Three Last First Dates Read online

I shot him a smile, trying to put off the inevitable, when a thought leapt into my mind, saving me. “Actually, I’m dairy intolerant.” Yes!

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” Blaze said, looking crestfallen. He slid the glass back toward himself over the polished wooden table.

  As I watched the look of rejection on his Matthew McConaughey face, I gave myself a stern talking to: Blaze was my only hope now that Coleman and Nash were on the scrap pile. I had to make this date work.

  So, against my better judgment, I reached for the glass and slid it over the table, back to myself. Picking it up in my hand, I said, “But this seems so good for me, I think I’ll make an exception.” I took a sip, my eyes trained on Blaze for his reaction. His face broke back into that gorgeous grin once more as the thick, milky, eggy concoction slipped down my throat.

  I placed the pint glass back on the table and declared, “Delicious,” despite the fact that it tasted like uncooked pancake batter without the yummy stuff. So basically, raw eggs and milk. Ugh.

  “I know, right? It’s so good for you.”

  “Mmmm, I can tell,” I said, forcing a smile. “How do you even get someone to make you a drink like that in a bar?”

  “I know Buff.”

  “Buff?”

  “Yeah, the barman. Buff.” He repeated the name as though I really should know who Buff was.

  I glanced over at the bar. I could see the nice barmaid I had chatted to once or twice on previous visits and a young guy, as pale as that glass of milk in Blaze’s hand.

  “Is that him?”

  “Who, the skinny white guy? Nah, that’s Casper, you know, after the ghost on account of the fact he’s so pale.”

  I nodded, taking a sip of my wine. “Got it.”

  Did this guy think I came down in the last rain shower or something? I knew who Casper the Friendly Ghost was. “And Buff got his name because he’s buff, right?”

  “Yes! You’re on to it. You are one smart chick, you know?” I nodded at him. Decoding Blaze’s nickname process was hardly rocket science.

  “Buff works out with me.”

  “Oh, so it’s not because he likes Buffy the Vampire Slayer, then?” I deadpanned. It went entirely over Blaze’s cute head.

  “No. Maybe he does like that show, but he’s called Buff ‘cos he’s buff.”

  I reminded myself that Blaze was the best looking of all my dates today and you just couldn’t have it all in one guy. Right? I nodded. “Got it.”

  “That’s how I got my nickname: Blaze.”

  “Short for Neville?” I asked with a cheeky grin, hoping to inject some humor into our exchange.

  “No,” he replied, looking offended.

  Epic fail.

  “It’s because I’m so hot at bodybuilding. Boom!” He did a fist pump and then splayed his fingers for emphasis, the way some guys did.

  Young guys, that was: teenagers.

  “Do you get it?” he asked, his face lit up.

  I nodded at him. A seven-year-old could get that. “Oh, I see what you did there.” I smiled at him. Sure, he might not have been the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he was sweet and super hot. A girl couldn’t be too fussy . . . but then, wasn’t fussiness my middle name?

  I bit my lip, trying to push any negative thoughts about Blaze out of my mind. I could not do this again!

  “. . . and that’s why we bodybuilders are a tight-knit group.” He looked back at the bar and raised his chin at someone. Following his line of sight, I spotted a guy who could only be Buff, wearing a black mesh singlet, his deeply tanned torso served up on a platter for all to see. He echoed Blaze’s chin greeting before returning his attention to the bar customers.

  “So, you drink one of these babies a day, and you’ll build up some serious muscle mass, like me,” Blaze said, the short exchange with Buff (not the Vampire Slayer) over.

  He flexed his arms for me to admire his “guns,” and admire them I most certainly did.

  “Here, touch them.”

  “Sure!” I didn’t need any further encouragement. I reached across and felt his muscles. They were firm and hard and everything I had imagined.

  “Give ’em a squeeze,” he instructed, his face serious.

  I did as I was told, my hand not strong enough to squeeze much at all. “Impressive,” I said with a nod.

  He beamed at me. “How about you? Do you work out?”

  I took another sip of my wine. “Sure, yes. I run most days.”

  He nodded, biting his bottom lip. “I can tell. You’re in great shape.”

  I blushed. “Thanks.”

  “Well, good shape.”

  “Oh?”

  “Okay, you could do with some work.”

  My mouth dropped open. Did he really just say I “could do with some work”? I cocked my head, hoping I hadn’t heard right. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Look, don’t get me wrong, any guy would think you’re hot.”

  I smiled, hoping there was no “but.”

  “But”—my heart sank—“I can see things other men can’t. Like your triceps brachii. It’s underdeveloped on you and really letting your arms down.”

  Suddenly aware of my bare arms—which, evidently, my muscles were letting down—I pulled them in and crossed them, wishing I had better-developed brachiosaurus, or whatever Blaze had called them.

  Sensing my discomfort, he added, “Don’t worry, though. It’s very common in women of your age.”

  I raised my eyebrows at him. He was calling me old, now? I may be pushing thirty, but I’m a long way off being old! The compliments were flowing out of my date tonight.

  “I can help you, you know. I could make you look incredible.” He picked up his glass and took a large gulp of milk. Returning the glass to the table, he wiped the milk from his lips with the back of his hand.

  I crossed my aging, underdeveloped arms and tapped my foot impatiently against the table leg. I was glad he could only see me from the waist up. What else would he find wrong if he could see all of me? “So, I’m some sort of project for you, am I?”

  “Well, yeah, in a manner of speaking.”

  I arced an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

  His face changed as he must have noticed his comments had gone down like a cup of cold sick—which, incidentally, is what I thought of his special milk and egg concoction.

  “Look, I’m sorry, Marissa. I’m getting ahead of myself. You’re amazing the way you are. I’m just into bodybuilding, and I think you’d really benefit from doing some yourself. You already have such a great basis, you know, your body.” He reached his fully developed arm across the small table and put his hand on one of mine. “Sometimes I say things I should just leave as thoughts.”

  I widened my eyes. “You don’t say.”

  “If I take my foot out of my mouth, will you let me hit the ‘reset’ button?”

  I pressed my lips together, eyeballing him across the table. His brown eyes reminded me of Dexter’s, pleading, willing to please. Clearly, I needed a dirty old tennis ball to throw for this guy.

  “What do you say?” he prompted. He shot me a crooked grin, and my heart began to flutter. He had unwittingly picked up on my biggest confidence buster: my body. But I couldn’t let his thoughtless, unfiltered comments ruin our date. And anyway, Blaze was a hard man to resist, that size ten shoe of his in his mouth or not.

  I shrugged. “Sure.”

  He leaned back in his seat, looking decidedly pleased with himself. “Awesome!”

  I cleared my throat, ready to ask him questions about his job, his family, anything but more talk about how he could improve my body, when a voice came over a microphone, interrupting me.

  “Good evening, everyone. I hope you’re all having a great night!” the voice said.

  I glanced over at the stage and recognized the singer from the inaugural Cozy Cottage Jam session from a week ago at the Cozy Cottage. “Hey, this guy’s good.”

  “Cool,” Blaze said. He lifted his pint gl
ass to his lips and downed the rest of his milky-eggy concoction in one. Slapping the empty glass back down onto the table, he let out his breath and declared, “Music is good.”

  I almost thought he was about to beat his chest and make caveman noises about killing beasts and making fire. Instead, he slipped his large bulk around the small table until he was right next to me, slung his muscle-bound arm around my shoulders, and grinned. “You’re cool. This is fun.”

  I wasn’t about to deny it, Blaze’s arm felt nice wrapped around my shoulders. Any doubts I had about our compatibility disappeared into the ether. He held me close as the musician launched into his first song—a ballad about a dog and a hairy old man, as far as I could tell. I wasn’t really listening, I was happy, sitting next to my date.

  When the musician took a break, Blaze went to the bar to get us another drink, and I took the opportunity to go freshen up. As I turned the corner to walk down the hall to the ladies’, I felt a hand on my arm.

  “Oh my, Marissa. That man is a god!”

  I stopped and turned to look at whomever it was: Paige, Cassie, or Bailey. It could have been any one of them. As it turned out, it was Paige’s voice, the other two grinning beside her. Great, Blaze and I had been unwittingly putting on a show for an audience of three.

  “I should have known you would be here,” I said, shaking my head.

  “How could we not?” Cassie replied. “This is a big day for you, Ms. Fussy.”

  “We’re nosy, we admit it,” Bailey added.

  “Follow me into the ladies’, then. Let’s get this over with.”

  Once inside, I leaned against the sink, facing the three eager faces of my friends and fellow pact members. “Don’t tell me you’ve been at all three of my dates, today.”

  I hadn’t seen anyone while I was out with Nash, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

  “Well, we couldn’t really be at your date at the dog park, but we were sitting in my car with a pair of binoculars,” Paige replied, gesturing to Bailey and herself.

  My eyes got huge. “You spied on me through binoculars?”

  “It was fun! Like being on a stakeout or something. All we needed was donuts, right?”

  Bailey nodded. “Donuts would have been good.”

  “And?” I led.

  “And, you looked like you were having a great time with Nash and his doggie.” Paige turned to Cassie, adding, “And he really does look like Jon Snow, only with better hair. Nash, that is, not the dog.”

  “And Coleman was cute, too, and not what I had expected at all,” Cassie added.

  “Oh, I’d like to have seen him,” Bailey replied.

  I watched, incredulous, as my friends-turned-spies discussed my dates among themselves. Eventually, when I’d heard enough, I put my hands up in the “stop sign” and a hush fell over our group. “Look, I know you’re spying on me because you care and you want to support me, but I need to be able to focus on this final date.”

  Cassie narrowed her eyes at me “Why? What happened with the other dates?”

  “Nothing,” I trilled, my voice unnaturally high. I cleared my throat, ignoring the look on Cassie’s face. “Look, let’s meet as we have agreed, and I will tell you everything you want to know.”

  Paige pulled a face as the others nodded their reluctant agreement. “But what if you need us?”

  I crossed my arms. “I won’t.”

  “But how will we know if you kiss? This could be your last first kiss, you know,” she continued.

  I immediately thought of my botched dog-slobber kiss with Nash. Ugh.

  “Did you want me there for your first kiss with Josh?” I asked.

  “You were there!” she replied.

  Oh, yeah. That’s right. “Look, go home. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I began to usher them out of the ladies’. They did so, somewhat unwillingly, to say the least.

  “Hey, I didn’t want to say anything before,” Cassie said to me as we rounded the corner, heading back into the bar, “but I’m pretty sure Blaze dated one of my friends a year or two ago.”

  She had my attention. “Really? Are you sure?”

  She shrugged. “He was a bodybuilder called Blaze. What are the odds there are two of them in a city of one and a half million?”

  “Not a lot,” I conceded. “What happened?”

  Cassie scrunched up her face. “She only told me about this today when I bumped into her, otherwise I would have mentioned it to you before your date.”

  “Tell me.” My tone was uncompromising.

  “He . . . ah,” she mumbled.

  “What?!” Was it so bad she couldn’t just spit it out?

  “She said he was a lot like absorbent kitchen towels.”

  “What?” She was making no sense. “Absorbent kitchen towels? Cassie, what are you talking about?”

  “You know, like that old ad on TV? ‘Thick, strong, and thirsty’?”

  “Thick, strong . . . oh.” I finally tagged onto what she was suggesting. She meant he wasn’t so bright. “Yeah, I guessed that one myself. Why thirsty?”

  Cassie shrugged. “All the milk.”

  I chuckled. “He just had a pint of milk with three raw eggs.”

  “Euw! My friend said he was obsessed with bodybuilding and could talk about almost nothing else.”

  I nodded. There had been rather a lot of body talk, that was for sure.

  “Anyway, you do with that what you will. I just thought you might like to know. I’ll see you for our catch-up,” Cassie said brightly.

  I returned to our table, deep in thought, barely registering the musician playing on the stage.

  “This guy is great,” Blaze said as I sat down next to him. He returned his arm to its earlier position, and there we sat together for the rest for the date, Blaze commenting on how awesome and amazing and out-of-this-world the musician was, and me wondering whether I had a made a big mistake.

  Chapter 5

  “Which one are you going to pick?”

  I chewed the inside of my lip, my partially eaten orange and almond syrup cake sitting on a plate on the table in front of me. I looked out of the Cozy Cottage Café window at the street, watching as cars and pedestrians passed by.

  I weighed up my options. I had agreed to the pact, I had made the decision to find The One, and I’d gone on the three dates with three different guys, just as I’d said I would. Objectively, the date with Coleman had been great, but I could not get past the whole mortician slash dead bodies slash “I carve coffins for fun” thing with him.

  Then, there was Nash. We had got on so well, and he seemed like a great guy, but there was that dog slobber situation I found incredibly off-putting, and I doubted I could ever kiss him without thinking about it.

  And finally, Blaze. Nice guy, easygoing, possibly a sandwich or two short of a picnic, but possibly the best of the lot.

  Three different guys, three different reasons not to date any one of them.

  I turned back and looked at the sea of eager faces around the table, awaiting my verdict. Both Paige and Bailey were here with Cassie and me, having left their barista, Sophie, to “woman” the café counter, as they had put it.

  “None of them.” I closed my eyes, expecting the worst from my friends.

  “What?!”

  “Why?!”

  “But they all seemed so good!”

  “Are you crazy?”

  A quieter voice said, “Well, that doesn’t surprise me.”

  I snapped my eyes open to look at Cassie. “What did you say?”

  She was sitting back in her chair, looking squarely at me. “I said, that doesn’t surprise me.”

  I pressed my lips together. I didn’t want to hear it, but I knew Cassie was right. By deciding not to see any of these guys again, I wasn’t surprising my friends in the least. I was doing precisely what they would be expecting of me: a swift cut and run, no turning back.

  I hung my head. “I wanted it to be different this time.” />
  Paige, the sweetest one of us, reached across the table and placed her hand on my arm. “We know you did, honey.”

  “What was wrong with these ones, then?” Cassie asked, her voice deflated, as though I had let her down. Which, I guess, I had.

  I sighed.

  “How about you start at the top?” Bailey suggested. “Tell us what went wrong with each date, and we might be able to help you.”

  Cassie harrumphed. I shot her a withering look. “Not helping.”

  She leaned forward in her chair, her features softened. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . we’d all hoped you would find him, that’s all.”

  I nodded. Me too.

  “So, Coleman. What was the deal with him?” Bailey prompted.

  “Coleman’s a mortician,” I stated glumly, thinking of him standing next to his coffin.

  “And?” Bailey led.

  “And . . . he’s a mortician.”

  Bailey scrunched up her face. “I’m confused here. You knew that before you went on a date with him.”

  I widened my eyes. “Yeah, but I didn’t know know it, you know?”

  “I can see that,” Cassie said, cutting off another forkful of her raspberry and chocolate cake. “That would totally creep me out, too.”

  “What happened with him?” Paige asked.

  As everyone ate their respective cakes, I told my friends how the brunch date with Coleman had gone well—my mind doing overtime on Coleman’s profession aside—and then how we had gone to his funeral parlor. I thought of Coleman’s coffin. “The thing is, it was really beautiful. He’s obviously very talented and has a great eye. It’s just . . .” I shuddered.

  Cassie chuckled. “You know what? If we rule the flirty mortician out, I won’t lose any sleep over it,” she said to Bailey and Paige, who both nodded their assent.

  “What are you talking about, ‘rule him out’? He’s already gone, dead in the water, over,” I replied, a little confused.

  “Well,” Bailey began cautiously, her eyes darting from Paige, to Cassie, and back to me. “You know how we decided Josh was perfect for Paige, even though she didn’t think so at the time?”

  “Yeah, how wrong was I?” Paige said with a grin.

  Concerned I knew exactly where this was going, I replied, “Yes, but this is an entirely different situation. Paige agreed to us finding her a guy: I haven’t done that.” I furrowed my brow, my eyes shooting between my friends.