Lauren pats him on the side and nods toward the kitchen. “Be a dear and start on the dishes.” She blows him an air kiss. “Love you, beefcake.”
He shakes his finger at Lauren. “Don’t be getting any ideas from her. I don’t want you coming up to me tonight asking me to dry-hump on Chloe’s rocking horse because you felt like trying something new.”
“Please, dry-humping on the rocking horse is never going to happen. Now her bean bag chair, that’s a viable option.”
Rolling his eyes, Alex takes off but not before gathering some plates to take to the kitchen. He’s a good husband.
When he’s out of earshot, Lauren twists toward me with dreamy eyes. “So you dry-humped on a motorcycle. God, that sounds hot. Tell me all about it.”
I spend the next few minutes recalling my date with Beck, blushing when I speak of all the . . . uh, touching we did. I’m still a little shocked I let loose that much. There were multiple times that night I felt Beck’s “excitement” on me. And you know what, it only spurred me on to beg for more.
Harlot, that’s what I was, an absolute harlot, and I have zero regrets. Hell, I’m ready to grind up on him on our next date while we cook dinner.
“Beck Wilder.” Lauren leans back and pretends to smoke a cigarette while looking at the ceiling. “God, just his name makes my toes tingle, but knowing he’s a motorcycle-driving, salsa-dancing, Spanish-speaking, erotic-humping rebel? Well, I very well might be in lust for you.” She takes a pretend puff and blows her “smoke” toward the sky. “And he’s a good kisser?”
“So good.”
“Damn, that’s some excellent stuff. And what about The Suit? That’s completely done? Or are you dating two guys right now? Is that even allowed within this app?”
“I have no clue, probably not, but I’m done with The Suit.”
“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow at me. “What happened there?”
I’m still bitter about the whole thing—clearly—by the way I slightly snapped when I said I was done with him. But can you blame a girl? We had this great connection and then out of nowhere, without a second chance, he breaks everything off. I mean, I get it, we were only going to go on a second date, but it was the way he was wooing me, our messages, our date, his kiss. It was . . . intentional. It just seemed like there was something special there. Something really special, but because I said his FIRST NAME on TV he couldn’t go any further with me.
Uh . . . get over yourself.
Immature response? Maybe, but that’s where I am right now when it comes to Jack. Riding the express train down Immature Lane.
“He wasn’t the one,” I answer vaguely, not wanting to dive into the Jack situation.
“I would say that’s unfortunate since it looked like you really liked him on your show, but now that Beck Wilder is in your life, I mean, did The Suit dry-hump you on a motorcycle?”
“Not even a little.” But we did dance by the water at the beach.
“Then in my opinion”—Lauren puts a hand to her chest, looking like the wiser one—“it’s his loss, your gain. So what’s next with the rebel?”
“Cooking class on Friday and then who knows what.”
“Maybe he’ll take you to a sex club. I’ve always wanted to go to one of those.”
Alex takes that moment to walk through the dining room, wearing an apron with a picture of Chloe on the front, and rubber gloves up to his elbows covering his hands. He stumbles over Lauren’s confession and his jaw drops open.
“Oh hey, sweetie. Looking hot.” Lauren sends him a wink and instead of questioning her confession, he gathers more dishes and quickly retreats into the kitchen.
“I think you just made his penis shrivel.”
Lauren flings her head back and laughs. “Yeah, he’s going to be a little shaken up, nothing a blow job won’t cure.”
“And it’s time for me to go.” I stand from my chair and call out to the family room. “Hey pretty girl. Auntie is leaving, come give me a hug.”
The pitter-patter of Chloe’s bare feet against the hardwood floor grows louder as she approaches. When she makes it to the dining room, she flings her string-bean body against mine and gives me a giant hug.
“Love you, Auntie.”
“Love you, too, sweetie. Be good for your parents, okay?”
Nodding, she takes off toward the family room while yelling Bubble Guppies at the top of her lungs. And that right there is the reason I’m waiting a tad longer to have kids. Maybe until I’m thirty . . . well, thirty and married. I have to get married first. I want to get married first.
The thought of marrying Beck passes through my mind briefly. Is he marrying material? Would he think he’s done the marriage thing and doesn’t want to go there again? He’s humping material, that’s for sure, and for now, that’s good enough. We have plenty of time to dive deeper.
Giving Lauren a hug, I say, “Thanks for dinner.”
“Anytime. Keep me updated on the humper.”
“I will.”
Calling out to the kitchen, I say bye to my brother just as Lauren comes up behind him and grips two handfuls of his ass. He grunts and spins on his heels, capturing her in his wet, gloved hands. Eh, things are about to get a little frisky in there.
“Wait until the kid’s asleep,” I call out, waving a hand behind me.
They may be an “old” married couple, but they’re what I strive to be.
What I want so desperately.
The kind of camaraderie my soul craves. They’re one of the main reasons I’m testing out this Going in Blind program, because whenever I see them, I get jealous.
Being single is fun . . . for a little bit. But I’ve realized that there comes a time in a person’s life when they just want to be able to have a partner in crime, someone you come home to every night, and wake up with every morning. Someone who cheers during your triumphs and carries you when you fall. And when you see that kind of relationship in real life, playing out in front of you? It’s impossible not to want the same thing for yourself.
It’s why, after the debacle with Jack, I pushed forward, well that and pure animosity. But it’s why I will continue to push forward, because right now, I have all the materialistic things people think makes them happy: the house, the car, the successful career. But what I really want, what I truly, desperately want is romance. I want to hold my husband’s hand in a movie or when we walk to the store. I want to yell at him one minute over something stupid, then be making passionate love the next, simply because we can’t stay mad at each other. I want to be cherished, for someone to call me his own. And I want to give myself to that someone for as long as we both shall live.
I want to be in love.
Chapter Seventeen
NOELY
Sassy,
Thong, granny panty, G-string, or boy cut? Inquiring minds want to know.
Your rebel
Rebel,
Isn’t it a little presumptuous of you to be asking such personal questions about my undergarments?
Sassy
Sassy,
No. Answer the question.
Your rebel
Rebel,
Well, when you put it that way, thong. Grannies when I feel like it. I don’t own any boy-cut underwear, and the G-string? That’s for special occasions.
Sassy
P.S. What about you? What kind of underwear do you wear?
Sassy,
Our next date better be considered a special occasion where your underwear is concerned.
Your rebel
P.S. What’s underwear?
Rebel,
I guess you’re just going to have to wait and see what’s considered a special occasion where my underwear is concerned, aren’t you?
Sassy
P.S. Are you telling me you go commando?
Sassy,
That’s exactly what I’m saying. See you Friday, G-string and all.
Rebel
***
“Thank you,
have a good night.”
“Give me five stars and I’ll give you five stars, deal?” My Uber driver calls out just as I’m about to shut the door.
“Uh, sure.”
He places his hands on the headrest and twists completely toward me. “I mean it, lady. Give me five stars. I’ve been dinged too many times with a one star.”
“Okay, well maybe it’s because you seem to be assaulting me with this five-star business.”
“I’m desperate.”
“It shows.” I give him a courteous smile and put some distance between the car and me. What has the world come to where we’re begging each other for five stars on a driving service app? Just be a decent human and you’ll score well. What’s with all this pressure?
A notification on my phone pops up.
Bobby Michael rated you a three-star rider.
“What the hell?” I look up to see him peel away like a dickhole, waving his hand in the rearview window.
Three stars my ass. Mumbling to myself, I give him three stars as well. I’m not vindictive, but I’m not going to give him five stars after that stunt.
“Ohhh nooo, Bobby Michael, you’re three stars at best.” I close my app and say, “That’ll teach him, give me three—”
“Talking to yourself now?”
Startled, I fumble with my phone and drop it on the pavement in front of me. When I go to pick it up, a perfectly polished wingtip shoe is in front of me. Looking up, I come face to face with those deep chocolate eyes I only got to stare into for a brief moment in time.
“Here.” He hands me my phone and helps me to a standing position by lifting me at the elbow.
Stammering, showing zero sophistication, I snag my phone and stuff it in my purse. “Thanks. Excuse me.” I try to walk past him but once again, he grips my elbow.
“It’s good to see you, Noely.”
It’s good to see me?
IT’S GOOD TO SEE ME?
Jack, The Suit, the man who told me rather ineloquently at the beginning of our second date that he wanted nothing to do with me is now telling me that it’s “good to see me”? He must have sniffed some of his shoe polish this evening.
But not wanting to come off as a bitter wench, because let’s be honest, we only went on one date—a beautiful one—but one date, I tamper the crazy and smile politely.
“Nice to see you too, Jack.”
Trying to get a move on again, I attempt to walk away but his grip stays firm on my elbow.
“Where are you going? Can I escort you?”
First of all, who says escort these days? Second of all, NO, YOU CAN’T ESCORT ME. Why on earth would he think it would be okay to “escort” me? Does he not remember the beach? Does he not remember the way he so easily discarded me? Does he not have any clue how embarrassed I was when he drove off without a backward glance?
Looks like he forgot and might need a little reminder.
A gentle one.
Extracting my elbow from his firm grip, I turn so I’m facing him directly, a position as a businessman I know he will appreciate. “Jack, it is lovely to see you, but as I hope you can remember, you made it quite clear you want nothing to do with me given my ‘loud mouth.’ So I’ll say thank you for picking up my phone and be on my way.”
“I never said you had a loud mouth.” His shoulders are set back, his position stoic—unapologetic—seeing him, his broad chest and dark eyes captivate me, I still want to drive my foot between his legs. That’ll teach him a lesson. It’s not like I’ll need what’s between there anytime soon. I mean, anytime ever.
“Well whatever you said, you made it clear you didn’t want to have anything to do with me. So, it was nice to see you, but—”
“Where are you going?” He pulls on the sleeves of his button-up shirt under his unblemished suit jacket.
Caught off guard from his abrupt question, I take a step back. “I don’t think that’s any of your business, sir.”
“Didn’t say it was. I was just wondering why you’re dressed like that, walking along these dark streets by yourself.”
I scan my outfit. I’m wearing black heels, black high-waisted trouser pants, and a long-sleeved, lace-covered, black crop top. I think I look rather stunning, especially with my hair curled and pinned to the side, showing off the expanse of my neck.
“What’s wrong with my outfit?”
“Nothing.” His heated gaze scans my body, searing me with every inch he consumes. How is that possible? I don’t like this man.
Feeling exposed, I tilt my chin up and decide to deliver a blow I’m hoping will get Mr. WindsorKnot to move on.
“If you must know, I’m on my way to a second date, one I know will actually happen because unlike you, this man has no qualms in dating me. So if you’ll excuse me, Jack, I must be on my way.”
I take a step toward the direction of the cooking class, waiting for him to grab my elbow one more time, but when he doesn’t, I take a look over my shoulder to see Jack piercing me with a stare I can’t quite read. Adjusting his Windsor knot, he nods and says, “Have a good time, Noely.”
And with that, he walks in the other direction, leaving me in a rather confused and bewildered state.
“Yeah, I will have a good time,” I mumble, walking away as well. “You . . . you infuriating man.”
What the hell was that?
***
I need to go back into my Uber app and give that driver a one-star review. No wonder he’s desperate for stars. He dropped me off three blocks away from my destination, so by the time I make it to the cooking class, I’m sweaty, slightly out of breath, but at least on time.
I might have booked it quicker than I wanted in heels, but I’m on time, and that’s important because I didn’t want Beck to think I’d stand him up. I know the kind of nerves a second date in this blind-date situation can bring, and I don’t want Beck to feel any doubt. I want this date. With him.
I open the big metal door to the warehouse where cooking classes take place, and I’m greeted by black jeans, black boots, a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up and top few buttons undone, and a wickedly gorgeous man. God, Beck is attractive. His hand is pulling on the ends of his hair, making him look nervous, but when he turns to see me, his eyes meet mine, the worry etching his brow disappears, and a slow, sexy smile spreads across his handsome face.
“Hey there, Sassy.” He comes up to me, places his hands on my hips, and presses a brief kiss on my lips. It’s been far too many days since I’ve been kissed. “You look gorgeous.”
“Thank you. You look handsome yourself.” I slip my hand in his and say, “I’m sorry about the wait; my Uber driver was a real ass and dropped me off at the wrong spot.”
I don’t mention my little encounter with Jack, because honestly, that’s inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. And he’d have no idea who Jack was, and I am not going to explain that.
“No problem. They’re just getting started. I reserved the fifties kitchen for us.”
“The fifties kitchen?” I raise a quizzical eyebrow at him as he guides me into the giant warehouse full of tiny little blocks of kitchens, all with their own theme. There’s the futuristic kitchen that looks entirely too foreign to me. The farmhouse kitchen with its multitude of roosters, the Christmas kitchen full of red and green plaid, and the Hobbit kitchen that looks more like a woodland diorama than anything. There are more kitchens scattered along the wide-open space, but before I can really take them all in, Beck takes me to our kitchen.
I feel Iike I’ve been transported back in time to when June Cleaver was the primetime mom rather than Gloria from Modern Family.
“Is that a pink fridge?”
“It is.” Beck chuckles next to me. “And before you start asking, yes, those are blue and white cabinets.”
I place my purse on a hook at the entrance of the kitchen and pull down the two frilly white aprons hanging up. “I assume these are for us.”
“Looks like it
.” Without even a second thought, Beck puts on the apron and cinches it around his tapered waist. I give myself a moment to take him all in, his scruffy jaw, dark hair, hazel eyes, and carefree attitude. It isn’t even his looks that makes him sexy. It’s the way he carries himself, with such unabashed confidence, as if nothing can rock him. And when I think about the fact he’s divorced, it amazes me. I know it’s been a while, and perhaps he hasn’t been celibate throughout the past eight years like I originally thought, but how can he be so upbeat? I am trying to be patient, but I dearly want to know him better.
“Are you going to just stare at me all night or are you going to put on that apron and join me?”
“Uh, sorry.” I shake my head and fumble with my apron. Beck walks up to me, takes the apron, and helps me put it on, his strong, masculine scent making me wobbly with each breath I take.
“Let me help you with that, Sassy.” When he’s done tying the strings around my waist, he pinches my chin with his thumb and forefinger and says in a husky tone, “You can stare at me all you want later, but right now, let’s make some food.” He leans forward and slowly presses a seductive kiss on my lips. Now that’s a kiss full of promises of what’s to come.
When he pulls away, he takes my hand and brings me to the counter where there is a recipe book propped up by a stand. The kitchens around us are already buzzing with couples cooking and instructors walking around.
We need to get to work.
“Everything okay over here? Do you have any questions?” a petite woman wearing a chef’s coat and hat asks, her hands folded in front of her.
“Hi, I’m Beck.” Beck leans forward and shakes the lady’s hand. “I think we’re good. Just follow the recipe, right?”
“Yep, and if you have any questions, there are instructors walking around at your disposal. There is wine in the fridge. Have a nice evening.”
She takes off, hands still folded, wandering around to the other kitchens.
“Want me to pour you a glass of wine?” Beck asks, going to the fridge.