Accidental Blind Date
My blind date stood me up.
But the hot silver fox at the bar? He gave my night a happy ending.
Over. And. Over.
But don’t let that charming grin fool you. He’s really not the nice guy he pretends to be.
Turns out he’s actually my older brother’s best friend.
A smooth-talking business shark trying to take over my little bookstore.
I didn't know that when I ended up between his penthouse sheets.
His sinful, commanding hands all over my curves.
I want to hate him. I do.
Forget the best night of my life.
Fight the heat between us.
But when I find out his secret, my heart melts beyond repair.
He's a single dad to two adorable little girls.
And underneath that bossy armor... he might just have a heart.
Prologue
Dax
“Please tell me you’re getting laid right now.”
My best friend Kai’s voice comes through the phone, and I am two seconds away from ending the call.
The only thing that stops me from doing it is the Old Fashioned the bartender just set down in front of me.
I take a sip before responding.
It’s in the best interest of everyone involved that I don’t have this conversation sober.
“Would I be talking to you right now if I was in the middle of getting laid?”
The bartender, a slender, cute, but too young for my 45-year-old ass bites her pierced lip to hold back a laugh.
“Listen, you’ve gotten kinky in your old age. And who am I to judge?”
Kai is ten-ish years younger than me and reminds me of that constantly.
And when we go to the gym together, I remind him who’s still in better shape.
“Remind me again why you called?” I ask, taking another sip.
“Because I know this day is extra shitty for you seeing as how it’s the anniversary of–”
“Don’t say it out loud,” I warn him.
“The worst day of your life. Respectfully so. And I just wanted to check in. And remind you that no one would blame you if you drown your sorrows,” Kai goes on.
“That’s exactly what I am doing,” I tell him, glass nearly empty.
I’m not a heavy drinker by any stretch. I’m usually a one and done kind of guy, especially with the hard stuff.
But this day is the exception.
This day is the exception to most things.
Because like my alleged best friend just said, it’s the anniversary of the worst day of my life.
Two to three drinks is merited.
“I know you’re drinking,” he says. “I meant drowning your sorrows another way… perhaps in a tight pussy or–”
“Fucking another woman isn’t going to heal my heart, jackass,” I snap.
It earns me another smile from the bartender, although this one is more sympathetic than amused, and I realize the liquor is already making me sappy.
I’m in the dangerous gutter of buzzy right now, where your feelings are loosened up enough to be heightened.
Drink two should do a nice job of inching me over the edge into numb and muzzled.
I am a lot of things, but heart-on-the-sleeve is not one of them.
Especially when it comes to memories of her.
“Are you sure about that?” Kai is stupid enough to go on.
Listen. I love this man. In a strange, slightly insane way, he is the best friend I’ve ever had.
That comes partially from us being in the same field of business together and partially because he is unfiltered, which I appreciate.
“I appreciate it, but I think I’m good,” I tell him. We end the call, and I set my phone down, screen up just in case anything important pops up. As the CEO of a massive chain of big box stores, something is always bound to pop up, even when my automated email is set to OUT OF OFFICE.
The bartender clears her throat to get my attention. “You want it to be fast or you want it to be good?” she asks as she adds the final touches to my next drink.
“I want it to be strong,” I say. She sets the drink down just as a group of people take a seat at the other end of the bar.
“Hang in there. Life can only get better.”
Not true. Life can always get worse.
And I’m not trying to sound like a pessimist.
But if life couldn’t go from good to bad in the blink of an eye, I wouldn’t be sitting here now, alone and buzzed at a swanky cantina we used to come to on date nights.
It occurs to me in that moment that save for the group of college boys at the end of the bar who are full blown peacocking for the tattooed and pierced bartender (don’t worry, she’ll eat them alive. Also, I’m not entirely sure she’s into men), everyone else here is coupled off.
With the heart shaped, blown glass hanging from the ceiling, the bright art on all the walls, and the Latin club music instead of mariachi, Tony’s Cantina is very much a date spot.
I am the only one in this whole damn place who is alone.
I pick up my fresh glass, ready to toss it like a shot instead of sipping it the way I should, when I stop.
Actually, there is one other person who is alone.
A dark-haired woman.
From here, she seems to have greenish, sunburst eyes.
Sitting alone. No date. (Ok so I already said that).
I’m going to preface this with the very true, somewhat pathetic fact that I haven’t looked at another woman since…her.
So, the fact that I am staring at this woman with the raven hair, the dark green eyes and the nervous smile has me completely caught off-guard.
And yet…I can’t stop staring.
She’s wearing a yellow dress that hugs her form just as a dress should. It also brings out her olive skin and rosy cheeks.
Cheeks that look like she’s blushing even though she’s not.
The bartender makes her way over to the table and I watch their interaction.
While I can’t make out the woman’s words over the volume of the music and the energy of the crowd, I can hear her laugh. It’s high, nervous and infectious. I don’t smile, but my lips do tick in the corner when I hear it again.
She brushes her hair behind her ear and nods, talking some more. Despite the fact she seems anxious, she also seems very comfortable in her skin.
As she should be.
The bartender makes her way back behind the counter and I swivel my seat. I can still see the girl, but it’s much less obvious.
I take a sip of my drink and keep my eyes down on the bar.
“That girl at the center table,” I say to the bartender. “Is she…did she come here alone?”
“There’s no one sitting with her.” She states the obvious and my eyes pop up to her. After giving the sarcasm, a second to sink in, she smiles. “But no. She’s not alone. She’s waiting for a date. He's running late.”
“Ah. Boyfriend, I’m sure.”
“No,” she says, and I look up at her again. “Sounds like a first date. A blind date.”
“A blind date? Jesus. Why do people willingly do that? It’s like closing your eyes and biting into assorted chocolate. What if it’s maple?”
“Some people like maple,” she says.
“Not normal people. Not people you should trust on a blind date.”
The bartender, who I finally read the name tag of, Madeline, laughs at my dark humor. “She said they met on a dating app and decided to go out.”
“God that’s even worse. How is it a blind date then?”
“I guess his profile pic was a bit allusive?”
“So, she’s getting catfished,” I shake my head, looking back over at her.
Poor girl.
She’s just sitting there, cute as can be with her perfectly curled hair and dress the color of sunshine and if I had to guess, Mystery Man is going to be a raincloud.
What men on those apps aren’t?
“She said he looked attractive from what she could see. Tall, blonde, brooding. Kind of like you, except for the hair! And hopefully in a better mood.”
I shoot her a look.
She’s not wrong.
But that still doesn’t change the fact that I have a feeling this girl is in for a dud of a night.
I’m half tempted to pay for her drink.
A little pre-apology on behalf of the all assholes in the world for what’s to come.
“I wouldn’t put too much thought into it,” she says. “The girl also said they both made it very clear they aren’t looking for anything serious.”
That actually does shock me. “You mean…it’s a hook up?” I ask and Madeline gives me a half shrug. “Sounds like it. But you know what? Good for her. Girls gotta get their kicks too, you know?”
With that she walks off with a drink, leaving me to brood over the idea of it.
I’m not a one-night kind of guy, despite Kai’s efforts to convert me into that.
But I also have no intention of falling in love again.
Not after what happened…
I glance over at her again, watching as she gingerly sips her drink and I can’t help my mind wandering a little.
Blame it on the bourbon.
The thought of this girl, who looks very much like a good girl (no suggestive pun intended…at least not directly…) meeting a man on a dating app for a one-night stand is somewhat unsettling to me.
But also…strangely erotic.
I can’t help but wonder what her profile looked like. What it revealed about her. What kinds of photos she posted.
“She’s a nice girl,” Madeline cuts in and I snap my attention away from the girl, clearing my throat.
“Looks like it,” I say gruffly, then take a sip of my drink.
“I just hope he doesn’t ghost.”
I stop. “What makes you say that?”
“I see it a lot. Pretty girl, hopes high, and then man chickens out leaving her to pay for her own drink, her confidence gone. I see it flipped too. Men waiting hours for a girl to show then finding company in the bottom of a whiskey glass. Speaking of that, you ready for round three?”
“Not yet,” I shake my head. This one is going slower than the last. “You really don’t think the guy is going to show?”
“I’m just saying as a bartender, I see it a lot. Hopefully I’m wrong though.”
Unfortunately, Madeline’s intuition seems unfortunately accurate.
Over the passing of the next half hour, the girl is still sitting alone.
Her drink is close to gone and she’s checking her phone about every five minutes.
But the worst part is, her smile has faded too.
He’s not coming.
What a dick.
Why I am so investing in this girl’s date night gone sour I can’t explain. Maybe it’s the bourbon on an empty stomach. Maybe it’s displacement of my own sadness.