Chapter 6 Lady Lumberjack
LADY LUMBERJACK
Addie
Actually, she’d known it less than three seconds after meeting him, when he’d spent that time ogling her boobs. Only desperation to fix this brewing shitstorm—and Maxi’s earlier doe-eyed plea to let her try and find her soul tether—had her heading into the restaurant, Sense-Less.
Severely dimmed lighting made navigating the closely placed tables risky.
The restaurant buzzed with a low hum of conversation as people found their spots.
Peter had insisted on this place for their first date, stating that it was an “experience” that shouldn’t be missed, one that everyone in attendance would encounter at the same time.
She didn’t have a good feeling about this, already debating sending an SOS text to Bailey to come to her rescue.
Addie sat and mumbled a thank-you to the server who showed them to their table before fluttering away to do the same to the next couple in line. Three plates sat in front of each of them, along with a tall, stemmed wineglass and a fancily folded napkin.
Addie picked up the additional scrap of black fabric and her stomach dropped. “Is this a blindfold?”
“Of course it is.” Peter rolled his eyes, fueling more of her ire.
“It’s part of the restaurant’s entire premise.
I don’t know how you haven’t heard of this place.
It’s the hottest place in town and practically impossible to snatch a table.
You have to know people, and even then, the waitlist is years long. ”
“And yet we’re here … with only two days’ notice.” Addie couldn’t have been less impressed if she tried.
Peter grinned smugly. “I happen to know the right people. That, and my name was already on the waitlist. I figured that I’d find that someone special to share the experience with by the time my turn came around. And I was right.”
Addie bit the side of her tongue, holding back a retort when the ma?tre d’ tapped a microphone.
“If I could have everyone’s attention, please?
” The ma?tre d’ turned, gazing around the entire room.
“Myself, and your facilitators here at Sense-Less, welcome you to a one-of-a-kind experience. We ask that once we begin, you allow both yourself and others to become fully immersed. That means no talking, no removing of your blindfolds, and you are to keep both your nose- and earplugs in place until instructed otherwise.”
Addie glanced around the table. “Where is the silverware?”
A few people from surrounding tables chuckled.
Except Peter. His displeasure palpable, he glowered at her until she lifted an eyebrow in silent challenge. “What?”
“The entire point of Sense-Less is eating your meal without the use of your five senses … hence the blindfold, and nose plugs, and—”
“And hands? But with no utensils and using your hands, aren’t you using your sense of touch? And you’re eating the food … so taste? So the senseless aspect deteriorates a little bit, doesn’t it?” Addie asked, legitimately confused.
A red flush rose to Peter’s cheeks as he scanned their surroundings before dropping his voice to an irritated whisper. “Let’s just enjoy the experience, yeah?”
It took everything Addie had not to leave without a single look back, and if it wasn’t for the fact that Happily Ever Forever’s future hinged on this working, she would’ve been out the door faster than Peter could talk about himself yet again.
At least wearing earplugs and a blindfold meant she didn’t have to talk to—or stare at—her date while they ate and she could enjoy her food in peace.
With a renewed, somewhat optimistic outlook on the rest of the evening, Addie was the first to shove the foamy earplugs into her ears. The blindfold was a little trickier, her hair getting caught up in the string.
Once she was sufficiently sightless, she sensed movement on her left.
A hand caught her wrist and guided her hands in front of her where she felt a plate.
This was the most challenging thing she’d ever done, and the second her hand dipped into something hot and sticky, she knew this wouldn’t end well for her outfit.
It was the longest dinner date on record and by the third course, Addie wanted nothing more than to go home and spot-treat her favorite maxi wrap dress before the stains set in—and it would definitely need spot treatment.
Possibly with the big guns and an extra-long pre-soak because she’d picked things up with her bare hands that most definitely weren’t meant to be finger foods.
Throat clear—soup.
She’d fished food off her lap no fewer than a dozen times, and went searching in her cleavage at least four—thank you, blindfolds, for no one seeing that fiasco.
What felt like hours later, hands loosened the fabric binding her eyes, and the world—and her date—came back into view. She blinked, even the dim lighting taking a few seconds to adjust to as she removed the nose- and earplugs.
It didn’t take long to register Peter’s disappointed scowl from across the table as he ran his gaze over her and noted the obvious splatters down her favorite dress. His shirt—of course—was spotless.
“Well, that was … an experience.” Addie forced a smile to her face.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it. Perhaps on our next date we’ll keep food out of the equation.” Peter smirked.
If said by anyone else, Addie may have laughed. Joked. But at that moment, she couldn’t find a funny bone in her entire body. Peter droned on and on as they headed toward the exit with everyone else, the line slowing as they reached the foyer.
“So what do you think?” Peter asked.
So zoned out and plotting an escape, she hadn’t heard a word he’d said. “What do I think about what?”
He sighed for probably the ten thousandth time that night. “What time of year were you hoping to have a ceremony? I’m partial to spring, but the weather can be very unpredictable. Not to mention that we’d have to wait nearly a whole year.”
“I’ve always been partial to spring with all the blooming flowers.” Addie tried to understand what he was alluding to, and failed. “I’m sorry. What ceremony are you talking about?”
Peter looked at her as if she’d sprouted Hydra heads. “Our. Ceremony.”
Aw hell …
This was proof that Maxi’s matchmaking mojo was on the fritz.
As they waited for the line to move closer to the door, Addie scanned the restaurant, looking for an emergency exit. A fire door. Hell, she’d take a window over a toilet at this point. The only thing she knew with 100 percent certainty was that she needed to get the hell out of there, and fast.
Phoenix
Phoenix leaned into the turn, making the right onto Prospect. The cab coming from the opposite direction slammed on his horn and the driver’s arm came out the window and gifted him a one-fingered salute.
Phoenix waved back—the right way—and kept going when a call beeped from inside his helmet. He picked up the call without needing to look who was on the other end. “I’m on my way. Promise.”
A siren wailed in the background, making his alibi ring true.
“East and I are heading inside and grabbing an aisle before they’re all taken,” Naiomi announced. “Better I start throwing pointy objects in a controlled atmosphere than toward any of my professors.”
Phoenix chuckled. Visiting Sir Axe-A-Lot did a lot for working out aggression, and Nai needed it before she dove into the arduous task of finalizing and defending her PhD dissertation to the doctoral board. It would be one of only a few outings until after she and East officially tied the knot.
“Go hone your inner lumberjack, sis. I’ll be there in a few.” Phoenix disconnected the call and a few moments later, cursed as a road crew effectively siphoned three lanes of traffic into one.
Phoenix came to a full stop, his booted feet sliding off the footrest to hit the ground. An inch at a time, they slowly moved forward, and he let his mind wander with thoughts of a certain sexy neighbor.
He’d hurled out the fauxmance idea five long days ago, and hadn’t seen—or heard—from her since. Not so much as a slipper slapped against their shared apartment wall, and her telling silence had him second-guessing everything.
And third-guessing.
And fourth.
But after each brief questioning moment, he came around to the same decision. It was a damn good idea.
A fauxmance not only got the media vultures off Addie’s back, but Marcus and the music label off his. Writing two decent lyrical lines after meeting Adalyn Whitlock was not a random coincidence. It didn’t matter he hadn’t written a damn thing since.
Not so much as a la-la-la.
They hadn’t spent any real time together, time that would be required to develop a whirlwind fauxmance. And keeping the sexy redhead close definitely wouldn’t be a hardship.
It was a dangerous game and a big gamble, but he’d never been the guy to shy away from a challenge. Especially if the benefits outweighed the risks—and keeping Addie Whitlock close was one hell of a big bonus.
The line of cars inched up another foot before stalling and doing the same thing over and over. The road opened up once you passed the road crew. He just needed to get there.
Less than a hundred feet from the crew, movement on his right caught his attention.
A couple deep in an animated conversation walked briskly down the sidewalk, hands flailing.
The woman’s body language screamed get me out of here, and Phoenix slowed his forward movement, much to the displeasure of the car behind him.
“Seriously. We tried. Let’s just leave it at that and—” The woman’s words were cut off when the guy, red-faced and obviously pissed, reached out and grabbed hold of her upper arm.
“You didn’t try. And I didn’t go through the pain of planning this night just so you could blow me off.”
The redhead stiffened. “If you don’t release my arm right now, I’ll introduce you to a pain-filled night.”
The guy dropped his grip, albeit reluctantly. “This isn’t over.”