table. If he’s not already here, the reservation’s under Bloom.”
“Bloom. Got it.”
“I said you’d be the one in red.”
That explains the sweater. “And if I hate him?”
I swear, there’s a mischievous twinkle in Sheila’s eyes. “You won’t.”
My stomach tightens. “You’re not messing with me and it’ll turn out to be Karl out there, right?”
Sheila swipes her finger twice over her left boob. “Cross my heart.”
That’s good enough for me. “So… if I hate him?”
“Text me under the table. I’ll call you and make up an excuse to get you away.”
I’d rather she stay nearby since she’s already at the restaurant but Sheila shot down that argument earlier. As soon as we leave this bathroom, we’re going our separate ways for the night.
At least I know that she’s got my back, just in case.
Because I know I’m stalling, I take a deep breath and head for the door. “You owe me,” I toss over my shoulder as I go.
Her response is a short laugh as she follows me into the lobby.
We split up, Sheila leaving the restaurant while I approach the pretty hostess. I give her the name and I don’t know whether to be relieved or not that I’m the first one to arrive. I figure, I’ll give Sheila’s friend fifteen minutes after I’m seated and if he’s still not here, she can’t say I didn’t try.
I order a glass of water when the waiter stops by, in case I have to leave quickly and don’t want to bother with a check, then tell him that I’m waiting on one more. Once he’s gone, I sit back in my seat and watch the people coming and going, wondering which one is this Bloom guy.
It’s been about twelve minutes when I see the most gorgeous man stride into the restaurant. He’s alone, which is surprising, and he stops to search the sea of tables in front of him. I’m glad he does. It gives me a second to drool and appreciate his chiseled jaw, perfectly styled brown hair, and healthy tan. And then there’s the way he wears that suit he’s got on—mmm.
His gaze goes from table to table, pausing when he sees me. For a heartbeat, I wonder if he caught me staring, but the way he nods when he sees my red sweater? As if he was looking for it? I know right away that I’m in trouble.
So, yeah, I’m not surprised when he heads right for my table, but I’m already thinking about crawling underneath it. This man is gorgeous with a capital G. There’s no way that I’m the sort of woman he’s expecting. I mean, I love Sheila to death, but she has to be blind if she thinks that I’m a good match for this man.
There’s nowhere for me to escape. He’s obviously already seen me and, since he’s smiling politely as he looks me over, he’s probably decided against being so rude as to turn tail and run back out through the front of the restaurant.
Lucky me. He’s amazing to look at and nice, too.
If he’s going to go through with this, then I guess I have no choice but to play along. As carefully as I can, I climb out of my seat and prop myself up on my stilettos. Even with the three inch heels on these babies, he’s still a head taller than me.
Whoa.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says. “I’m not so familiar with the area. Anyway, I’m Tristan. Tristan Bloom. Hello.”
He says hello, and my friendly greeting is stuck halfway in my throat. His voice. Why do I know that voice?
It’s… it’s different, yet familiar. I’m so used to a good, strong Massachusetts accent that his slow drawl is noticeable. He’s not from the South, but he’s not from around here, either. And I know that I’ve heard a voice like this before.
Or is it just wishful thinking again?
Giving my head a clearing shake, I realize he’s waiting for me to say something. “Lindy. Hi. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Lindy. That’s a lovely name.”
Considering my mother saddled me with Belinda Louise, I’ll take Lindy any day of the week. And the way he says it? With that deep, gravelly voice? Yes, please. “Thank you.”
“I hope you weren’t sitting here too long.”
Fourteen minutes. If he’d been one minute later, I would’ve missed meeting Tristan. At this moment, I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad one.
“Not too long.”
“I’m glad.”
With a grin that has a flash of heat running right through me, Tristan grabs his chair and yanks it away from the table. I gotta say, he sure knows how to work that body of his. Up close, I can see the toned muscles peeking through his thin button-down as he moves to sit and his suit jacket shifts. Oh, God, he’s so friggin’ handsome and he’s built like a brick house.
“Please. Sit down.”
I can feel my cheeks heating up. I was so busy ogling him that I’m still standing after he’s taken his seat.
My steps are careful, my balance thrown off by a combination of these killer heels and the way he’s laser focused on me. Reaching behind me, I grab the top of the chair and use it to plop myself into my seat.
The menu is lying in front of me. I grab it, propping it open so that I can hide my embarrassed flush from him.
“Have you been here before?” Tristan asks me. He hasn’t grabbed his own menu yet, instead watching me pretend to read mine.
Since I’m not about to admit that I was lucky if I got Karl to bring me home take-out, I just shake my head.
“Me, neither,” he admits. “But your cousin recommended this place. She said you would like it.”
I’m glad that Tristan is the first one to bring up Sheila. She was very vague when it came to details on how she knows this man—and how she can be so certain that he’s not an axe murder or
something—and I take this as my chance to get some details.
I’ve barely opened my mouth to ask when Tristan reaches inside of his jacket, pulling something out and setting it on the table. “Before I forget, this is yours.”
I immediately lose my train of thought. Curious, I look at what he’s placed in front of me. It takes me a second to recognize the small pink rectangle, with the silver and gold threads.
When I do, I feel like my ass is frozen to my seat. I can’t move just yet, even if my brain is giving me signals to get the hell out of here. I can only stare. Again.
Oh my god.
Oh my god.
No wonder his voice is so familiar.
It’s him. The masked man from Christmas Eve. The stranger that I kissed, then ran out on before the big unmasking at midnight. He’s here. And there’s no damn way that my cousin didn’t know that.
Gritting my teeth as I swipe the wristlet off of the table, I mutter, “I’m going to kill Sheila.”
Tristan
Lindy might be gunning for her cousin, but I could kiss Sheila right about now.
Or maybe not. Not when I have Lindy sitting at the table with me.
The silver mask she was wearing on Christmas Eve only covered half of her face. Now that it’s completely revealed, she’s even more beautiful than I remembered. There’s something about the slight upturn to her nose, her big, expressive hazel eyes, and those lush, pale pink lips.
I’ve spent days jerking off to those lips.
And now she’s here. In the beautiful caramel-colored flesh.
Thank fucking God for this table. My cock punched to life the second I saw her sitting here, her long golden brown hair in loose waves, cascading down the back of her vivid red sweater. The way the fabric hugs her tits—my blood headed due south. By the time I got next to her, I was so ready for her that my suit pants were struggling to contain my massive hard-on.
I got a glimpse of the tent beginning to form and abruptly dropped into my chair. I felt a bit like an asshole, not helping Lindy into her seat, but this is our first real date. I don’t want to scare her by seeing how much I fucking want her already.
Or how much I want to fuck her.
I know the moment that she realizes who I am, and how I conspired with her cousin to set her up. I wouldn’t blame her if she got pissed. I was a bit wary of the whole blind date bit, but Sheila assured me that this would be my best bet to see Lindy again.
Clenching my jaw tight, I try to force back the giddy grin that wants to cross my face. I’m so damn glad that I found her and actually have a shot to get to know her. That night of the party, she was careful not to give too much away about herself, but what we did talk about really interested me.
I might think she’s beautiful. Even so, it’s always taken more than that to catch my attention. I need a girl who I want to talk to as much as I want to sleep with. In the few hours where we talked and we danced, I thought she might be one.
Then she ran off, and I only wanted her more.
Now she’s here, and since she’s hiding behind her menu, the cutest fucking blush staining her cheeks pink, I decide that I’m going to do every damn thing I can to make sure I have her.
7
Lindy
I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Sheila tells me I’m a Debbie Downer. I prefer to think of myself as a realist. Nothing can be this good forever.
And this thing I have with Tristan? Even after our first date, I know that it’s pretty friggin’ good.
Dinner was amazing. Now that I didn’t have to hide behind a mask, I wasn’t sure if I was going to embarrass myself. I always do—no matter what, I always find a way to mess things up. It’s what I do. But, to my surprise, with Tristan, I don’t.
We sit at that table for hours, talking about almost everything. I make a point to tell him that I’m single—true—and that I’m currently between jobs after a very painful layoff—also true—and that I plan on going back to school to get my degree—which I really hope is true—and that’s as much as I tell him about myself.
I learn he’s single—thank God—and that he lives in Palo Alto, California, but he’s visiting his friends for an indeterminate amount of time. His best friend and business partner has recently gotten engaged and moved to Salem and Tristan’s here to congratulate his friend, while also working out how a cross country move will affect their business. He makes it sound like he’s going to be around for a while and I’m glad.
I really want to see him again. And, lucky me, he seems to feel the same way.
We exchange numbers when we finally realize that the restaurant is starting to close up around us. He promises to call before he gives me the sweetest little goodbye kiss, a promise of what might come later on, and then he leaves me at my car like a perfect gentleman.
Every date since has been the same.
Since I’m unemployed and Tristan is on vacation, we find a lot of time to spend together. That dinner was only the beginning. I might’ve been worried that he’d never call—only for him to call me an hour later to make sure I got home okay.
He’s sweet and, maybe it’s been a while since I’ve started a new… thing with a man, but he really seems to dig me.
That’s okay. I think he’s friggin’ incredible.
He even takes me to meet his friend and his new fiancé, as if what we have is just as serious and not only a distraction for while he’s in town.
Still, I refuse to get my hopes up. The best I can expect is a long distance romance when Tristan finally leaves. I try to keep my perspective and not be too disappointed when we spend three days in a row together—and he never does anything more than give me a sweet kiss before we go our separate ways for the night.
I can’t stop myself from remembering that scorcher of a kiss he gave me when we were under the mistletoe. His monster dick? I’m dying to get my hands on it.
By our fourth night out, I can’t help myself.
If he’s not going to make the first move, I might just have to.
Tristan
I’ve always been the king of one night stands.
I’m not exactly proud of that fact. It amazes me sometimes that my longest relationship is the time I spent with Dani, and that barely lasted a couple of months. No wonder I convinced myself that I was in love with her, instead of just loving her.
But Lindy?
When I look at her, I see a future. I know I can’t have it. She lives here, I have to go home to California in a couple of days, and that’s all there is to it. It’s not like I can stay—and I may be a neurotic yet impulsive kind of guy, but even I’m not about to ask her to move across the country to be with me.
Max was confident that Allison was meant to be his. Me and Lindy? I wish.
I mean it.
I fucking wish.
Do you know how awful it is to have a hard-on 24/7? She just has to smile and my cock is throbbing, begging for any scraps of affection she’ll throw my way. And it’s not like she’s not giving me the go sign. I thought that first night at the ball that Silver would be mine to take.
From the soft touches, the pouting lips, the way she leans into me and presses her tits to my arms, I know Lindy is ready and willing. But I don’t want her to think that that’s all I wanted her for.
I want to fuck her. Let me make that clear. I go to bed thinking of her kiss, and dying to know how she tastes. But if I’m leaving—and I kind of haven’t told her that I’m going so soon—it’ll be a real dick move to love her and leave her.
I plan on telling her. And I will. Right after I figure out what I’m going to tell my dad and Max.
Shit.
Is it a wonder I’d rather spend all my time pretending that I can have a real relationship with Lindy?
For our fourth date, I let her pick where she wants to go. When she shyly offers to go bowling, then tells me about a local diner in town that she thinks I’ll love, I feel my heart falling more and more
into her pretty little grasp. I fucking love bowling, and regularly kick Max’s ass at it whenever I can get him to agree with me to go.
To discover that Lindy is secretly a shark who beats me three games out of four, I have to bite my lip from asking her to slip into the backseat of my rental car with me—or blurting out “I love you.”
Dinner is great. Lindy confesses that she leaves all of the cooking to her cousin, but because of her lack of finesse in the kitchen, she knows all the best joints to eat at. She hasn’t steered me wrong yet, and I don’t know what’s more delicious: the cheeseburger deluxe I wolf down, or the sight of Lindy coyly playing with her straw as she drinks her strawberry milkshake.
Ever since we met for that first dinner, we’ve been taking the same car. I’m driving tonight and, after I pay the check, I shuffle her to the passenger’s side. My walk’s kind of awkward considering my stiff cock is making it a bitch to get anywhere. I try to hide it because I don’t want to alert Lindy to my predicament.
The only way I’ll get my dick to go down is by finally getting it wet. And since it’s not fair to Lindy to do that, I consign myself to another night of cold showers.
Once she’s seated inside the car, I basically crabwalk to the other side and ease myself into my seat. There’s a touch of strain to my voice as I put the key in the ignition. “I guess I should take you home now.”
Lindy reaches out, placing her hand over mine just before I turn the ignition. “Actually, Tristan, I was wondering if maybe we could go back to your place.”
My poor cock twitches. Why is she doing this to me?
I’m trying to be a decent guy here, damn it. She has no idea how hard that is for me, but I’m trying!
And then she says, “And if you don’t have any plans tomorrow, or need to be up early, maybe I can spend the night?” and hear that? That’s the last of my good intentions flying out of the window.
So maybe I was hoping something like this might happen. Wishful thinking, right? Because I might’ve checked my maps app when Lindy was in the bathroom. Her house is a fifteen minute drive from the restaurant. My hotel is about twenty minutes away.