Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Michael
Emery’s hands freeze on her lap, and she blushes. “I’m not exactly the kind of woman most guys want to know more about.”
“Why do you say that?”
Pain cuts across her face, and I resist the urge to ask who hurt her.
“I’m not exactly a pin-up model. So for a blind date, I’m not a guy’s fantasy.”
“That’s definitely not true,” I assure her. “I can promise you that every guy in here is jealous as hell I’m sitting here with you.”
Her eyes flash with an emotion I can’t quite read.
“Thank you. Maybe I just always meet the wrong guy.” She rolls her eyes. “I’ll be the woman hiding in the bathroom stall of a restaurant, texting a friend to come pick me up and get me out of the mess I’m in. That’s how I ended up with my ex—as bad as he was, he was an upgrade!”
I can’t help but join in when she breaks into peals of laughter. Her laugh is deep and real, and that kind of joy is infectious.
“What about tonight?” I ask her, my question unexpectedly coming out in a rough tone. “Do you think you might stick around for the end of this date?”
“I’m pretty sure I want to do that.”
She licks her lips, and I nearly lean forward and cover her mouth with mine. Her midnight-colored hair cascading in waves down her back is killing me, and when she looks at me—it’s like she’s looking at all of me.
I can’t explain why, but I feel like I can’t hide with her. And instead of making me jump off my stool and run in the opposite direction, it makes me want to fuck her over and over again.
She’s sexy without trying, and the combination is causing my cock to come alive. Cocks aren’t smart like I wish they were. And right now, mine is suddenly hard in the middle of a bar, sitting beside a woman I barely know. It’s quite inconvenient, and I grab my flannel shirt from the back of my stool and place it over my waist.
“Do you live in town?” I ask, hoping she didn’t notice the bulge in my jeans.
“I live a few towns over. But I took two weeks off, and I’m staying at a ranch down the road.” She tilts her head to the right.
Not possible. Is it? “Wild Ranch?”
She blinks. “You know it?”
“I’m staying there too. Small world.”
She stares at me. “You’re staying in one of the guest cabins?”
“Yep. My cousin runs the place. He and two of his brothers.”
“That’s incredible!” She bounces up and down on her stool. “I absolutely love it there. I just checked in last night, but it’s been so peaceful.”
“It is. I’d love to come here more often. But with my line of work…” I trail off, wishing I hadn’t gone there.
“What’s your line of work?”
“I work outdoors. Manual labor of a kind.”
I plan to fill her in for real, but before I can go into more detail, she reaches out and squeezes my bicep. “Manual labor explains these muscles. I could tell you weren’t a boring corporate guy as soon as I saw your body.” Her eyes widen. “I mean, scratch that. Not your naked body. Obviously. Since I haven’t seen you naked yet.”
I raise my eyebrows at her.
“Or ever!” She bangs the heel of her hand against her forehead. “God, have I gotten this bad at socializing with strange men? I’m sorry to make this awkward.”
“It’s not awkward for me.” I chuckle. “You spilled some of your wine, though.”
She looks down at her floral skirt, which now has a red stain on it. “Oh, shit. That’s what I get for using the word naked to a virtual stranger.”
“Hey, I’m not a stranger anymore. Am I?”
She smiles. “Apparently not.”
I call to the bartender for a napkin.
After unsuccessfully blotting at the stain, Emery tosses the napkin onto the counter. “Oh, well. That’s not going to come out until I can scrub the hell out of it with stain remover.”
She smiles at me and takes another sip of wine.
I stare at her, mesmerized at the way she just let it go. She’s got a large red stain on her skirt, we’re in a public place, and she’s on a date with a man she just met. She’d have all the reason in the world to freak out or, at the very least, go to the restroom to try some more tricks to blot out the blemish .
But she doesn’t. She just looks at me and says, “So. Back to our conversation.”
I live in a small town in Maine, and the people I hang with are the last thing from superficial. And yet, I’ve never met a woman who’s so unpretentious and comfortable with herself.
That’s the moment it clicks for me.
We all have those moments in life.
Moments where we can either jump in with both feet or turn the other way.
I’m not an all-in kind of guy.
I can’t be.
Every time I set out to sea, I’m taking my life in my hands, and I don’t have any space left for risk.
But Emery makes me want to find room for more than my boat.
I decide I want another date with her.
I suck in a breath.
Want isn’t the right word.
I need another date with her.
A real date where I ask her out, not one I end up on because of a bet.
I had zero expectations for my date tonight.
I thought maybe we’d get along well enough to have sex afterward.
And I do. Want to have sex with Emery. But now I want to know more about her too. And that’s a whole different ballgame.
I twist on my stool until I’m facing her fully. My eyes rove over her face, and I smile when her cheeks flush pink.
“Hey,” I say to Emery, “would you like to…”
Before I can finish my sentence…
“Excuse me, are you Emery Walker?”
A guy, dressed casually in jeans and a Henley, is standing way too close to us to be a stranger. And yet, the look on Emery’s face tells me she has no idea who this guy is.
“I’m Mitchell Weld,” he says, extending his hand. “Your blind date for the night? I’m sorry I’m late. I texted you—my truck got a flat.”
Emery’s eyes flash with confusion. “Wait.” She looks from me to him. “I don’t understand.”
Neither do I.
Until a blond wearing a little black dress appears on my left. She taps my shoulder. “I apologize in advance if I’m wrong, but are you Michael Wild? I’m Emily, Luke Wild’s friend? I think I got the time wrong.”
My head snaps over to Emery.
Silent confusion passes between us.
But the pieces start falling into place.
We aren’t each other’s blind dates at all. The whole thing is a clusterfuck of a mix-up.
I run my hand down my face. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.