Merged With Him (The Merge #1)

One

ALYSSA

“SARAH, I CAN’T WEAR THAT!” I exclaim to my best friend, who is holding up the tiniest black dress I have ever seen. “That dress looks like something you took off a doll; no way is all of this going to fit into that bit of fabric.” I emphasize my curves by waving my hands down my body.

“Don’t be dramatic, Lyssa. You want to look hot for this date with Ethan, right?”

“I want to look somewhere between Sex on the Beach and a Dirty Margarita,” I try to explain in my friend’s true language of cocktails.

“Okay. Okay, I get it. You want to look more like a pina colada. Fifty percent girl you take home to mother, and fifty percent hit it and quit it,” Sarah animatedly calls out as she continues to dig through her wardrobe.

We shared the townhouse together, and I couldn’t want for a better flatmate than my best friend.

However, she was delusional if she thought I was squeezing my body into one of her barely-there dresses.

Where Sarah was tall and slim with a runner’s body, I was on more of the curvier side with the body of a person who would rather sit at home reading the latest romance on my Kindle, than endure any form of the hell they call exercise.

Sarah, though, was a health guru to the core, right down to the god-awful green stuff she drank every morning.

I guess her efforts were paying off; she was beautiful both inside and out.

Sarah had those tanned, dark features that every girl would kill for or pay exuberant amounts of money to fake.

With long, silky black hair and thick, pouty lips, she was stunning.

Where she is tanned and toned, in comparison, I’m pale and curvy.

“Ah-ha, I found it!” she exclaims, walking out of the wardrobe triumphantly, holding up a strapless red dress.

Admittedly, the dress was gorgeous and would look so good on someone like Sarah. On someone like me? Let’s just say I have a motto for clothes: just because you can squeeze into it, doesn’t mean you should.

“I am not squeezing all of this into that,” I plead, giving my best don’t make me pout look.

“Lyssa, you have a killer bod. You know it. I know it. God knows it. And Ethan is about to know it. Just put the damn dress on already.” She shoves the dress at me, waiting with a raised eyebrow.

“Fine.” Stomping on the spot, I strip down to squeeze all my curves into the scrap of material that she claims to be a dress.

“Wow!” Sarah lets out a whistle as she grabs my shoulders, spinning me around to face the full-length mirror that stands in the corner of her room.

I stand, staring back at my reflection and not believing what I’m seeing.

First, the dress fit. It was not ripping at the seams to hold my curves in; instead, it looked like it was made for me, hugging me in all the right places.

My D-sized breasts were popping with the square-cut, strapless top—the fabric hugging at my hips before swaying out in a mermaid-shape that ended just before my knees. I was speechless as I looked at my reflection.

“Well, what do you think?” Sarah asks quietly from behind me.

“I think I love it! I think I love you. How do you always know how to dress me better than I can dress myself?” Turning, I hug her, squeezing tight.

“That’s because I know the rocking body you possess underneath your baggy hoodies and jeans. Tonight, the rest of Sydney will know it too. Ethan won’t know what to do with himself when he gets a look at you.”

I finished the outfit off with a pair of black strappy Guess heels I scored in the clearance bin a few weeks ago and a shimmery black clutch.

Sarah, being the makeup artist she is, beautifies my face and hair.

Transforming my pale face into something that belonged on a magazine cover, she gave me just the right amount of smoky eye, paired with bright red shiny lips.

“The Uber will be here in ten!” Sarah yells from the living room.

Doing one last-minute check in the mirror, I make my way out to the living room. Nerves are eating at me; I’m not much of a people person. “Are you sure you don’t want to tag along with me?” I plead with my best friend.

“Um, definitely not. I did not go to the effort of stalking that smoking hot groomsmen from the wedding I worked last weekend for myself. I did that all for you, sweet pea.”

“Thanks?” It comes out as more of a question than a statement.

Grabbing onto my shoulders, she says, “I know you’re nervous; you have every right to be after what that prick did to you, but this is different, okay?

” I nod, trying to bury the memories that are creeping their way into my mind.

Sarah hugs me and whispers, “You will thank me to the moon and back when you see him. Where did you say he was taking you again?”

I didn’t give her any details because, knowing Sarah, she would turn up and spy on just how well I was not doing at this blind date thing, just to give me pointers for the next time.

“I didn’t say.” Smiling, I make my way to the door. “Don’t wait up.” As I say this, I know I’ll be in early as I have a shift tomorrow. Sarah reads my face all too well, knowing I was thinking of having to go into work tomorrow.

“You can always call in sick if you stay out. You don’t even like your job.

Why not use all your personal leave for getting down and personal with a member of the opposite sex?

” She wags her eyebrows up and down at me.

Shaking my head, because there is no way to respond to all of that, I walk out the door.

Sitting in the back of the Uber, I rest my head against the headrest and contemplate cancelling this date and finding an open coffee shop, getting a vanilla latte and finishing the latest romance I was halfway through.

Surely, my current book boyfriend could bring me more pleasure than a blind date with some guy named Ethan, no matter how hot Sarah claimed he was.

I hate meeting new people. I’m not a people person. I keep my close circle of friends small. That circle included Sarah and my other two BFFs, Holly and her identical twin Reilly; they were enough for me.

I process the list of pros and cons for cancelling the date.

Pro: I can have a peaceful night with Ken, the current hot alpha book hero I’m crushing on.

Con: I will undeniably have to endure Sarah’s lecture when she eventually learns of my deceit.

I decide to just meet this Ethan and avoid the day’s long lecture on my lack of love life from my best friend.

The Uber pulls to a stop on the side of the street.

Looking out the window, I double check the name of the restaurant that Ethan told me to meet him at—yes, told me.

Not asked, not requested, just a simple message stating: I’ll meet you at Red Door Restaurant at 8 p.m. That should have been my first red flag with this guy.

I can see the red door with a sign above proclaiming it to be the Red Door Restaurant, also taking note that next to the restaurant lays a carpeted walkway with ropes along the edges, leading to a door with flashing lights highlighting the name of the building as The Merge.

I’ve heard about this club. Gary at work talks about his epic nights out every Monday; his anecdotes always mention The Merge.

Apparently, it’s the place to be, that is, if you’re into that scene.

I make my way to the red door, pushing open the heavy door.

I give my name to the gorgeous blonde at the front counter, and she informs me I’m the first to arrive and leads me to a table set for four.

Thanking her, I sit down, pulling out my phone to send a quick text to Sarah letting her know I made it to the right place.

Me: I made it to the meeting rendezvous spot. Waiting to see if my night will get more interesting, if I get stood up, or if he shows and I’m required to endure the awkwardness of a blind date.

Sarah: You’re welcome. Enjoy and try to let loose a little, yolo.

Laughing a little at her outdated yolo, I put my phone back in my clutch and wait.

I’m not left to wait long as a tall, blonde-haired man approaches me.

Giving him a once-over, I note that he’s attractive in the boy-you-dated-in-college kind of way.

He has a big, solid frame (like one you would find on an athlete) and strong, wide shoulders with a trim waist. He spends time in the gym.

Scraggy blonde hair with dull blue eyes, his face is handsome, with a chiselled jawline and high cheekbones.

He smirks as he gets closer, knowing full well that I was giving him the once-over.

Standing, I reach my hand across the table to shake his. “Ethan?” I ask. “I’m Alyssa.”

“Yes, you are.” He smirks, running his eyes down my body, all the while grasping my hand too long to be an appropriate timeframe for a friendly handshake. His eyes come back up, lingering on my breasts for a beat before finally reaching my eyes and letting go of my hand.

Yep, that does it. My creeper alert is on full blast and, in my head, I am blasting my best friend. Outwardly, I smile politely and sit back down. Ethan takes the seat right next to me. Weird, most people would take the one across the table.

“Thanks for meeting me here,” he says. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long?”

Mmm, polite, some manners—there’s his first plus. “Not at all. I just arrived.”

“You look beautiful, although I’m sure you already know that and don’t need me to tell you. You must hear it a billion times a day,” he says, talking to my breasts.

Yep, that first plus point’s now stricken from the record. “Thank you,” I say, picking up my menu. “Tell me a little about yourself,” I add, thinking he might give me some positives to like.