Three Blind Dates (Dating by Numbers Series Book 1) Page 7

  “Okay, so he’s on tomorrow. What segment are we cutting then?”

  “Fritattas with Dylan. We’re moving that to Friday, turning it into Fritatta Friday.”

  “Oh, I’m sure she’ll love that. All right, so then we should be good to go. I’ll check the email and do a little research on Hayden before tomorrow morning.”

  “No need. I had Duncan put together a quick rundown for you, and I’m emailing that.” Kevin pauses for a second before he says, “And for Friday, I also have a little ten-minute segment worked in while you’re eating fritattas to talk about your little dating adventure.”

  “Come on, Kevin,” I huff. He has to be over that by now.

  “You’re not going to get out of this, Noely. I’ve talked with Lynn at Going in Blind. She’s working on a special segment with her team, but in the meantime, it will be a great personal piece for our viewers. If anything, you can encourage other singles out there to join the program. I mean, you did have your first date, didn’t you? You can talk about that.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  Kevin sharply exhales, irritation seeping into my ear. “Noely, don’t make me act like an ass to you, okay?” Been there, Kevin. Been there.

  “Fine, but I’m not going to like it.”

  “Should have thought about that before you used company equipment. See you in the morning.”

  He hangs up before I can respond. Typical Kevin. Maybe it won’t be so bad. If anything, I owe it to Going in Blind for matching me with Jack. Who knows, maybe my story could help others. Searching for love is a daunting task, so maybe a little added encouragement from someone who’s been through the program is just what some of our viewers need.

  Speaking of Going in Blind . . .

  Eager to see if Jack messaged back, I open the app and am rewarded with a notification in my inbox. Once again, my stomach starts to do somersaults.

  Jack wrote back.

  ShopGirl,

  Your boldness doesn’t go unnoticed. Being a gentleman was my number-one priority but now I know who I’m dealing with, I’m prepared to drop the gentleman act and take what I want. This Saturday, it’s going to be you, me, the open waves, and my lips on yours. Until then, put me out of my misery and tell me something about yourself I don’t know. Spare me and give me a detail about you to help me get through these next few mundane days.

  Jack

  Leaning back in my lounge chair, the sky around me falling to a midnight blue, I snuggle under my blanket and type out a response, my smile never fading.

  WindsorKnot,

  Have you ever wondered what it would look like if you took a hockey puck and split it in half? What you would see inside? I was convinced there was some kind of lucky charm inside one, so like the genius I was at twelve, I decided to find out for myself. With bravado and stupidity coursing through me, I placed a hockey puck on the back deck, roared my dad’s chainsaw to life, and cut a line right through . . . the back porch, missing the puck completely. That was the moment I thought, if my parents really love me, like truly love me, they won’t kill me over this.

  Thank God for unconditional love, right? Your turn.

  Noely

  Chapter Eight

  NOELY

  “The lips, the teeth, the tip of the tongue, the tip of the tongue, the teeth, the lips,” Dylan repeats over and over again, exaggerating her mouth movements. Every other break, she spends time keeping her vocals warm and her frontal placements crisp.

  Her vocals usually wash right over me, but today, they’re grating on my nerves. Maybe because I’m incredibly nervous. I’m going to be honest: professional athletes are a weakness of mine. For some reason, whenever I’m around one, I turn into a pile of mush and act like a complete ass. Ask Kevin, I’m sure he has a reel of me somewhere fawning over every professional athlete we’ve had on the show.

  “Any noise annoys the oyster. Any noise annoys—”

  “Me,” I cut in. “Any noise annoys me. Dylan, you’re warmed up, can you cool it on the tongue twisters for now?” I ask while looking over my notes for our segment with Hayden.

  “Why do men who play with balls make you nervous every time?”

  “Technically, Hayden plays with a puck, and I don’t know. I think it’s the forearms; they’re intimidating. You see them on TV and they seem so normal, but when you see them in person it’s like, ‘where did you get all those muscles?’ It’s just not fair to be that beefy—”

  “Noely, Dylan, I would like you to meet Hayden Holmes,” Kevin says, and because he interrupted my rant, no doubt I look just as mortified as I feel.

  God, I hope Hayden didn’t hear any of that.

  Gathering myself, trying not to look all shaky and nervous, I stand and see a very tall, very built man smiling at me. His honey-colored hair is hidden under an LA Quakes cap, but his blue eyes are more vivid than in photos I’ve seen. His strong jaw is covered by a light scruff, and his lips are fuller than I would expect on a man. His white long-sleeved shirt stretches across his brawny chest, and the sleeves are pushed up, showing off his well-defined forearms. Figures! They had to make an appearance, didn’t they? Damn you, forearms, damn all the forearms!

  Taking a step forward, I reach out my shaky hand. “Hayden, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Welcome to California. I’m sure it’s a big change from Philly.”

  He smiles sweetly, causing a little dimple on the right side of his cheek to peek out. “I would say a big change is an accurate description.” He chuckles. “Pine trees to palm trees is a huge leap.” His large, calloused hand releases mine, and he turns to Dylan. “It’s nice to meet you both. Thanks for having me on the show.”

  Ignoring Hayden completely, hand still in his, Dylan nudges my shoulder with hers and says, “Oh, the grip on this guy, makes you wonder what else he can tightly grip.”

  Rolling my eyes, I clear my throat and try to be the professional one between us. “Do you have any questions about your interview? Are you feeling good about it?”

  Releasing Dylan’s hand, he loops his thumbs in his belt loops and says, “I’m feeling good. My agent went over everything.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Noely, on in twenty.”

  “Okay.” I nod at Hayden. “You might want to scoot out of camera shot until we call you.”

  Chuckling to himself, he backs away while giving me a wink, which only sends a heat of awareness up my spine.

  Leaning toward me, her lips practically inside my ear, Dylan says, “Oh my God, he totally winked at you.” I ignore her, not wanting to make a big scene in front of the man who is standing ten feet away. “Did you hear me?” Dylan repeats.

  “Yes,” I whisper shout at her. “I heard you hissing in my ear, now drop it.”

  “He wants in your pants—”

  “Three, two . . .” Our director points at me.

  Feeling a little flustered, I try to put on my professional Good Morning, Malibu face and read off the teleprompter. “Welcome back. Like we said at the top of the hour, we have a special surprise guest with us today.”

  “That’s right,” Dylan cuts in. “And he’s a treat for both men and women. Isn’t that right, Noely?”

  A flush creeps up my face, and I just pray the lights wash it out. I don’t know if it’s Dylan’s ribbing, or Hayden’s gaze from the sidelines, or knowledge that Jack might be watching, but man oh man, my tongue feels swollen and my words sound garbled in my ears.

  “Uh, yes, sure.” I clear my throat and tap my cue cards on my legs. Looking around, Kevin gives me the universal signal for keep going, so I quickly turn to the prompter again. “If you haven’t been paying attention this summer, you might have missed one of the biggest steals LA made, and we have our very own LA Quakes signed, star-studded hockey rookie from last season, Hayden Holmes joining us this morning.” I stand with Dylan and start clapping along with the rest of production. “Please welcome, the newest LA Quakes forward, Hayden Holmes.”

  Stepping onto
set, Hayden waves at the camera, that boyish smile probably melting the hearts of every Good Morning, Malibu viewer. Leaning in, Hayden presses a kiss against my cheek while his hand grips my side, sending my nerves into overdrive. Dylan reaches for a light peck as well and then we take our seats.

  Shifting uncomfortably since Hayden’s long legs are bumping against my knees, I sweep my hair behind my shoulders and look at my cards. Good God, why am I so nervous?

  “Hayden, we’re so glad you could join us today,” I say, smiling brightly for the camera.

  “Oh, I’m glad I could surprise everyone, and the warm welcome has made the move from Philly so much easier.”

  “After a season like last year’s, you’re just what our team needs, so we’re grateful you’re here.”

  Shyly, he chuckles and runs his hand through his thick hair. I’ve seen Hayden interviewed, and he’s never seemed to be the overly confident asshole some athletes are. He’s always seemed more down to earth, and right now, I’m getting that vibe.

  For the next five minutes, we talk about his upcoming training, the guys on the team, and his transition from snow to sun. He laughs with Dylan, speaks dearly about the fans, and charms everyone in the studio.

  “And we’re out,” Kevin calls while looking down at his clipboard.

  I let out a long breath, as if someone was pulling on an imaginary corset wrapped around me and let go of the strings.

  “Thank you so much, ladies.” Hayden stands and looks at his phone. When he sees the time, he cringes. “I have a radio interview to get to. I hate to interview and run, but I don’t want to be late.”

  “Not a problem at all,” I answer. “Thanks for stopping by.”

  “Thanks for having me. I’ll have promotions send over some tickets for you guys.” With a brief hug, he bids us a goodbye and takes off, one hand stuffed in one of his jeans pocket, the other making a call on his phone.

  “He’s dreamy.” Dylan pathetically sighs next to me. “Did you see his muscles flex under his shirt? I’m pretty sure his pecs were sending out some kind of Morse code to me during that entire interview. Lick me, lick me. I just wish my boobs were more adept in communicating, because I would have signaled to Chad through the camera that Hayden was my new hall pass.”

  “You didn’t have to ask him if he was single,” I chastise. “That was a little personal.”

  “Are you kidding? Of course I had to ask if he was single. That’s our duty on Good Morning, Malibu, to ask the questions no other news channel will. Why do you think we sit here on these light pink couches, mimosas in front of us, and tissues popping up from the back of the couch? Because we’re the show that brings you tears, laughs, and hunks. All the hunks.” She pats my leg. “Now, do you want me to ask for his number for you?”

  I dramatically roll my eyes. “No, Dylan. I have a date with Jack this Saturday, a date I’m really looking forward to. I want to see where that goes with The Suit.”

  “Oh, is that what you’re calling him? The Suit? I like that.”

  Exasperated, I pat Dylan on the head and leave for my dressing room before she starts taking her bra off. I’m not in the mood to witness and hear her struggle.

  The minute I reach my dressing room, my phone rings.

  Checking out the caller ID, I smile to myself.

  “Alex, how are you?” I put the phone on speaker and sit in my vanity chair to take off my earrings and makeup.

  “Hey sis, I’m doing good.”

  I love my brother dearly, but he doesn’t call often. He’s more of a texter, so there is only one reason he’s calling.

  “So, I caught the show this morning.” The smile I’m sporting grows even wider. Yep, I know exactly why he’s calling.

  “Oh yeah? What did you think? Did you like the music segment about the best tunes to use in the bedroom? Are you going to try those out with Lauren?”

  “Uh . . . didn’t catch that segment, thank God, but I did catch the last.” Shocking.

  “With Hayden Holmes?”

  “Yeah. Hell, sis, you have the best job ever. How were you not worshipping at his feet while doing that interview? I would have easily started bowing in front of him if I were you.”

  Chuckling, I shake my head and wipe the makeup from my right eye. “I tend to stay away from bowing at my guests when doing interviews.”

  “You’re missing out.” Alex pauses and then asks, “So tell me, is he cool? I mean, I’m assuming he is, he looks pretty chill in his interviews. Is that all an act?”

  I roll my eyes. My brother is so predictable. “He’s chill, Alex. And before you ask, he already said he’d send over some tickets for the season.”

  “For the love of God, please tell me you’re going to take me to a game.”

  “You’re the first on my list.”

  “Fuck, yes!” I laugh. He sounds beyond ridiculous. “Do you think you could get me into the locker room? All I want is to be snapped in the ass by one of the players with a towel. I swear, I’ll pull my pants down and give them the best kind of towel-snapping canvas, all white and creamy. That’s one hell of an offer.” And Lauren loves him because . . .

  “Your gross ass, hanging in the air waiting for someone to snap a towel at it, is not an offer, Alex. That’s a punishment.” A nightmare. I should know. I’ve been subjected to it before.

  “I’ll pay them.” Desperation drips from his voice.

  Laughing, I say, “You need to get a life. I have to go to my spin class. Give Lauren a hug for me.”

  “Wait,” Alex desperately calls out. “Do I still get first dibs on tickets?”

  Exhausted, I say, “Yes, Alex. You get first dibs.”

  “Can I get that in writing?”

  Without an answer, I hang up. Brothers, why are they so annoying?

  I have much better things to do than assign tickets I don’t have to my desperate brother. It’s not like he doesn’t have money to buy his own, but he thrives off free things. He always has.

  I don’t want to worry about him right now; not only do I have to prepare my little segment about my dating attempt before Friday, I have a message to respond to . . .

  ***

  Dearest ShopGirl,

  Have you ever thought about why a man gives a woman flowers? Why not a bag of groceries? Or a box of light bulbs, you know, something practical. Instead, we spend—or at least I do—an hour picking out the perfect bouquet, one that I not only think will make you deeply appreciate the gesture, but one that represents your beauty. I look for a bouquet that reminds me of your sweet smell, one that has the same pink blush as your cheeks, with a touch of your fiery red outfit. Sending a bouquet of flowers is a carefully mapped-out equation to gain your likeness, and yet, they die in a few days. So why not a carton of eggs instead?

  P.S. Did you get the flowers?

  Jack

  Dear Bouquet Aficionado,

  A carton of eggs? A box of lightbulbs? Practical yes, romantic, not so much. I can go out and get myself a carton of eggs anytime I want, but flowers, those are special. There is something about receiving a bouquet from a man that sends a thrill of excitement through my body. It tells me I was on his mind, it shows me he cares, it gives me the impression that not only did I make my mark, but he wants to woo me.

  So is that what you’re doing, Jack? Are you wooing me?

  P.S. I got the flowers and they were gorgeous. Thank you.

  Noely

  Dear Woo-ee,

  There is something you need to know about me. I’m a ruthless businessman. In the boardroom, I’m a brilliant shark who makes split-second decisions about multi-million-dollar deals. I’ve made grown men cry using only words, and I don’t take no for an answer. I get what I want, when I want it . . .

  Why am I telling you this? Because I know this is not the man I presented to you. You have seen the other side of me, the side of me that spends his time enjoying the gentle waves of the beach, who reminisces about potatoes with red eyes, and who will spe
nd an hour analyzing every bouquet in a flower shop.

  Yes, Noely. I’m wooing you.

  Jack

  Dear Ruthless Businessman,

  You get what you want, when you want it? Is that outside of the boardroom as well? Because I’m going to let you in on a little secret: I don’t fold easily. Even with your big-bad-wolf businessman attitude, I will challenge you. I will be sure to make you work for what you want; it won’t be handed to you. Do you think you’re ready for that? Are you up for my defiance?

  Noely

  Dear Defiant One,

  What’s wooing without a little challenge?

  I do have a question though. That kiss I so stupidly skipped out on, the one that’s up for grabs on Saturday, will that be a kiss I have to work to get, or will it be something that’s easily handed to me? I ask so I can prepare myself for the amount of wooing required.

  On a scale from one to ten, ten being the highest amount of wooing, what are we talking here? A box of lightbulbs and a single daisy? Will that guarantee that kiss I so desperately need?

  Jack

  Dear Desperate for a Smooch,

  Despite my inkling to say yes to a box of lightbulbs due to my lack of bulbs in my house, I’m afraid you’re going to have to bring your A-game. Why, you might ask? Because I need to make sure you’re not just all talk.

  Actions, Jack. The best wooers, woo with action.

  Noely

  Dearest ShopGirl,

  Happy Thursday. Actions speak louder than words, I’m well aware. Tell me, did a little brightness enter your life today?

  Jack

  Dear Expert Wooer,

  Funny thing happened to me. I was getting ready for my show, and one of the production assistants brought me a purple box. There was no name attached to the parcel so I was unsure what it was, until I opened the lid and found a dozen, beautiful energy-efficient lightbulbs.