LadyV76: Like?
MyBoyBlue4: Hm. What if you bring…an apple?
LadyV76: Oh ha, the naughty teacher thing from our first chat. Good memory. Okay, I’ll be holding an apple. What about you?
MyBoyBlue4: I’ll have a Van Halen CD on the table.
LadyV76: You still have a CD?
MyBoyBlue4: It was my dad’s. VH was his favorite band, so I kept all their cassette tapes and CDs he collected over the years.
LadyV76: Van Halen was one of my dad’s favorite bands too! He’s very square, very uptight, the kind of guy who wears khakis and cuff links on the weekend. But he had this secret love for eighties hair bands. Well, it wasn’t secret per se, but he definitely didn’t advertise it. You go for a ride in his Lexus, though? You bet he had Panama blasting.
MyBoyBlue4: I like your dad.
LadyV76: He and I are pretty much opposites. But sometimes I think I got my weird, artsy feely wild streak from him. I guess he could just hide his better.
MyBoyBlue4: Maybe his didn’t sing as loud as yours.
LadyV76: Cool thought. Yeah, maybe.
[A pause]
MyBoyBlue4: I’m more nervous than I want to admit.
LadyV76: But you’re admitting it, which is hot. I’m nervous too. While we’re being honest…this is the first date I’ve gone on in over a year. In real life, I mean. Not on the internet. I’m worried I forget how.
MyBoyBlue4: How to what?
LadyV76: Date. Have fun. Do something other than work.
MyBoyBlue4: I get it. My hobby is my work. Which is awesome most of the time, but it really blurs the line between my professional and personal lives. As in, I don’t really have a personal life anymore. Insert wincing emoji here.
LadyV76: The more we talk, the more I feel like we’re the same person. Well, except for the whole alpha/beta thing. Although you made a pretty good alpha the other night. But I digress. My point is, my hobby is my work too, and the lines have definitely been blurring lately. Which is one of the (many) reasons I’m so excited to meet you. I think you might be just what I need to get over this weird hump.
MyBoyBlue4: Jeez no pressure or anything. Just kidding. Speaking of hump…what happens if we meet each other and we totally hit it off and we want to bone?
LadyV76: Then we get a fancy hotel room and we bone until our bodies give out. Yes, I’ll keep my heels on. Everything else comes off.
MyBoyBlue4: I got a shiver just thinking about it.
LadyV76: Me too. I also got scared.
MyBoyBlue4: You know what I like most about you?
LadyV76: What’s that?
MyBoyBlue4: You keep it real. I’m trying to do the same, but it’s not easy.
LadyV76: It’s never easy. But I’d like to think it requires a lot less effort than pretending to be perfect all the time.
MyBoyBlue4: Good point. So…next time we talk, it will be in person.
LadyV76: Pretty crazy. Please don’t kill me.
MyBoyBlue4: Hey. What if you end up being the serial killer?
LadyV76: These heels can definitely be used as weapons…
MyBoyBlue4: Wait, you’re wearing them now?
LadyV76: [sends picture of her feet crossed on the bed, legs bare, stilettos on]
MyBoyBlue4: Boing.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Emma
On Monday, forecasters give the freak winter storm sweeping through the Rockies a twenty percent chance of making it to Asheville by the weekend.
On Friday, winter storm warnings are issued across Buncombe County.
That’s right. On the night I’m supposed to head into town for my first date with Blue, blizzard conditions are expected. They’re calling for up to eight inches of snow and forty mile-per-hour wind gusts.
It’s April.
If I were superstitious, I’d say the universe was conspiring against Blue and me meeting. Good thing I’m not.
So on Friday morning, I put my head down and hope for the best, and thank the powers that be that my Toyota has four-wheel drive. Luckily, the snow isn’t supposed to start in earnest until after seven. I figure worst-case scenario, I’ll make it downtown for dinner but get snowed in there, in which case I’ll just grab a hotel room. And if Blue and I hit it off, that definitely wouldn’t be a bad thing.
I’m really hoping we hit it off. I wasn’t lying when I told Blue I need this—need to get out and lust after someone other than Samuel Beauregard. Maybe that’s all it will take. A night out with someone new to help me forget about my crush on the guy who has life or death authority over my dream job.
Maybe I’m being overly idealistic, believing one date with someone new will do the trick. But I have to do something, or I’m going to lose my fucking mind.
Schools close early, but we’re fully booked for the weekend at the farm. Thanks to the approaching storm, guest arrivals begin earlier than usual, and we get a steady stream of diners and drinkers at the barn from breakfast onward.
I tell myself that busy is good as I run to the cellar to grab a pricey bottle of Muscadet. Busy means I won’t have time to think about…well, how much I try to think about Blue but end up thinking about Samuel instead.
How much he’s changed since I arrived.
How his tongue felt between my legs.
How fucking handsome he is today in his cobalt suit and black tie. He was the first person I saw when I came in this morning, looking fresh and sharp, if a little subdued. He didn’t smile at me, but his eyes did, and my heart dropped, and my lips throbbed, and I wondered if I’d taste the coffee on his mouth if I kissed him.
Stop. I try to stop thoughts like that in their tracks. Samuel’s respected my wish to keep things friendly, and it’s only fair my imagination does the same.
Trusting my feet to guide me down the stairs—I could run up and down this staircase in my sleep I do it so often—I close my eyes and try to imagine what Blue will look like. Granted, I’ve only seen his thighs, dick, and stomach, but it’s obvious he’s in great shape. He had a light brown, almost red happy trail, so maybe his hair will be a lighter shade of that? Or darker? And his eyes, I bet they’re—
“Whoa!”
I bump into something hard at the same moment I hear Samuel’s voice. My eyes fly open and the spicy smell of masculine shampoo fills my head. Suddenly, I find myself pressed against his broad chest with my nose buried in his shirt. He’s close enough that I can make out the different shades of blue that speck his irises—slate, sky, ocean.
“Wow, I am so sorry,” I manage, leaning back.
“Are you trying to break a leg? Or do you always walk down staircases with your eyes closed?”
“I’m, um, practicing. For the time you inevitably challenge me to find a specific bottle down here blindfolded. I refuse to accept another tie, so…”
He smiles. With his eyes and his mouth this time.
An ache unfurls along the sides of my torso, so strong and persistent it makes me short of breath. My heart is popping around again.
I want to put my mouth on this man so very badly.
“Game on. But seriously, I don’t want you breaking those legs, okay?”
“Ha,” I say. But the universe must really be conspiring against me because my left leg buckles.
My knee literally gives out, and I feel myself going down like a heroine in a Regency novel. I didn’t think swooning was a real thing until this moment.