Arielle and River are gawking at me, but Riley’s not ready to back down. “It’s more than that!” she says, stomping her bare foot on the concrete patio. She’s sitting up in her lounger now, passionately defending this hair-brained idea she has of dropping out of college to spout nonsense on social media. “There’s good in the world, and happiness!”
I snort, shaking my head and looking at River like ‘I see what you mean about your sister, man.’ “Maybe when you’re a pampered princess, it seems that way.” I look around the yard pointedly, from the pool to the outdoor kitchen to the house across the yard. Even inside to the two parents. “For the rest of us, it’s about squeezing blood from a stone.”
“That’s enough, Noah,” River says, his eyes tight. He puts a hand on my shoulder, and I take a deep breath. “Let’s take a walk.”
I shake him off, but the interruption lets a small dose of reason into my overworked mind, and I see the tears glittering in Riley’s eyes. They stop me, my anger deflating.
Shit. I’m such an asshole. Making some wide-eyed kid with big dreams cry because she has the luxury of dreaming.
With a jagged sigh, I follow River into the garage. He waits for me to follow, closing the door behind us. “River, I was—”
His fist meets my jaw, and I stagger back, seeing stars. That was a sucker punch . . . but then again, I deserved it. My ass hits Mrs. Watson’s car, and I barely keep my balance. I look at River, who’s still got a fist clenched.
“I know you’ve got issues. Everyone’s got issues. But don’t take yours out on my family. Especially not my sister. Understood?” he says, his voice heated but even. He’s not the happy-go-lucky best friend right now. He’s the protective big brother, and no matter how much shit he talks about his sister, it’s not my place to do it. I understand that because I would never stand for anyone talking shit about Arielle. Though she doesn’t need my back-up. She’d slice and dice anyone who dares to look at her wrong. Hmm, maybe that’s why I’m so worried about that . . . because she hasn’t stood her ground yet. But that’s a thought train for another trip because River’s glaring at me, expecting an answer.
I rub my jaw, nodding. “Understood.”
The incident never came up again, and that was my only visit to the Watsons’ house for a long time. River and I moved past it, our shared experiences with Friendzone and what he knew of my past allowing him to understand. But we stopped discussing our sisters. Or more specifically, other than in passing commentary, River stopped talking about Riley.
My sister also understood where I was coming from, and she forgave me. So most of the news I’ve gotten about Riley has come via Arielle as the two have remained best friends. She told me about Riley’s success, how she proved my predictions of doom wrong.
Truth be told, I’m glad I was wrong.
But I’ve never been able to talk to Riley. I never got a chance to apologize or explain. And now she’s stormed off . . . and I’m going to have to make this right.
I might have another punch to the face coming. From Riley or from River. Or hell, even from Arielle.
But I need to explain what happened back then so I can figure out what happened tonight.
I let that thought flip and flop around in my mind, examining it from every possible angle I can think of and playing out different outcomes. Finally, my run is over, and I step off the treadmill, going for my phone.
M: I’d like to talk. Please?
There’s no reply, and I sigh, setting my phone aside. I sit on the couch, head hanging low, wondering who’s going to call me first? Arielle to chew my head off, or River saying he’s coming over to kick my ass. But as the sun finishes setting and the moon grows in the sky, a worse feeling digs into me.
She’s just . . . ignoring me. I’m not worth the trouble.
Just as I decide to say fuck it and go to bed early, my phone buzzes again, and I see that it’s Rachel . . . or Riley.
R: You don’t seem like the type to say please.
She has no idea how correct she is, but desperate times call for desperate measures. And this is an apology years in the making.
M: What type do I seem like?
R: As Noah or your fake alter-ego?
I can feel the snark biting through the words. It surprises me even though I deserve it.
N: Or maybe they’re both me and you don’t know me well enough to know the difference. Like how Mark’s my middle name . . . Rachel.
R: Is this you apologizing? If so, you really suck at it. And Rachel’s my mother’s name.
Shit, I forgot about that. I always called her Mrs. Watson.
R: Did River put you up to this? I’ll kill him.
I can’t help but smile at her ire. Apparently, Riley and River are like Arielle and me, not always copacetic with each other. Still, I doubt he’d do something like that. Maybe when we were younger, but certainly not now.
M: River had nothing to do with it. He doesn’t know. And the thought of your killing even an ant is funny. You’re too kind.
R: All your own doing, then? You got me good. Bravo, I guess. Congrats on the success of whatever prank you’re pulling.
M: Let me explain. It’s not a prank.
M: Can we talk about this? Face to face.
R: Fine, you can come over, but the entry fee is tacos. We’ll eat and “talk”. But you might learn how unkind I am. I’ll squash you like a bug, Noah Daniels.
The threat is meant to be scary, to make me shake in my boots. Unfortunately, all it does is make me think of her thighs squeezing my head as she comes under my tongue.
Nope. Stop thinking like that. Apologize and move along. And fix the fucking AI because it’s obviously FUBARed.
M: Uhm . . . where do you live? I don’t have your address.
A minute later, an address pops up on screen, and I hurry to shower and change. I pull on some jeans and a casual T-shirt, hoping that I can get to my favorite taco stand before it closes.
Luckily, it doesn’t take me long to get tacos and drive to Riley’s apartment complex. It’s nice, near the downtown area, but not too close, well-lit, and has covered parking.
I park my SUV and grab the bag of tacos. When I get to Riley’s door, I nearly feel sick with the adrenaline in my body. I don’t know if it’s nervousness, fear, or both.
I knock on her door, hoping that clenching my hand will stop the trembling. I hear a frantic yapping sound and the distinctive sound of dog nails clicking on tile. “Raffy! Sit!” Riley calls from the other side of the door, and that foreign smile creeps across my lips again. Even her forceful command is a sweet-sounding request.
Through the fisheye of the peephole, I can see darkness, and I know Riley’s looking at me. “You got the tacos?” her voice calls through the door. “If not, you can turn right around.”
I hold up the bag, showing her the logo on the side, and there’s a click at the door. A hand reaches through, and suddenly, I’m being pulled through a small opening. “Get in here!”
Part of me wants to joke that normally when a woman grabs me by the shirt like that, it’s not for tacos. But I hold my tongue as I take two steps into the tidy apartment.
“Have a seat,” Riley says, pointing toward the sofa on the far side of the attached living room as she takes the bag from me. But I’m not so sure. Her dog, perhaps sensing a rival for her attention, bares his teeth, hunching down as he growls at me, fourteen pounds of furry fury.
“Whoa there, little fella,” I tell him, smiling as I hold my hands up and give him my friendliest look. “I promise, I’m a good guy. Or are you always this testy with new people?”
“Don’t mind him, he’s just suspicious,” Riley explains, and I suspect the dog’s not the only one. “Raffy, it’s okay!”
“He’s being protective. That’s a good thing,” I reply as calmly as I can, squatting down. I throw my voice to a higher octave, trying to sound like a nice, safe guy that the dog doesn’t need to worry about. “Hi, Raffy. You wan
t a belly rub?”
That must be one of his magic words because he starts shaking his butt side to side so hard he almost flops over, and I get a little chin tickle in before he drops to the floor, offering his soft belly. I give him the promised scratches.
“You made a friend,” Riley says flatly, and I get to look up at her for the first time.
Maybe I’m actually seeing her for the first time. She’s wearing fluffy yellow socks, shorts, and an oversized T-shirt. She definitely didn’t dress up for me to come over, and for some reason, I like that.
This is the real Riley, not what she puts on her feed. Because I have to admit that while sitting in front of the TV tonight, I looked up Riley and her feed. Riley Sunshine, sunny social media personality, is a very real thing. But not as real as the Riley in front of me right now, the one curled up in the corner of her sofa to get as far away from me as possible, guzzling her beer for some liquid courage and shoving tacos in her mouth at an alarming rate. I suspect it’s to keep her from saying something she’ll regret.
About the only thing that’s the same between the two personas are the yellow socks. Which are fucking sexy as hell, just coming up to the bottom of her calves. I’m a bit of a ‘leg man’, and Riley’s calves are about the sexiest things I’ve seen.
In my jeans, I feel a tingle that reminds me that I really should sit down.
“Cute dog,” I admit as I get up and make my way over to the sofa and sit down at the other end to give her some space. Raffy follows me with his butt still wiggling. “Although you should probably get another if you’re depending on him to be your security system. I suspect he’d let a robber steal you blind for a cube of cheese.”
Riley blinks, then shrugs quietly. “Pretty much.”
I reach into the bag of tacos, pulling one out before Riley eats them all. Not that I’d mind. I’d bring her tacos every night if it got me a chance to explain and apologize.
“You didn’t come here to talk about my dog.”
“You’re right. I came here to talk about what happened . . . and our chats.”
Riley swallows thickly. “You’re part of the development team for BlindDate. Arielle mentioned it when she got me to sign up, but I didn’t think you’d be . . . on it.”
“Well, I made an account to do some research. I didn’t intend to date.”
“That makes sense . . .” she says with a small nod.
Thank God that went over fairly easily because I was worried about that part. Hell, I worried about everything at this point, and the lack of control and not knowing what to expect is killing me.
“Why did you respond, then?” Riley asks.
It’s a hell of a question, one that I’ve asked myself a few times over the past week.
The only real answer is the truth. “I don’t know, I thought what the hell? Maybe I was secretly hoping I could find someone. And then when you messaged me . . . what you said piqued my interest. And our percentage match, I couldn’t ignore it.” I look her way, but she’s studiously ignoring my gaze, staring so intently at her taco that she could be counting the strands of cheese. “And then we started talking, and it was like finding someone I’ve been looking for all my life. I woke up every morning wondering what ‘Rachel’ was doing. Whether she slept well. She added a smile to my face, and she made each day better. I went to sleep dreaming of her . . . of you. I couldn’t stop thinking of you.”
I wanted to be honest, but damn, that’s a level of honesty I didn’t think I was ready for.
Riley’s eyes lift finally, and she stares at me, her taco momentarily forgotten. Bits of cheese sprinkle out, and from his spot beneath the coffee table, Raffy watches for something to drop, eager for a treat. Slowly, Riley sets her taco down, seeming to collect her thoughts even as she loses more cheese. “That was . . . that was maybe the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”
That would be a great compliment if only I hadn’t heard the ‘I can’t believe it came from you’ that she was thinking and didn’t say at the end. But I’ll take the small headway I’m making.
“So, why’d you sign up?” I ask, my heart racing in my chest.
“I was trying to meet someone who likes me for me, not Riley Sunshine. The anonymous part was something I liked.” She picks at her taco, tearing the tortilla into small pieces and leaving them in a pile. “I didn’t mean that to sound stuck up. I’m not that popular.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I tell her, staying honest. “I can see why you’d want anonymity. And I could see some asshole trying to take advantage of you. Of course, you could tell them to fuck off.”
Riley laughs. “I can’t really tell people that. Nor would I want to. My whole brand is built on niceness, you know? Sunshine and positivity.”
The words hang in the air between us.
“I owe you an apology. A long overdue one,” I start.
“For what?” she asks, but her cute little feet are fidgeting. She knows what I’m talking about and is trying to play it off. For some reason, it makes me angry that she doesn’t just say ‘yes, you do owe me an apology because you were an asshole.’
“I said some awful things to you a long time ago, and I never got the chance to tell you how sorry I was. How sorry I am. That is one of my biggest regrets . . . that I lashed out in pain and caused you pain. You didn’t deserve that, and honestly, it had nothing to do with you. I’m just sorry.”
The apology doesn’t seem like enough. I’ve beaten myself up so many times for that conversation over the years that I don’t think I could ever find the words to express how awful it felt to let my anger bubble over that way and burn everything and everyone around me. I’d always been the one to look after my family, the responsible one, and I’d spouted off like a reckless, careless kid. Exactly what I’d accused Riley of being. Except she’d been eighteen and had every excuse to behave the way she did—like an idealistic dreamer. I was older, and I should’ve been wiser, but my dumb ass had started saying those things and I couldn’t stop.
She must see the pain on my face, or hear it in my voice, because she reaches out and covers my hand with hers. A shock of electricity goes through me where our skin touches. Riley doesn’t flinch away from it, though, curling her fingers through mine.
“Noah, don’t beat yourself up. It was a long time ago. I’ll admit that I’ve thought some pretty awful things about you over the years. A lot of them were born out of that conversation even though River explained what was going on after you ran out of there.”
He did what? I’m suddenly dying to know what he said and how he explained away my utter rudeness. But I don’t get the chance to ask because Riley’s moving on . . .
“But I’m not still pining away over some mean thing you said years ago. Do you know how many awful things people say to me every day? Your hair looks frizzy today. You look like you’re gaining weight. Are you losing too much weight? Are you seriously this happy all the time? Tone down the caffeine, it makes you obnoxious. Too perky at eight am. They go on and on,” she tells me casually, as if those words slide right off her back.
But they have to hurt, right?
“Nice doesn’t mean doormat. If you want to do something for you, do it. Anyone with a problem with it can fuck off.” Again, that’s my advice about anyone who doesn’t support me . . . or Riley. It doesn’t escape my notice that that’s exactly what she should’ve told me all those years ago. I deserved to be put in my place back then. It’d just been River who’d done it, not Riley.
Riley's eyes go wide like I'm spouting utter nonsense.
“I’d like to say that’s possible, but it’s a fine line. I accepted that when I started Riley Sunshine.”
“I get that, Riley, I really do. But maybe there’s something more to you than Riley Sunshine. Maybe Riley Watson deserves some happiness . . . ah, fuck, I’m not saying this right.” I run my fingers through my hair, remembering a second too late that they’re covered in taco grease. Great, now my hair is probably an oil s
lick.
“Do what I do,” Riley says, putting her hands up high in the air. With one brow quirked in confusion, I lift mine too. “Shake it out,” she tells me, wiggling her arms so much that her hands flap around. I wiggle too, but not as hard. “Good, now your head.” She shakes her head back and forth. “And your feet.” She stomps her feet, the thuds muffled by the rug, but Raffy jumps back with a sound of displeasure.
I have no idea what this is, but I do it. I do it all. Arms, head, and feet moving to mimic Riley.
“And a big breath, in through the nose and out through the mouth.” We do the breath together, and then Riley gives me a megawatt smile.
“Brain reset. Now just say what you want to say plainly. Fancy words and explanations don’t matter. Think of it like a rough draft. You don’t even want to know the number of times I have to rewrite my social media posts some days.” The encouragement is pure Riley Sunshine, but I need it right now. I need all the help I can get because I’m about to jump out of an airplane with no parachute and the ground below is sharp rocks.
“I want to continue what we started, Riley. Not only smooth over the miscommunication. I want to keep going. I want to have conversations like we had, and to talk with you and to . . . see where we can go.”
Now who’s the one with pie in the sky, big dreams? That’d definitely be me. But I can’t ignore what I’ve felt the last week, nor what I’m feeling sitting this close to Riley right now.
I can see her considering what I’m saying, and I reach out and lay my hand on top of hers the way she did mine moments ago, lending strength. Her fingers tighten in mine for a moment before she stiffens. “Noah, we can’t. What would Arielle and River think? They’re our siblings and best friends.”
It takes me a moment to realize what she’s saying, because it is a sort of weird X-shaped situation. Her best friend is my sister, my best friend is her brother. Yeah . . . that’s a little weird.
But I don’t care. Or more precisely, I’m willing to take the risk.
The Blind Date Page 10