Almost every table is packed, and the dance floor has half a dozen couples out there dancing. Two of the couples are in full-on retro costumes as well, one looking like a pair of bobby soxers from the fifties while the other looks more Studio 54 in the seventies. It’s a multi-generation dance battle showcase out there, poodle-skirted American Bandstand versus gold lame jumpsuit-wearing Soul Train dancing to Wham!
“Have you ever been here before?” Noah asks, and I shake my head as I lift my brows questioningly. “Me neither. I wasn’t sure I’d like it, but it came highly recommended and was at the top of the list for places to take a date in Briar Rose.”
Delight blooms in my belly. “Did you look up date places?”
I swear on my half-million followers, on my very brand, on my very spirit, that Noah Daniels’s tanned cheeks flush a warm pink. “I don’t date much, and my instincts were to take you somewhere fancy. I know enough to know that wouldn’t impress you, though, and I wanted to do something fun and memorable.”
I lay my hand over his where he hasn’t let me go, his thumb rubbing circles on my skin tantalizingly. “That’s so sweet. Thank you.” I pause and see his eyes tick off to the side and then back to me. “Is it driving you crazy in here?”
He sags, leaning forward to huff out, “Fuck, yes!” He shakes his head. “It’s so disorganized, like a warehouse of memorabilia with no logical, reasonable storage system. There’s eighties lighting, outfits from every decade, sixties photos—” He points to the large, framed poster of Sean Connery as James Bond. “It’s . . . a lot. Does that make me uptight?” he asks with a self-deprecating laugh, repeating what I called him before.
I narrow my eyes, studying him and liking the way he squirms as he awaits my judgment. “Nope, not uptight. What it makes you is in desperate need of a view reframing. You look around and see mismatched decades. What if, instead . . . you chose to frame them as iconic moments in Pop Culture? Change the umbrella you’re organizing under, and it becomes a celebration of forty years, an explosion of amazing things that represent our past, bringing back happy times. Same things around you, but seen through a different lens.”
Noah blinks, and then blinks again, before looking around the room. Nothing in our surroundings has changed, but could my simple words have changed the way he sees them?
“Okay . . . okay, I can kinda see that. A little,” he says slowly.
I wink, pleased at his effort. “It doesn’t happen overnight, but you can change your mindset a little bit at a time. People can learn to relax or learn to be more dedicated, reprogram their inner voice, and see the world around them through a different set of lenses. That’s part of what I do, changing people’s day by infusing positivity and appreciation into their lives. A little sunshine,” I finish, my passion for what I do making me sound a little crazy.
Luckily, a waiter chooses that moment to walk up, and Noah doesn’t have a chance to tell me that I’m naïve about the world. I’ve heard that one before, from him and from lots of other people. They’re the ones I have to work extra-hard to reach.
“Welcome to Big Mike’s. I’m Wayne, and I’ll be your server. What can I get for you tonight?” the man asks. He’s wearing red and white checkered pants, a white button-up shirt, and black suspenders. His black-framed glasses are bold and have no glass in them.
“Hi, Wayne. We’re first-timers here and want the full Big Mike’s experience, so what do you recommend?” I smile warmly.
Wayne looks from me to Noah. “First-timers? I’m happy to pop your Big Mike’s cherry,” he tells us with a grin so bright I almost don’t catch the naughty reference. I look to Noah, who’s fighting a smile of his own. “If you wanna do it right, I recommend the Double-Decker meal. Two Angus patties, two slices of cheddar, all the fixings, plus a basket of fries to share. Don’t worry, there’s plenty of fries.” He holds his hands out like we might be worried there won’t be enough to eat with everything he listed. “And Cokes to wash it all down.”
I close my menu, and without consulting Noah, I tell Wayne, “That. We’ll take that.”
He nods, scribbling on his notepad. “And save room for a cake shake. Ugh, absolutely To. Die. For.” He holds his hand to his heart and confides with a side eye, “Actually, I’ll probably have a heart attack from how many of those things I suck down, but the chocolate cake-chocolate milkshake is my treat to myself.” He makes an obscene sucking sound, and I laugh. After a heartbeat, Noah laughs too. Wayne’s personality and joy are infectious.
“We’ll take one of those too,” Noah tells him, and Wayne nods. When we’re alone again, Noah tells me, “I don’t think I can possibly eat all that and drink a shake on top too, but out of everything that guy just said, I really want to see you suck that shake down.”
Ooh, flirty, sexy man!
“Oh, well after we eat all that, I’m gonna need a workout. I guess . . . sucking . . . will do it.”
Did I just say that? I laugh at myself, feeling heat rush to my cheeks.
I am such an awful flirter! Truly, completely unskilled, and I make a note to rectify that. It’s a skill like any other, and I need to learn, watch some people who are good at it, and practice. Just like I tell people to do.
But Noah doesn’t seem to think I’m bad at flirting. In fact, he seems to be staring rather pointedly at my lips. I lick them nervously, and a pleasant tension builds between us as I wonder if we might skip the burger, fries, and shake and just go back to my place. Or his.
But Noah takes a deep breath and settles back against the booth. “Before Wayne came up, you were telling me about your work. Bringing sunshine to people’s days. I’ll admit I looked you up. You’re engaging to watch.”
I search for any subtle digs in the compliment but find none. “Thank you. I want to be a bright spot in people’s days. Everyone has different experiences, different stresses, but if I can help them find a single moment of thankfulness for the good things, then I’ll have succeeded.”
“It’s like lifestyle sales and advertising,” he muses.
“Yeah, but it’s not fake. I work hard to be authentic and real. Riley Sunshine is me, just an amped up version of me, if that makes sense?”
He nods. “I can see that. When River and I started FriendZone, we didn’t have a clue what we were doing. And we definitely had to do some ‘fake it till you make it’ stuff.”
“I don’t mean to make it sound like it’s all sunshine and rainbows. There are times when I think I’m going to crash and burn myself,” I assure him, revealing a big part of myself that I don’t share with many people. “When what you’re sharing is yourself, there’s a lot of stress. People expect you to have this perfect life even when they say they don’t.”
“And we know how the Internet loves to tear down the idols they’ve built up,” Noah reflects. “We spend a lot of time at Life Corp worrying about deflecting those. Things are faster online, and one review or comment can go viral and tank an entire project.”
“You got that right,” I tell him honestly. “People think I have some sort of storybook existence, that all I do is shop, get my hair and nails done, take selfies, and get free stuff. Truth is, I worked hard to get to this point, and I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished because I’ve struggled a lot.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Noah reaches out and puts a hand on my forearm. “Riley, there’s no need to defend what you do with me. Really.”
I can see that he’s still worried about the past, but it’s all forgiven. Entirely. I don’t preach ‘forgive and forget’ because that’s a one-way ticket to repeat past mistakes. Instead, I think we use those mistakes to learn and grow, and both Noah and I have. He wouldn’t be so fast to judge and lash out now, and I would definitely stand up for myself better these days.
“Even now, there are times I wish your brother and I hadn’t had to take the escape chute Life Corp offered us. I mean, I like the security and the safety net of being financially sound, for myself and for my family, but it
comes with restraints. You never compromised on your vision, and you’ve got the freedom that comes with being your own boss.”
“We do what we’re all meant to do, Noah,” I tell him, moving my hand to give him a squeeze. This is what I’ve enjoyed so much about our new relationship, both chatting and now in real life. We’re communicating at a level a lot of people never get to, and I love it. “You’re a natural leader, a guy who’ll light up the corporate world because you get people to follow you. Me? I’m too . . . wild.”
Noah laughs, shaking his head. “No, you’re just an idealist. Won’t settle for second best, that’s you.”
Once upon a time, Noah Daniels calling me an idealist was an insult in his mind. But I can see the change in his eyes. He means it as a compliment, the ultimate one.
“Thank you,” I tell him. “Wait, unless you’re calling yourself the best?” I tease.
“Hmm, why can’t both be true?” he says smugly.
Before I can banter back, Wayne is back with our food. At least I think it’s ours. It might be for his entire section because he’s precariously balancing two platters with the biggest burgers I’ve ever seen in one hand and carrying a basket of fries in the other hand. It’s enough food to feed an army for sure.
“Here you go. Two Double-Decker meals.” He sets the plates down on the table, and I have no idea how I’m going to ingest all this. Or even half of it. But the aroma is intoxicating, and I’m sure going to try. “Anything else I can get for you?”
Noah and I lock eyes over the monstrous amount of food and shake our heads. Wayne grins knowingly. “Wait until you taste it. It’s so good, you’ll never be able to stop.” He tilts his head. “Guess that’s true for a lot of things.”
When he walks off, Noah and I burst out in laughter.
“I think I need to write down some of his sayings for future posts.”
“I don’t think Riley Sunshine can say the things Wayne says and get away with it. At least not on video,” Noah tells me heatedly.
And now my burger isn’t the only thing getting juicy. I squirm in my seat, much the way Noah did earlier, and his lips quirk smugly.
“You ass,” I tell him, but there’s no heat in my voice.
“Am I wrong?” he challenges. He knows good and well that I could not say sexy, over the top stuff like that as Riley Sunshine. Hell, I could barely say it as Riley Watson! That sucking comment was out of my wheelhouse and foreign on my tongue.
“Let’s eat,” I tell him instead, letting him have the win.
He doesn’t gloat, though, simply picks up his burger, mess and all, and waits for me to do the same. “Three, two, one . . .”
We both take big bites at the same time and moan in unison.
“Ohmagawf.”
“Dahmn, ’as gud.”
We smile with mouths as full as chipmunks, and Noah doesn’t flinch, even though he has tomato juice running down his chin. That’s completely unlike him, or I’m pretty sure it is, considering everything I know about him, but to my surprise, he goes in for another bite without grabbing his napkin.
I decide I like messy, untamed Noah. Taking me somewhere out of his wheelhouse, sharing things that he’d normally hold close to his chest, trying new things, and not worrying about being perfect is dead sexy.
How is he perfect when he’s being regimented and also perfect at being wild? I don’t know, but he is sexy both ways.
We eat in comfortable silence for the most part, enjoying the easy company and delicious food. Noah dips a fry in ketchup and holds it up for me so I can eat it from his hand, and he gives me a saucy smirk.
But eventually, we can’t eat another bite despite barely making a dent in the food on our plates. I sit back in the booth, patting my belly. “You might have to roll me and my food baby out of here,” I joke.
“Happily. Though it might be slow going.” He pats his own stomach, which is flat beneath his dress shirt. I felt him underneath me last night, though, and I know there are bumps and ridges of abs under there.
“I think I’m going to skip the cake shake this time,” I tell him, and Noah groans.
“Ugh, don’t talk about food. No more food. As it is, I’m going to have to run an extra ten miles to work that off. Unless . . .”
His eyes have gone bright, and though I don’t know what it is, I know he’s been struck with an idea. I can’t wait to hear what impulsive thing has struck his fancy because he’s living in my world now.
“Let’s dance,” he says.
I couldn’t be more shocked if he’d said he was going to drink that cake shake. Noah Daniels dances? To this?
The music washing over the dance floor is distinctive, with sharp horns and a quick beat.
“You can’t be serious, after eating all that?”
“Come on,” Noah urges me, reaching out and tugging on my hand. “If not, I’m going to dance with the waitress who’s dressed up as Raquel Welch.”
Oh, hell no. Despite my stomach feeling about three sizes too big, I heave myself out of the booth and onto the dance floor as I recognize the tune. Dancing In The Streets. Noah puts on a show, completely at ease as he moves and grooves. He even copies the costumed dancers, who I’ve decided must be employees who keep everyone on the floor. They do some sort of twisting move, and even though I worry it might make me puke, I dance along, laughing the whole time.
It’s crazy. It’s fun. It’s amazing.
It’s Noah Daniels, dancing wildly to oldies with tomato juice on his shirt, sweat at his temples, and smiling like he never knew life could be this fun.
Other than the tomato juice, I imagine I look the same. Vibrantly happy, full-bellied and having the time of my life.
Another song starts, Jump On It! and everyone does the same moves, bumping their hips around in a circle before yee-hawing lasso hands in the air.
“Come on now, shake it!” I urge at one point, and Noah goes full-on cheese mode, throwing his hands up and circling his hips, but instead of a cowboy, it looks more like a stripper. I can’t help but cheer and giggle along with his antics.
Wayne rushes by the floor, another handful of plates on a tray, and calls out, “Save some of that for the Hand Jive. It’s coming up soon.”
I freeze, mouth gaping open, and Noah’s wide eyes stare back at me. “Did he say a hand job is coming soon?” I whisper.
But Noah hears me, and his eyes fill with heat. I let him pull me in tight, where the clean scent of his fresh sweat is intoxicating.
“I fucking hope so,” he growls into my ear. “And more.”
The music slows down, and with our bodies touching, I can feel what I’m doing to him. He’s thick and large in his slacks, and I realize that my nipples are pearled up too, aching for his touch. Noah sways us, and I follow his lead, my panties soaked from something besides the heat of dancing.
It might as well be only the two of us on that dance floor, with no one else in the room. I think the song changes again, but we stay exactly as we are—swaying slowly and looking into each other’s eyes. Noah dips me, swooping me through the air with a strong hand on my back, and when I come up, he meets me with a gentle kiss. The softness from this man is my undoing.
“Noah.”
I don’t know how to ask for what I want. I don’t even know if I have words for what I want except . . . him. Noah.
He takes my hand and guides me off the floor. At our table, he quickly lays down cash for Wayne and then we’re running for the door.
Outside, the cool night air helps with my overheated body, but my head is still spinning, intoxicated with all things Noah Daniels. When we get to his SUV, he backs me up against it, caging me in with a hand on either side of my hips. I cup his face and lift up encouragingly, wanting his kiss. More than his kiss.
And he obliges. He devours me, right there in the parking lot of Big Mike’s. His tongue claims my mouth, his lips lay a trail along my neck, his hands squeeze and dent the flesh of my hips, and he grinds himself
against me. But I’m a willing participant, giving as good as I’m getting. My hands drop from his face to his chest before I wrap my arms around his neck, not letting him put even a tiny inch between us.
So when he guides me back to lie on the hood, I let him. I shouldn’t. We’re in public, and this could be scandalous. But he kisses down my neck to my collarbone, and I forget all reason. My eyes flutter closed, and I hold him to my skin, wanting him to taste me, mark me, take me.
But voices sound out in the dim parking lot, breaking the spell, and I open my eyes. I hiss, “Noah! Noah!” I swat at his shoulder, and he lifts up in confusion.
“Riley?”
Without the pressure of him against me, I lift up and immediately drop down by the front tire. Which puts me right in line with his bulging crotch.
“Uh, whoa!” Noah says, reaching down. “I mean, I’m not necessarily saying no, but . . . I don’t think we should do that in public.” Noah cups himself to block my supposed blowjob attack, but he sounds as if saying no physically hurts him.
“I’m not trying to blow you,” I growl, pointing toward the entrance to Big Mike’s. “Look who just showed up!”
Noah looks to where I’m pointing, his eyes widening in shock. “Arielle?”
“And Eli,” I add. Of all the restaurants in Briar Rose, how did they decide to come here? They’re holding hands and smiling at each other, lost in conversation, but they could’ve easily seen us.
Finally catching on to the problem, Noah ducks down too, headbutting me and almost falling on his butt.
“Ow!” I hiss, rubbing my forehead.
“Sorry,” Noah whispers.
I hear Arielle say something. I can’t quite make it out, but I can hear her laughter and Eli’s answering chuckle. And then they’re at the door and disappear inside.
The Blind Date Page 15